Issues of Identity and Art: Derek Walcott

When we travel the world, we carry with us our sense of national identity, and the potential to transform this based upon the experiences we encounter along the way. It is only when we free ourselves from our personal connections to society, from the past and from the future that we move forward and are able to create truly authentic artwork. How do we do this without losing our sense of self along the way? As we examine the life and work of artist Derek Walcott, we may come to realize that identity arises then not solely from external influences, but from individual decisions about which aspects of inheritance we accept as our own. Walcott, “the descendent of two white grandfathers and two black grandmothers” (with a mix of British, Dutch and African heritage), chose to maintain certain aspects of his identity and by doing so opened the door to true self-expression and personal development (Jonathan Cape, 1962). In his own words, he states “I bear my house inside me, everywhere” (Walcott, 176). These words echo in my own heart; however, not only do Walcott and I come from two entirely different geographical locations; but our place in the field of identity theory differs, as well.

When we examine this artist’s life, it becomes clear that the majority of his work is generative, in that the primary concern in his life and in his art making has to do with accepting his own ‘racial hybridity’. In doing so, he is able to create a cultural identity strong enough to serve as a foundation for his greatest works. The fact that he has been able to successfully work as a playwright, poet and art critic in the Caribbean, a place where theaters are few and far between, start and run his own theater called the Little Carrib Theater, as well as to serve as visiting Professor to Boston University is a testimony to his creative genius. Although, in his poetry he expresses at times this feeling that he is ‘caught between worlds’, in his personal life he certainly seems comfortable living outside the lines that still serve to separate the black folk cultures of his native Caribbean and European cultures and literary cannon. Like Walcott, I too have learned to carry my creative integrity with me as I move through this world. However, after reviewing Eric Erickson’s work in Identity Theory it became clear to me that for a long time I was creating my own identity as I worked, and only recently had I moved to the relationship vs. isolation phase of his famous eight phase theory. My work in my early twenties, up to this point has had a lot to do with the formation of artistic collaborations and establishing my own voice as separate from the sea of talent that exists in the world. Most recently, like Walcott, I find myself most drawn to the generative phase of development. I know now that my role as a creative artist is to give back to the younger generation, and to do so may mean moving past this early individualistic phase. In addition, after carefully examining my own life and work, I am beginning to understand this idea that as Americans “we’re all imported, black, Spanish…When one says one is American-that’s the experience of being American-that transference of whatever color, or name or place of escape, and it is not even a place of resolution. It is a place of struggle.“ (Conversation with Derek Walcott, p. 2 Lorenzo Thomas).

Walcott , like a Phoenix rising from the ashes has throughout his artistic career held an uncanny ability to piece together the fragments of his identity and generate his greatest works. In this excerpt from A Far Cry from Africa, Walcott’s voice can be heard raw, but clear:
I who am poisoned with the blood of both,
Where shall I turn, divided to the vein?
I who have cursed
The drunken officer of British rule, how to choose
Between this Africa and the English tongue I love?
Betray them both, or give back what they give?
How can I face such slaughter and be cool?
How can I turn from Africa and live?

Although I have never shared this feeling of being ‘poisoned with the blood’ of two vastly different ethnicities, nor felt torn between two languages, I do feel an affinity with the lyrical voice of the islands themselves that he expresses unconsciously as he writes and creates his watercolors. The language of the people of the Caribbean is a language that sings. It is fluid, flexible to new ideas and funny little sayings, there is an interesting abstraction to it. Without being overbearing, it is philosophical and poetic; yet it is so different from traditional English that at times one might be tempted to jump toward the closest dictionary to try to look up some abbreviated or invention word. On the island of St. Lucia, the mix between French patois and English in the schools strengthened Walcott’s ability to capture the kind of lyrical, surrealistic voice that many an English writers have since tried to recapture; but failed. Such style has truly only been mastered by the likes of Neruda, Lorca, Cesaire and others schooled in the Romance languages: Spanish, French, Italian, Portuguese. The language of the Caribbean just so happens to match the language of that my soul sings softly in New England. Somewhat subdued, the colorful layers of meaning that my poetry has often created in in my audience’s imagination became clear to me, as I stepped off the boat for the first time and laid foot on the Bahamian shore.

