Caribbean

A friend in New York has recently reminded me to specifically read Hart Crane poems about the Caribbean Sea in the series called "Voyages".

My mother grew up in the West Indies. My family doesn’t know how to swim. I was “taught” how to swim in school essentially by being thrown into the swimming pool (and being left to fend for myself). When I was going there for vacations, we would have mainly picnics on the beach with my family, and I used to go into the water – but only up to my knees. I slowly taught myself to swim but swam like a “small dog” (as they say in French).

I used to spend vacation time in Martinique. I prefer the Atlantic Ocean to the Caribbean. Nowadays, I can play with my son + my dog in the sea → they can both swim better than me. I feel joy when I encounter the ocean now, because I experience it through my son’s eyes. The experience of weightlessness and buoyancy is what fascinates me the most.

Everyone from France going to the West Indies was telling me that the sea is beautiful. But I was looking at the Atlantic + not at the Caribbean (where you can see your feet in the water) → The sea is different and it felt like we were not talking about same thing. Also, because people talking to me about their vacations in the Caribbean where actually there for leisure. While I was seeing people working from dawn to dusk. We not only didn’t look at the same sea but also not at the same lives.

Here in Europe, we don’t have a strong relation to the elements. In Martinique, there is the
- ocean that can get mad
- the volcano that can get mad
- the wind that can get mad

Some people from the generation of my mother and before came to France from the West Indies by boat. Like the European migrants arriving at Ellis Island. And I often wonder what it would feel like to sail for days and days on the ocean without seeing the shore + then, suddenly, seeing it. You’re starting a new life somewhere new but at the same time you’re in the middle of nowhere (during the crossing).