By Olive Senior
Gardening within the Tropics encompasses a wealthy Caribbean international in poems provided to readers all over. Olive Senior's wealthy vein of humour can flip wry after which sharp in satire of colour-consciousness, class-consciousness and racism. yet her fundamental tone is the verbal identical of a couple of wide-open fingers. compliment for Olive Senior's paintings "The factor that instantly moves one is her regulate of tone — like a singer having ideal pitch." — E.A. Markham
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Extra info for Gardening in the Tropics
Sample text
Part of a vast cosmic program that once set in motion cannot be undone though we become plant food and earth wind down. They'll outlast us, they were always there one step ahead of us: plants gone to seed, generating the original profligate, extravagant, reckless, improvident, weed.
You still had this burning desire to set sail even though (now and always) and despite what long ago the fortune teller said"I see something great in your hand, something noble" you were rudderless. Marooned in the grey you decided to garden. Since they called you witch you would conjure up bright 48 flowers spelling each other all year. In spring (you wrote) you planted seeds. "I wanted heaps of poppies . . " Instead (you wrote) there was sometimes "blue murder in my wicked heart" and a red dress in your closet a "Christmas cracker dress" - the whole village knew and whispered waiting for another explosion (like that which long ago came from the attic).
Maybe you haven't quite taken in the colonizing ambitions of hitchhiking burrs on your sweater, surf-riding nuts bobbing on ocean, parachuting seeds and other airborne traffic dropping in. And what about those special agents called flowers? Dressed, perfumed, and made-up for romancing insects, bats, birds, bees, even you - don't deny it, my dear, I've seen you sniff and exclaim. Believe me, Innocent, that sweet fruit, that berry, is nothing more than ovary, the instrument to seduce 63 you into scattering plant progeny.