Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Derek Walcott’s "Names" is a profound meditation on history, identity, language, and the legacy of colonialism. Dedicated to fellow Caribbean poet Edward Brathwaite, the poem addresses the complexities of cultural memory, the erasure of indigenous identities, and the imposition of colonial names and structures on the Caribbean landscape and its people. Through evocative imagery and reflection on the power of naming, Walcott explores the tension between loss and survival, between the past and the present, and between the imposed colonial world and the natural world that endures.

The poem begins with a powerful assertion of origin: "My race began as the sea began, / with no nouns, and with no horizon." Here, Walcott evokes the primordial beginnings of humanity, before language and history were imposed upon the world. The absence of "nouns" suggests a pre-linguistic state of being, unmarked by the categories and distinctions that come with language. The sea, a recurring symbol in Walcott’s work, represents both the vastness of existence and the fluidity of identity. In this space, the speaker's "race"—a term that can signify both personal and collective identity—emerges from the natural world, unrestricted by the borders and definitions that would later be imposed.

The speaker reflects on the early stages of his identity, marked by "pebbles under my tongue" and "a different fix on the stars." The image of pebbles in the mouth suggests both silence and the attempt to articulate something fundamental about existence. Meanwhile, the "different fix on the stars" indicates a distinct perspective, one that diverges from the dominant colonial narratives. The stars, traditionally used for navigation, symbolize a guiding force, but the speaker’s fix is not the same as the one imposed by colonial powers—it reflects an indigenous or ancestral understanding of the world.

However, the poem quickly shifts to the present reality: "But now my race is here, / in the sad oil of Levantine eyes, / in the Hags of the Indian fields." The speaker acknowledges the painful legacy of displacement and colonization, tracing his lineage to various diasporic peoples, including those from the Levant, India, and Africa. These references to specific ethnic and geographic origins suggest the complex, hybrid nature of Caribbean identity, which has been shaped by centuries of migration, slavery, and colonization. The "Hags of the Indian fields" likely alludes to the indentured laborers brought to the Caribbean to work on plantations, further emphasizing the entanglement of cultures in the region.

Walcott returns to the theme of memory, expressing a longing for "that moment / when the mind was halved by a horizon." This line suggests a desire for a clear division between past and present, between origins and the present reality, but the speaker admits that he has "never found that moment." The horizon, often a symbol of possibility and separation, sinks "in the memory," like a fishline descending into the depths. This sinking horizon suggests that memory itself is elusive and difficult to grasp, much like the submerged histories of colonized peoples.

The poem asks, "Have we melted into a mirror, / leaving our souls behind?" This powerful question encapsulates the central dilemma of identity in the postcolonial world. The "mirror" suggests a reflection of something lost—perhaps the true self or a collective cultural soul—leaving behind only a surface image shaped by external forces. The goldsmith, stonecutter, and bronzesmith—representatives of diverse cultures and crafts—are invoked as figures whose identities and histories have been similarly erased or transformed by the tides of history. The cry of the osprey, with its "terrible vowel," becomes a primal sound, representing both loss and a call for recognition: the "I" that signifies individual and collective identity.

The first section ends with a poignant image of the speaker tracing names in the sand, only for the sea to erase them. This act of erasure speaks to the transient nature of identity and history in the Caribbean, where the names and cultures imposed by colonialism often obliterate the indigenous and ancestral identities that came before. The sea, which began the speaker’s race, also plays a role in erasing it, symbolizing both creation and destruction. The speaker’s indifference to this erasure—"to our indifference"—suggests a resigned acceptance of the cycles of loss and forgetting.

In the second section, Walcott turns his attention to the act of naming, exploring how colonial powers imposed their language and culture on the Caribbean. He questions whether the naming of bays, forests, and other natural features was motivated by "nostalgia or irony," suggesting that the colonizers sought to recreate a semblance of home in a foreign land, even as they mocked or disregarded the existing landscape and culture. The references to Castille and Versailles—symbols of European power and grandeur—are contrasted with the natural beauty of the Caribbean, which the colonizers tried to reshape in their image.

The poem critiques the colonizers' need to name and categorize everything: "Being men, they could not live / except they first presumed / the right of every thing to be a noun." The act of naming is an assertion of power, a way of claiming ownership over the land and its people. The African, the poem notes, "acquiesced, / repeated, and changed them," suggesting that the colonized people adapted to the imposed language, but also transformed it in subtle ways, inflecting it with their own voices and experiences.

Walcott celebrates the resilience of the natural world, which remains greater than the artificial structures of Versailles or Castille. The palm trees, with their "fallen columns," are described as more majestic than the European palaces, because "no man made them" and "no man unmade them." Nature, in its permanence and grandeur, surpasses the fleeting monuments of empire, which are ultimately undone by time and decay. The worm, "who has no helmet, / but was always the emperor," becomes a symbol of the natural forces that outlast human power and ambition.

The poem ends with a challenge to the next generation: "children, look at these stars / over Valencia's forest!" The speaker asks the children to identify the stars, not by the names imposed by Western astronomy—Orion or Betelgeuse—but through their own lens of understanding. The answer—"fireflies caught in molasses"—is a playful, imaginative response that rejects the colonial names in favor of something local and specific to the children’s experience.

In "Names," Derek Walcott offers a powerful reflection on the legacy of colonialism and the struggle for identity in the postcolonial Caribbean. Through the themes of naming, memory, and the natural world, Walcott explores how language and history have shaped the region, while also celebrating the resilience of its people and its landscape. The poem underscores the importance of reclaiming and reshaping identity in the face of erasure, and it challenges readers to see the world through a lens that honors both the past and the present.

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