HISTORY is not static. The story of Guyana is not static. Over the years, from the first arrivals to present-day composition, life for the peoples making up the Guyanese milieu has changed, sometimes dramatically for the worst, and oftentimes imperceptibly for the best. The following two poems will illustrate two different states of Africans in Guyana, some 100-odd years apart. The first poem, ‘The Negro Village’, was written around the 1880s, while the second poem, ‘I come from the Nigger Yard’ was written during the early 1950s, both reflecting the mood of their respective periods.
‘The Negro Village’ is very long, running into 196 lines, so an extract will suffice.

The Negro Village
The little village smiles a slow adieu
Unto our day lord dying in the west,
The brooding sky is of a chastened hue,
It is an hour of universal rest;
And humble cotters throng the door
To interchange in quaintest lore
The superstitious tale with eager zest.

The artless children gambol in their play,
Spin round the giddy ring, or join in song,
Or haply wile the fleet-winged hours away
In rustic sports that please their noisy throng,
Outpouring their abundant might
In shouts of pleasure and delight
That hold the voice of echo loud and long.

Toil-wearied sires, in contemplation, view
Their playful offspring with excessive pride,
Give now a smile, an admonition due,
Or some contentive dispute eke decide;
Directing here the busy game,
With words of praise, or whispered blame,
A temporary judge and lenient guide.
See how love’s filial dew steals o’er the face
Of yonder dusky mother — youthful wife —
And wreathes it with an indescribable grace,
Its simplest gift to every walk of life;
Her pleasant gaze divides its glee
‘Tween husband fond and children free,
Joys at their joy, and sorrows at their strife.

And yet there are, who will in strength maintain,
The negro heart is foreign to all thought
Which breathes of hopeful love, affection’s reign,
Or nobler passions in the bosom wrought;
Such reason in a blind conceit,
Where prejudice and false pride meet,
Yea! man is man with all emotions fraught.

Their hearts can love with all the lavish strength,
Impetuous fervour of ungoverned will,
Running unbroken to its utmost length:
Passion’s frenzy, but pure love’s offspring still;
Unweaned by cold decorum’s laws,
Cleaving persistent to its cause,
Free and natural as the mountain rill.

The second poem, ‘I come from the Nigger Yard’, also a shortened version, is a more familiar and popular literary work of the two poems cited here.

I Come from the Nigger Yard
I come from the nigger yard of yesterday
leaping from the oppressors’ hate
and the scorn of myself;
from the agony of the dark hut in the shadow
and the hurt of things;
from the long days of cruelty and the long nights of pain
down to the wide streets of to-morrow, of the next day
leaping I come, who cannot see will hear.

In the nigger yard I was naked like the new born
naked like a stone or a star.
It was a cradle of blind days rocking in time
torn like the skin from the back of a slave.
It was an aching floor on which I crept
on my hands and my knees
searching the dust for the trace of a root
or the mark of a leaf or the shape of a flower.

It was me always walking with bare feet
meeting strange faces like those in dreams or fever
when the whole world turns upside down
and no one knows which is the sky or the land
which heart is among the torn or the wounded
which face is his among the strange and the terrible
walking about, groaning between the wind.

So I was born again stubborn and fierce
screaming in a slum.
It was a city and a coffin space for home
a river running, prisons and hospitals
men drunk and dying, judges full of scorn
priests and parsons fooling gods with words
and me, like dog tangled in rags
spotted with sores powdered with dust
screaming with hunger, angry with life and men.

And so again I become one of the ten thousands
one of the uncountable miseries owning the land.
…….
I take again my nigger life, my scorn
and fling it in the face of those who hate me.
It is me the nigger boy turning to manhood
linking my fingers, welding my flesh to freedom.

I come from the nigger yard of yesterday
leaping from the oppressors’ hate
and the scorn of myself
I come to the world with scars upon my soul
wounds on my body, fury in my hands
I turn to the histories of men and the lives of peoples.
I examine the shower of sparks the wealth of the dreams.
I am pleased with the glories and sad with the sorrows
rich with the riches, poor with the loss.
From the nigger yard of yesterday I come with my burden.
To the world of to-morrow I turn with my strength.

Egbert ‘Leo’ Martin, who wrote ‘The Negro Village’, was a differently-able young man with enormous literary talent; a gifted writer who was born in 1861, some 150 years ago. He was labelled “one of the greatest Negro poets in history;” “the ablest of the poetical writers of whom British Guiana can boast;” and “one whose works plainly bespeak talent and ability of the highest order.”
His first collection of poems, ‘Leo’s Poetical Works’, was published in 1883, when he was only twenty-two. His second collection of poems, ‘Leo’s Local Lyrics’, was published in 1886.
Martin Wylde Carter was born on June 7, 1927 in Georgetown, British Guiana, putting out his first collection of poems in 1951. Some of the poems that make up his most popular collection, ‘Poems of Resistance’, were written while he was in jail.
In 1989, his ‘Selected Poems’ won the Guyana Prize for Literature in the category of Best Book of Poetry. Twice he was honoured by the government of the day. In 1970, he received the Cacique Crown of Honour, and in 1994, the Order of Roraima.
Carter died at his home on Lamaha Street, Queenstown, on December 13, 1997, amidst political turmoil.
We are still unearthing material (printed and otherwise) in respect to some of  the evils that transpired during and after the days of slavery; episodes that were better left unwritten by the first chroniclers of our history.
However, there were some ‘sunny rays’ of those bygone days, according to Norman Cameron in a poem, ‘The African Prince – a slave romance’.
Recently, we were gifted a very useful book on a particular aspect of slavery. That book, ‘Hearing Slaves Speak’ by Trevor Burnard, is a compilation of ninety-two cases from tons and tons of material to show that enslaved people deserve more respect than is generally accorded them.
Burnard, in his introduction to the book, says that the records “reveal enslaved people as real people, as individuals who often quarrelled with each other, but whom, it seems, shared similar aspirations and dreams about the lives they might be able to fashion for themselves.”

(To respond to this author, either call him on (592) 226-0065 or send him an email: oraltradition2002@yahoo.com)

What’s Happening:
•    Two new publications for the season from the Guyana Institute of Historical Research: ‘Kids History Illustrated’ and ‘Black History Month Edition’ 2012.
•     The Inter-Guianas Cultural Festival is slated for August 23 – 26 in Georgetown, Guyana. See press for details.
•    ‘Timelines of Guyanese History’ (second edition)  a chronological guide to more than 2000 key events is coming soon to the bookshelf.