Pumpkin Belly (Memories of 1985)

Written in English by Mr Gee

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“This is the song of the old time proverbs”

Of folklore skipping along digital grooves,
Of Cables plugged into a dubplate’s need,
Of ancient voices contorted to show and prove –
that both the coffin and the Speakerbox
are cut from the same tree,

It’s 1985: and I already knew
that George Orwell wasn’t alive to count –
me and my big cousin as we decided to step out,
Out on this very special night,
When Dancehall’s dystopian children
decided to set the world to right,
Azania was hidden amidst our shouts,
And if Babylon dares to sing “Cherry Oh Baby”,
Brixton gets burned to the ground!

Resentment lived everywhere,
Enoch threatened to cough up another speech
but I didn’t care,
White people can doublethink their hatred so beautifully,
Powdering their Pinocchio noses in opulent explanation,
Admiring their own redecoration, but unlike my parents –
I know these hideous rivers well,

Me & my cousin were illiterate to the washing of Empire,
Ignorant to the cleanliness of Windrush neglect
So let the historians scrub their scarlet books down in hell
Because that’s where all blood money gets spent

“Whatsoever you want,
You’ve got to work very hard to gain”

Ahhh, the pumpkin belly,
Bursting! Full of Old time proverbs,
entrenched within such riddims and sounds,
This was where our potential was finally given life,
Inside that spiritual concoction
of sleng-teng and regret,
It repainted our surroundings
and commanded our respect,

Look to the crumbling wall
you’ll see another brick unspoken for,
Glare past the molested gates
you’ll hear a Parliamentary debate,
For tonight,
abandoned police cars
will be sporting a brand-new camouflage
of burnt charcoal,
Castrated from ever flashing their pearly whites again,
Under the strain of this new blackface,

Published December 11, 2023
© Mr Gee

Pumpkin Belly (souvenirs de 1985)

Written in English by Mr Gee


Translated into French by Jeanne Jegousso

This is the song of the old time proverbs

Du folklore sautant sur des grooves numériques,
Des câbles branchés sur le besoin d’une dubplate,
Des voix anciennes déformées pour montrer et prouver –
que le cercueil et l’enceinte
viennent du même arbre,

C’est 1985 : et je savais déjà
que George Orwell n’était pas là pour compter –
moi et mon cousin alors que nous décidions de sortir,
Sortir pour cette soirée très spéciale,
Quand les enfants dystopiques du Dancehall
décidé de remettre le monde à l’endroit,
L’Azanie était cachée au milieu de nos cris,
Et si Babylone ose chanter « Cherry Oh Baby »,
Brixton sera entièrement brûlé !

Le ressentiment vivait partout,
Enoch menaçait de cracher un nouveau discours
mais je m’en fichais,
Les Blancs peuvent reformuler leur haine admirablement,
Poudrant leur nez de Pinocchio de leur explication pompeuse,
Admirant leur propre rénovation, mais contrairement à mes parents –
Je connais bien ces horribles rivières,

Moi et mon cousin étions analphabètes au blanchiment de l’Empire,
Ignorant la propreté de la négligence de l’HMT Windrush
Alors laissez les historiens récurer leurs livres écarlates en enfer
Parce que c’est là que tout l’argent du sang est dépensé

Whatsoever you want,
You’ve got to work very hard to gain

Ahhh, Pumpkin belly,
Éclatant ! Plein de proverbes du bon vieux temps,
retranchés dans de tels riddims et sons,
C’est là que notre potentiel a finalement pris vie,
Dans cette concoction spirituelle
de sleng-teng et de regret,
Ça rénovait notre environnement
et imposait le respect,

Regarde le mur en ruine
tu verras une autre brique orpheline,
Regarde au-delà des portes agressées
tu entendras un débat parlementaire,
Pour ce soir,
les voitures de police abandonnées
arboreront un tout nouveau camouflage
de charbon brûlé,
Privés de montrer encore leurs blancs nacrés,
Sous la pression de ce nouveau blackface.

Published December 11, 2023
© Specimen

Pumpkin Belly (memorias de 1985)

Written in English by Mr Gee


Translated into Spanish by Manuel Portillo

“This is the song of the old time proverbs”

De folclor deslizándose por ritmos digitales,
De cables conectados al querer de un doblado,
De antiguas voces torcidas por mostrar y probar-
que tanto el ataúd y el cajón de bocinas
vienen del mismo árbol,

Es 1985: y ya sabía yo
que George Orwell no vivía para contar –
a mí y mi gran primo al decidir salir,
Afuera en esta noche tan especial,
Cuando niños distópicos de Dancehall
decidieron poner el mundo en orden,
Azania se escondía tras nuestros gritos,
Y si Babylon osa cantar “Cherry Oh Baby”,
Brixton es quemado entero!

Había resentimiento en todas partes,
Enoch amenazaba espetar más discursos
mas no me importaba,
La gente blanca puede repensar su odio tan bellamente,
Polveando sus narices de Pinocho en opulenta explicación,
Admirando su propia redecoración, más no como mis padres –
Estos ríos espantosos los conozco bien,

Yo & mi primo fuimos analfabetos del blanqueado de Imperio,
Ignorantes de la limpia negación del Windrush
Así que deja a los historiadores frotar en el infierno sus libros escarlata
Porque es donde se gasta el dinero sangriento

“Whatsoever you want,
You’ve got to work very hard to gain”

Ah, pumpkin belly,
Explotando! Llena de viejos proverbios,
arraigados en esas pistas de sonidos,
Aquí se le dio vida por fin a nuestro potencial,
Dentro de ese brebaje espiritual
de sleng-teng y lamento,
Repintó nuestros entornos
y se ganó nuestro respeto,

Mira el muro cayendo
verás otro ladrillo sin reclamar,
Ve detrás de las puertas violentadas
oirás un debate parlamentario,
Por esta noche,
carros de policía abandonados
exhibirán un nuevo camuflaje
de carbón quemado,
Castrados para nunca otra vez lucir sus blancos perlas,
Bajo el desgaste de esta nueva cara pintada,

Published December 11, 2023
© Specimen


Other
Languages
Welsh
French
Spanish
English

On June 22, 1948, The Empire Windrush docked in Essex, England. This single event, widely held as the beginning of the mass migration of Caribbean immigrants to the United Kingdom, was also the beginning of the problematization of immigration.

2023 marked the 75 Anniversary of The Windrush, and wishing to bear witness, Inua Ellams commissioned 10 writers of Caribbean origins to compose new work engaging with Windrush. The writers were Raymond Antrobus, Dean Atta, Casey Bailey, Malika Booker, Anthony Vahni Capildeo, Courtney Conrad, Mr Gee, Keith Jarrett, Safiya Kamaria Kinshasa, and Deanna Rodger. Their responses are as vast and nuanced as they are heart-breaking and truth-telling.

In this new Dossier commissioned by Specimen, you can now read the original poems along their French and Spanish translations by Jeanne Jegousso and Manuel Portillo.

In collaboration with the Royal Society of Literature.


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