I came to poetry late in my writing life. More honestly, I avoided it. Successfully. I struggle to remember whatever poetry it is I read in secondary school, but I can remember the opening line of Rebel, the book I read as a form one student without prompting: ‘Dawn came early to Pachanga’. I do recall recitations in primary school. When family gathered, the children would be prodded into action to perform. We took turns reciting and acting out the rhymes we had learnt in school. Suitably impressed, the aunts and uncles applauded the ‘rasteishins’ their children had crammed. ‘Fly away Peter, ...
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