birthday eve

i say goodbye to one more worn-out year
it takes its tired way off the old stage
there’s nothing left my sadness to assuage
a future comes with more than normal care
to challenge me and force me yet to dare
accept the perils that confront my age
discreetly as i can and still engage
with renewed wisdom and not without fear
so much depends on listening to pain
and knowing just what signals to ignore
but paying due attention to the sign
that stands out clearly even through the rain
reminding us just how close lies the shore
and what the price of every glass of wine

naming the stream

all good flows into silence and the past
echoes of what we had not ever known
so much of what we feared but not alone

for what we saw was powerful and vast
coming from where no wind had touched or blown
all good flows into silence and the past

what we don’t know is how long it will last
and what is written in the halls of stone
regarding which we might yet have to moan
all good flows into silence and the past

a glimpse of something

so many pains and then you hit the wall
you won’t expect the mountain to be there
when all you need is in the village square

it does not seem a hurtful height to fall
but all is magnified in this grey air
so many pains and then you hit the wall

inside each soul there is a solid ball
of honour and of treasure for our care
but not enough for each of us to spare
so many pains and then you hit the wall

‘There’s a Natural Mystic…’

John Maxwell

Sherwood Content in Trelawny and Waterhouse in St Andrew are about as far away as you can get from the big-time. The roads leading to both places are pitted, potholed disasters, and streetlights and other public amenities are singularly lacking, the schools ramshackle excuses for educational institutions held together by love and the dedication of poor people.

Yet over the last few days children from these and similar communities have, half a world away, basked in the adulation of more people than they have ever seen in their lives. They have all managed to defy the considerable odds against them, and are  become international heroes; young men and women whose achievements have confounded, excited, astonished and enchanted billions of others round the world.

Their stories are all different, and although many of them will ascribe their presence on the Olympic  podium  to the care and attention of teachers, coaches and sponsors, their stories are in reality  tributes to their own individual selves, to their ability to outperform their fellows, to convert lucky breaks into concrete opportunities and to deliver the goods before any audience, anywhere, any time. The Jamaican Olympic team as I write on Thursday, has not completed its agenda but it has already done better than any previous team from this country and better than teams from countries with much larger populations and resources.

In Track & Field, on Thursday afternoon, Jamaica and Russia were tied with five gold medals each, the US had four , Kenya and Ethiopia had two each. In the total number of medals won in track and field, Jamaica with 9 was third behind the US 20 and Russia 10 and ahead of all other countries.

Herb McKenley: Thou should’st be alive at this Hour!

What is most interesting to me is that the more level the playing field, the more dope testing is done, the better Jamaica does. The ‘natural mystic’ is powerful indeed and does not depend on technological enhancements of the chemical kind.

The fact that Jamaica has dine so well is disquieting to those who don’t know us and lots of questions have been asked about our testing procedures. The short answer is that our athletes are among the most thoroughly  tested in the world.

Owen Slot, Chief Sports Reporter of the Times, reported: “In Beijing, the unprecedented success of the Jamaican track and field team has come to general attention. The IAAF accordingly produced the following statistics: there are 22 elite Jamaicans and they [each]  have been tested out of competition, on average, two or three times since January 1. Bolt has been tested four times out of competition, three times in competition and six times since he arrived in Beijing.”(my italics)

I believe that the continual testing is probably what defeated Asafa Powell, who believes that the taking of blood for tests weakened him. I believe Powell, like another sporting genius, Lawrence Rowe, defeats himself  before he ever gets to the arena.

In Beijing, our men and the women have performed above expectations, no doubt, powerfully inspired by Usain Bolt’s performances. I loved Shelly Ann’s wide-eyed jumping for joy in victory,  Kerron’s steely courage and determination, Veronica’s gracious majesty - I loved them all, the medal winners and those who also ran . It was mindblowing to watch the women’s 100 meters, knowing what Bolt had done, and to realise that many of our young champions had never been on such a stage before. Their bravery alone is worth saluting; added to performances  that did their country prouder than we had any right to expect.

The Man of the Moment

The American Michael Phelps with his eight gold medals was the statistical hero of the first week of the Games. There is no doubt that Usain Bolt has been the hero of the second week. The sportswriters have strained for adjectives to properly describe him, concluding that he is probably the greatest sprinter of all time. He is the only man to have broken the Olympic and World records in the process of winning gold medals in the 100 and 200 meter sprints, only the second athlete to have held both world records simultaneously since Don Quarrie of Jamaica three decades ago and the first man in a quarter of a century to have captured both Olympic titles at the same games.

There seems to be something in Bolt that brings out the best in sportswriters. Some of the reports of his feats are among the best sportswriting I have read for a very long time. Most have been as scrupulous as possible,  and I was particularly chuffed to notice one who pointed out that while Michael Johnson’s 200m world record was done with a slight following wind, Bolt was running into a headwind when he broke that record.

