Omeros

Sometimes reading an insanely complex, mind-boggling 325 page poem pays off.

But only on page 320, after reading millions of pages of critical analysis and falling asleep multiple nights in a row trying to piece everything together in my head to make sense of it.

Sometimes Derek Walcott just writes beautifully, and I can enjoy what he says at face value.

And sometimes its nice to not have to read the other 324 pages to understand all the layers and the metaphors and complexities.

I just really like this part from Omeros, and I'm not even going to analyze it.

I sang our wide country, the Caribbean Sea.

Who hated shoes, whose soles were as cracked as a stone,

who was gentle with ropes, who had one suit alone,

whom no man dared insult and who insulted no one,

whose grin was a white breaker cresting, but whose frown

was a growing thunderhead, whose first of iron

would do me a great honour if it held on

to my casket's oarlocks than mine lifting his own

when both anchors are lowered in the one island.

And I love his paintings!