38 contemporary poetry
We in the Caribbean have a kind of plurality: we have English,
which is the imposed language on much of the archipelago. It
is an imperial language, as are French, Dutch and Spanish.
We also have what we call Creole English, which is a mixture
of English and an adaptation that English took in the new
environment of the Caribbean when it became mixed with the
other imported languages. We have also what is called nation
language, which is the kind of English spoken by the people
who were brought to the Caribbean, not the offi cial English
now, but the language of slaves and labourers, the servants
who were brought in.^23Nichols suggests that the use of Creole is a way of ‘reclaiming our
language heritage and exploring it. It is an act of spiritual survival
on our part.’^24 Her commitment to Creole in poetry aims not only
to preserve culture, but to energise her writing: ‘I do not think the
only reason I use Creole in my poetry is to preserve it, however. I
fi nd using it genuinely exciting. Some Creole expressions are very
vivid and concise and have no equivalent in English’ (p. 284 ). In
‘Skanking Englishman Between Trains’, she playfully focuses on
the appropriation of Jamaican Creole and culture by a ‘small yellow
hair Englishman’ (p. 33 ) with a ghetto blaster perched on his shoul-
der ‘skanking’, or pacing in time, to reggae at Birmingham Station.
The pose of the Englishman is comic, especially when he asserts
his abhorrence of English food ‘I like mih drops / me johnny cakes
/ me peas and rice’ (p. 33 ). Punctuating each of his statements with
a ‘Man’, the Englishman is truly a convert, but one also senses the
underlying critique that there is more to knowledge of another’s
culture than an appetite for cornbread. Nichols’s ironic turn of
phrase is apparent, she comments at the close ‘he was full-o-jive /
said he had a lovely Jamaican wife’ (p. 33 ). Here the ventriloquised
language of hipster-talk is placed into a sharp critical focus.
The fi nal sections of the volume reinforce the complexities of
Caribbean history and culture and challenge its accessibility as
mere lifestyle choice. Nichols returns us to the language of eco-
nomics, stating that ‘Poverty is the price / we pay / for the sun girl’
(p. 42 ). Memories of childhood and the sayings of elders haunt the
images of returning home. Nichols inserts the rhetorical language