But it is Bolt’s personality that has entranced the writers. His  straightforward innocence - though none of them use that word - has captivated them. His is the essence of cool, no ‘side’ as the English used to say; just a natural unforced joie de vivre which even his beaten competitors enjoy and appreciate. So when the head of the Olympic movement, Jacques Rogge, slated Usain for discourtesy  in ‘showing off’ and not congratulating his competitors, everybody came to Bolt’s defence. If Rogge had really ‘seen’ the race he would gave realised that unlike any other 100 meters ever run at the Olympics,  the leader was so far away from the field that he  would have had to go back a long way to perform the usual obsequies - sorry, courtesies.

Out of the Cockpit

I was born about ten miles as the crow flies, from Usain’s birthplace and my father used to preach at his community church, Waldensia.  Driving to Sherwood Content now  is not much different to sixty years ago. The road is still awful. but the scenery is grand, with the cliffs of the Cockpit Country looming over the road for much of the journey from Clark’s Town.

Usain Bolt proves, if proof were needed, that the Cockpit Country still has treasures to offer the world. The treasures include  its people, who have never given up the real struggle for autonomy and self respect, as well as  the natural endowment which is beyond cataloguing.

Here is the real Jamaican heartland, the geological, historical and cultural nexus of our civilisation.

That is why some of us want to protect it from the lustful embrace of the bauxite companies and other ‘developers’ who want what’s there for the money they can make out of it and to leave it barren, devastated and useless.

Usain Bolt behaves like a Trelawny man. He has taken his destiny into his own hands. He chose his coach himself and though he listens to everything he says, he is not simply a puppet - as some athletes are to their trainers and as some of us are to our leaders and our economic superiors.

The road away from Sherwood Content is a demonstration of the past, sugar cane flourishing where food should be growing.

Usain Bolt shows the new way to independence, self-development and community responsibility. I hear he is putting money into various projects in his community. He knows where he came from and he knows where he is going.

As he said, after the 200 meters final, echoing Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali after his Olympic triumph 40 years ago– he is “the Greatest”.

It’s the truth. It is not a boast.

There’s a natural mystic, blowing through the air …

________________

For a good word on Rogge, read Sally Jenkins in the Washing ton Post <http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/08/21/AR2008082101863.html>

Copyright © 2008 John Maxwell

Jankunnu@gmail.com

no grim foreboding

no grim foreboding may hold back the sun
a cycle comes around to those who wait
you just have faith in what you have begun

there is a tale that many folk have spun
about the sword that hangs above the gate
no grim foreboding may hold back the sun

a serious tool that no one could outrun
creator of inevitable fate
you just have faith in what you have begun

this is no illness that the weak might shun
nor is there room here for fools to berate
no grim foreboding may hold back the sun

enough to know the first hard blow will stun
and greedy onlookers will desecrate
you just have faith in what you have begun

i send the message knowing you have won
beyond what’s given us to love or hate
no grim foreboding may hold back the sun
you just have faith in what you have begun

a sort of dialectic

we spend long hours just waiting for the rain
noting the anguish of the groaning trees
there’s not a thing we do that seems to please

none of our choices ever turns germane
or leads us to the path of rest and ease
we spend long hours just waiting for the rain

it does not help just turning up the gain
or ducking under walls to dodge the breeze
these are the ones that nothing could appease
we spend long hours just waiting for the rain

au plein air

there is no need to fear the open eye
it will not see what lies within each heart
but only what is made by normal art
this is the standard ordinary lie
that we accept by way of getting by
since each of us has got to play our part
to do our duty seem to give a fart
and then give everyone a plain goodbye
there are no honest signs of desperation
we simply wait for all good things to fade
while in the background there’s a simple tone
appropriate to those in our dull station
with little left to show and less to trade
and all our blankness showing in the bone

active listening

we miss the word that no one wants to hear
so much is urgent at the changing hour
just before dawn and our faces are dour

so many needs and so much we hold dear
our hearts must quail and we just have to cower
we miss the word that no one wants to hear

no one can see behind the sharp veneer
to all the swords that still sustain our power
instead they praise the fruit within the flower
we miss the word than no one wants to hear

advice to the young

you ask for gifts that last longer than gold
not knowing how the clouds assemble fast
this is the way the story’s always told

we seem so formal stiff and even cold
our hearts are given to the vanished past
you ask for gifts that last longer than gold

what you expect are souls ardent and bold
whose urgencies and wishes have to last
this is the way the story’s always told

but those who have bad cards just have to fold
the noble outcome cannot be forecast
you ask for gifts that last longer than gold

it does no good to scream rebuke and scold
nor nail your tattered colours to the mast
this is the way the story’s always told

only the wary live to become old
those who are foolish cannot take the blast
you ask for gifts that last longer than gold
this is the way the story’s always told

an older sort of burden

each is in turn a giver of good names
assigned to govern within lines of light
with eyes keen focused on the simple flames

it never does just to admit your aims
before the last bright bird has taken flight
each is in turn a giver of good names

we might have chosen to make larger claims
and kept our targets always in plain sight
with eyes keen focused on the simple flames

instead we set things out in complex frames
and made our object something of a rite
each is in turn a giver of good names

it’s not enough to say we banish shames
and curses for we have not been forthright
with eyes keen focused on the simple flames

we turn our purposes into vain games
our chances of survival seem but slight
each is in turn a giver of good names
with eyes keen focused on the simple flames