An Open Letter To My Dear Friend of Panorama, Poet Mervyn Taylor

 

Thanks for the sentiment, Merv.

This year’s big ‘do may turn out to be a Panorama to remember.

Robbie down by the stadium with Starlift, probably holding a grudge against Despers;

Zanda traveling from Siparia Deltones to Greyfriars with his earthy arranging style for Town to scrutinize night after night, amid the glare of the city;

Teague wanting to prove a point in a post-Rama rant he had with me (after he read Spilling of Blood and not understanding that the story was about two friends who duke it out every year in public (“Silver Stars played good music and you only mentioned that we tied for third”) - when he wins, and it could be this year, he’ll get his due - Jeez.

Boogsie coming off an irrational decision to expatiate upon “Woman on the Bass” at the World Rama, despite all those pretty songs framed on his wall of exotic music;

Pelham and Rudder reuniting for a reprise of vibes from Dus in yuh Face;

Duvone practically goaded into popping his virginity by handing the ‘Gades his first, though his late mentor’s music remains stuck in a groove in his head — like an ol’ Gramophone needle — and it behooves him to find his own voice, in hi def;

All of that, notwithstanding Supernovas feeling their way through virtual reality, a horse without blinders, because Amrit, whipping around the bend, could see clearly now, straightaway ahead, that the track is his.

Oh, lest we forget, Boogsie and Smooth fighting for the million, both hoarding a reputation of never being ‘fraid of keen competition, ‘cause “Kings Go Forth,” and they may regard wannabes in the Rama as minnows to a wash basin. As man, you as poet, you know ‘bout minnows. Let me dolls it up a bit. Some ah dem fellas is small fish, too small to fry in the rangatang Savannah. So don’t be surprised if the Rama judges throw them out with they bathwater.

Also, doh get shock if the two big sharks get tie up in the lines of the judges’ reasonin’. After all, Merv, ‘member none ah dem adjudicators foreign. And Panorama is about, well, make a play.

Stagger Lee?

It was Stagger Lee and Billy
Two men who gambled late
Stagger Lee threw seven
Billy swore that he threw eight

So Panorama is about scores, too.

He said, nobody move
And he pulled his forty-four

Could be that kinda thing - a head trip.

Expect anything, then exit the Savannah with your mind now on Dimanche Gras and you hoping the tailor finish making your costume in time, for ain’t no longer Jouvert as we used to live it.

Speaking of which, watch for Requiem for Jouvert Pan on WST - a partial answer to questions I field from so many people about why I haven’t been back in four years.

Wishing you and Roy a productive year in the Labor Day mas on the Avenue. The world watching, eh. They eye on the Rama, too, of course.

Best, Dalton — 29 Port of Spain