About Guyana
Guyana, officially the Co-operative Republic of Guyana
Guyana is in the north-east of South America. It borders the North Atlantic Ocean. Its neighbours are Suriname, to the east, Brazil, to the south and south-west, and Venezuela, to the west. Guyana has a low-lying, narrow coastal belt, hilly tropical forest and high savannah uplands. Most of its people live along the coast. More than 80% of Guyana is covered by forest.
Region
Language
Guyana is the only country in South America with English as the official language
Population
786,560 (2022)
Area
215,000km²
High Commissioner
H.E. Mr. Frederick Hamley Case
Capital
Georgetown
Joined Commonwealth
1966, following independence from Britain
Episode guests
Grace Nichols
Award Winning Poet
Grace Nichols is an award winning Guyanese poet who won the Commonwealth Poetry Prize for her book, I is a long-memoried woman, and was also awarded the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry in 2021. Since moving to Britain in 1977 she has written widely for both adults and children. In this episode she reads a number of her own poems including from her most recent compilation Passport to Here and There.
Wha Me Mudder Do
Mek me tell you wha me mudder do
wha me mudder do
wha me mudder do
Me mudder pound plaintain mek fufu
Me mudder catch crab mek calaloo stew
Mek me tell you wha me mudder do
wha me mudder do
wha me mudder do
Me mudder beat hammer
Me mudder turn screw
she paint chair red
then she paint it blue
Mek me tell you wha me mudder do
wha me mudder do
wha me mudder do
Me mudder chase bad-cow
with one ‘Shoo’
she paddle down river
in she own canoe
Ain’t have nothing
dat me mudder can’t do
Ain’t have nothing
dat me mudder can’t do
Mek me tell you
For Forest
Forest could keep secrets
Forest could keep secrets
Forest tune in every day
to watersound and birdsong
Forest letting her hair down
to the teeming creeping of her forest-ground
But Forest don’t broadcast her business
no Forest cover her business down
from sky and fast-eye sun
and when night come
and darkness wrap her like a gown
Forest is a bad dream woman
Forest dreaming about mountain
and when earth was young
Forest dreaming of the caress of gold
Forest rootsing with mysterious Eldorado
and when howler monkey
wake her up with howl
Forest just stretch and stir
to a new day of sound
but coming back to secrets
Forest could keep secrets
Forest could keep secrets
And we must keep Forest
Looking At Your Hands
No!
I will not still my voice!
I have
too much to claim –
if you see me
looking at books
or coming to your house
or walking in the sun
know that I look for fire!
I have learnt
from books dear friend
of men dreaming and living
and hungering in a room without a light
who could not die since death was far too poor
who did not sleep to dream, but dreamed to change the world!
And so
if you see me
looking at your hands
listening when you speak
marching in your ranks
you must know
I do not sleep to dream, but dream to change the world.
Tarantella
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
Who hadn’t got a penny,
And who weren’t paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the Din?
And the Hip! Hop! Hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Galcing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of a clapper to the spin
Out and in –
And the Ting, Tong, Tang of the Guitar.
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
Never more;
Miranda,
Never more.
Only the high peaks hoar:
And Aragon a torrent at the door.
No sound
In the walls of the Halls where falls
The tread
Of the feet of the dead to the ground
No sound:
But the boom
Of the far Waterfall like Doom.
