Death of Dub Poet

Loss to poetry as Jean ‘Binta’ Breeze dies.

How sad to read of acclaimed poet Jean Binta Breeze’s death in a local paper.

Jean was credited with starting dub – poetry and a regular on the poetry scene around Leicester. When I was fortunate enough to attend a poetry course she taught she inspired some of what I still believe to be my better poetry.

Her contribution to Leicester’s spoken – word scene was immense and she ensured an inclusive and open community of poets continues to thrive.

I think she was ill when she taught me and afterwards returned to Jamaica and went on to be awarded an honorary degree from the University of Leicester in 2017 as well as an OBE.

I was thinking of her only the other day when I came across one of her poems:

          Moonwise (for my children, all)

sometimes

you know

the moon

is not such a perfect

circle

and the master Painter

makes a passing

brush touch

with a cloud

don’t worry

we’ve passed

the dark side

all you children

rest easy now

we are born

moonwise

I hope people read her work to her in the final stage of her life. When the moonlight washes my backroom’s view with silver I shall think of her.

Although of course I’m reticent about putting my work near Jean’s here’s something I wrote under her teaching.

Waiting For Release

Hanging In the air,

floating as if suspended in space,

the wait for a light in the distance

to barely break through cloudy damp mist.

Breathless vacuum tight and heavy with heat,

presses down the room’s atmosphere

sinking like a leaden deadened weight

Background noises repeat to a beat

Its monotonous bang, bang, bang of an army’s

advancing marching, boot – clad feet.

Moving to the sound of a military drum

its skin strung tight as my instinct to run

To move with the thud, thud of a canon ball’s release

follow my plan to escape this stifling place.

Charcoals fizz out and embers burn down.

The smouldering dying flames of my years in this town.

Leave burnt down bracken, smoking sooted peat.

The past catches in the back of my throat,

like rough pipe tobacco smoke.

I exhale deep with relief.

For the waiting is over, finally I am released.