Windrush
Curated by Inua Ellams
of
Contents
Give thanks, the ports our grandmothers heaved
baggage through, the shift and drag of whole lives.
Give thanks, the weight that shaped shoulders,
the stamina of a sea-crossing ship. Give thanks,
my mother’s hands are hurdles, heightened
by immeasurable trails and trials. Give thanks,
what it is is what it becomes – this road
that leads to the park my father raced me through,
over the double yellow lines, over cracks in cold
pavements. Give thanks, the steady sound
of our pace mattered to the ground –
the reign of our rhythm continues
through exhausted rain. Give thanks, a rush
of registered names and wind, turning into lanes.
Nod to the elders and the roar inside the stadium
of our chests. Give thanks, the ears
that hear how much the race matters.
Defeat is not a direction, surrender
is not my position,
said my father, give thanks.
Published December 11, 2023
© Raymond Antrobus
Rendez grâce, les ports où nos grands-mères transbahutaient
les bagages, le virage et la trace de vies entières.
Rendez grâce, le poids qui a modelé les épaules,
l’endurance du navire traversant la mer. Rendez grâce,
les mains de ma mère sont des obstacles, exacerbés
par des sentes et des sentiments incommensurables. Rendez grâce,
ce qu’elle est est ce qu’elle devient – cette route
qui mène au parc où mon père et moi foncions à toute allure,
Par-delà les doubles lignes jaunes, les fissures sur les froides
chaussées. Rendez grâce, le son continue
de notre cadence martèle le sol –
le règne de notre rythme continue
parmi une pluie épuisée. Rendez grâce, une ruée
de noms enregistrés et de vent, se transformant en voies.
Honorez les anciens et le rugissement dans le stade
de nos poitrines. Rendez grâce, les oreilles
qui entendent à quel point foncé/er compte.
La défaite n’est pas une direction, abandonner
n’est pas ma position,
dit mon père, rendez grâce.
Published December 11, 2023
© Specimen
Da gracias, los puertos por los que nuestras abuelas
jalaron su bagaje, el cambio y arrastre de vidas enteras.
Da gracias, el peso que modeló hombros,
la estamina de un barco cruzando el mar. Da gracias,
las manos de mi madre son obstáculos, más altos
por inconmensurables vías y vicisitudes. Da gracias,
lo que es es lo que llega a ser – este camino
que lleva al parque por el que me hizo correr mi padre,
sobre las dobles líneas amarillas, sobre grietas en fríos
pavimentos. Da gracias, el sonido estable
de nuestro paso importaba a la tierra –
el reino de nuestro ritmo prosigue
por la lluvia exhausta. Da gracias, una racha
de registrados nombres y viento, volviéndose líneas.
Honra a los viejos y al rugir en el estadio
de nuestros pechos. Da gracias, los oídos
que escuchan cuánto importa el arrazarPropongo el neologismo ‘arrazar’ para tratar de conservar la polisemia de la palabra ‘race’, que en inglés significa “raza” y “carrera”..
Perder no es un camino, rendirse
no es mi posición,
decía mi padre, da gracias.
Published December 11, 2023
© Specimen
Other
Languages
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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