The first circular steps that I took around Man O War Cay, were steps light as whistling arrows for they were steps taken without expectation. At first, there seemed to be no logical separation between my life as I had dreamt it, and the life that I could only anticipate with my eyes closed in the comfort of my home, or lying out under a clear night sky. When reading a description of Walcott’s native island St. Lucia, I am reminded again of that feeling of richness that I felt when I allowed myself to loosen my grip on tradition and progress’s reigns in order to allow for the aesthetic beauty of the place to touch my spirit. It did not matter that many of the Bahamians there communicated without utilizing the latest technologies; the important work of the day was done mainly via direct communication or by hand. Of course, in this day and age there is a sense even there that technology is moving in; but Bahamians certainly aren’t known to rush as they value quality and genuine human interactions first. The tourists influx helps support their economy, so in that sense the islanders must comply (to some degree) to standards set by other nations; however, this movement is not embraced by all of the islanders. Endurance without technological enlightenment in this day and age means that the islanders must constantly be in competition with the land owners, real estate agents and those who promoted cultural integration of all kinds on the island in order to survive there. Walcott refers to outsiders to his native island as ’hotel mongers’ and greedy ’UNESCO guerillas’ to name a few labels, and yet he is still somewhat proud of his British heritage as he values the literary cannon and has a clan of cross-cultural friends (including the late poet and Castine summer resident Robert Lowell). To Walcott greatness knows no physical boundary line or language. In Walcott’s homeland he recognizes his own British heritage without losing a sense of African customs, as well. It is through his artwork that he seems to be able to maintain this sense of integrity of being; however, he also clearly recognizes the fact that any time an individual chooses to integrate aspects of two different cultures and languages that something will be forgotten. It is through this sometimes painful process that he frees himself, and consequently invites his audience to join him as he illuminates the differences between cultures, and the somewhat strained Caribbean connection to the predominately English literary cannon. For example, why had he learned as a boy about snowflakes and winter and not the wrath of the familiar hurricane? His artworks depicts people as landscape: humble and free. He sings of his “wide country, the Caribbean Sea
who hated shoes, whose soles were cracked as stone,
who was gentle with ropes, who had one suit alone,
whom no man dared to insult and who insulted no one,
whose grin was a white breaker cresting, but whose frown
was a growing thunderhead…” (from Omeros)

How familiar this all sounds…the talk of the lack of meaning in contemporary society and the artist who is able to keep his finger on the pulse of life without compromising his values along the way. These creative, precious moments that so often occur as we create our art, sing our song, light the world with the fire that can only be known as our life spark are the moments that transform us all as artists and as human beings. Not only do we have the power as individuals to construct reality as we move along; but together we have a responsibility to teach the younger generation, as well. Could this be best described as a sort of servitude? Are we truly humbled by this process as artists, or do we actually have a skewed perspective regarding our role as artist and creators here in America? Poet and artist Derek Walcott challenges this notion by stating to a group of his students at Boston University “the problem is that Americans think that poetry is democratic, that anyone can write it. It’s not-it’s aristocratic”?

When reading this statement for the first time, I felt as though I had been hit on the head with a sledge hammer and then was waking up to a world where I suddenly could see the limitations of the language of the English literary cannon that I had grown up adoring, as well as the limitations of so many other claims that I have always made at heart regarding the unity between myself and others. Sure enough, I had solely relied upon the English language as the common ground, the vehicle through which I communicated my thoughts and dreams to the world. Suddenly, I could no longer view English as the sole basis for communicating, nor could I identify exactly what it meant really to live by these new passionate beliefs. My vision cleared, suddenly it made the most sense to me that the poor would claim a certain undeniable, closeness with God, one that I could only reach through the art of servitude. So there, I saw it and saw myself desiring the nothingness that I so often did desire when creating my poetry. When I was in the Bahamas, I taught every day I could…wore the basically the same kinds of clothes to work (just a couple of outfits that I had initially planned to wear on the boat)…served…helped children grow a garden and sought spiritual counsel, all while I was in Walcott’s home territory: the Caribbean. But truthfully, I was an outsider even then with constant concerns. I wondered how I would transfer the experiential knowledge that I had learned there and make it applicable in the states. I wondered where I would go to apply this new sense of identity that I had developed after learning a bit about what it feels like to be both a minority and a teacher. For the first time, I claimed to know what it felt like to be the bird that guides Icharus on his journey towards the sun, only in my mind I was not going to burn eternally in the end. Like Walcott, I knew that I was destined to return to my place of origin to relearn the importance of tradition and the meaning of America’s appetite for progress. It is my job now to pick up the pieces and soar again. It is my aim to teach and strive to generate strong new pathways for the younger generation of this country to follow here and abroad. The truth is that this although this change in perspective temporarily freed me, I feel more determined than ever before to create from my heart for this is the stage of development that I now embrace as a creative artist and teacher.

Bibliography available upon request.