Ian Allen/Staff Photographer
Cyril Goffe leafing through his poems.

Avia Collinder, Outlook Writer

Cyril L. Goffe is an award-winning poet resident in St Andrew. His work has been published in the anthology Stepping Stones, compiled by the International Library of Poetry. He is the father of Jannice Tucker Goffe, a nurse based in California, USA, John Goffe, electrical engineer and businessman in the United States; and Jennifer Goffe, teacher in Kingston.

This week, we tell his story in his own words.

God be blessed. If I should go back to my boyhood days it would be a long story. And, how old do you think I am? One hundred?

No, I am 100 years and four months old. I was born on April 5, 1908. They say it was a Sunday morning when people were going to church. They say the Queen sent me a letter. I don't believe it. I don't believe she wrote it.

You want to talk about what I wrote? My poems?

There are a few things which have inspired me. That poem - the one for which I won the award (Poet of the Year Prometheus award, 2000 famous Poets Society, US) was inspired by a man who killed a pig and said it was for Christmas Day.

So this man killed the pig and when his wife asked him for one small part to make a meal on Christmas Eve, he said no, the pig is for tomorrow.

Today, not tomorrow

I may not be around tomorrow

To do the good I should today

Helping others and soothing sorrow

Spreading joy along the way,

For 'now' it is, and not tomorrow.

I may not be around tomorrow

To praise for good deeds wrought

By heroes who faced the arrow

Saving lives as they ought,

For if not now, too late tomorrow.

This man died before the dawn. Went to bed and never woke up. Somebody else enjoyed his pig. But, about writing, writing is my life.

The first time I was inspired to write was when I was a boy and I saw an aeroplane for the first time. I can' t remember the words of the poem but I recall it was a seaplane.

Going back to my boyhood days in the midst of six girls, I was a lonely boy. At about 10 years old I wanted to play games with the little boys in the area - in Rock River Clarendon we were born - but my mother and sister would always be calling me to do chores the girls could have done.

After everything was done, I could go back to play. But this became an annoyance to me.

I said 'God, why didn't you give me a brother?' I asked him over and over again.

I was sent to Rock River Elementary School by my mother Rebecca Goffe, and father, Daniel Goffe.

My mother died when I was very young, but she gave me something to hold on to. She said, 'Remember God. Think of God.'

Every Sunday she dressed me and sent me to church. I remember my best wish in those days was to be a carpenter or contractor. It never materialised.

It appeared as if bad mind was the problem. I had put myself to learn something, but I learnt it too fast, faster than the son of the man who apprenticed me. One Monday morning, I was the only journeyman who turned up at work.

The man was very reluctant to make me work, although he had a deadline. In the end, he took my tools and gave them away. Then there was this woman who wanted me to dig yam hills in her garden.

I walked eight miles to work in that garden. One day I told my father I was not going back.

Eventually, I made contact with my older sister who worked at the Myrtle Bank Hotel in Kingston. I did go to stay with her a while but things were not happy and I went back home.

I did not want to be an idler. I tried a little agriculture but the criminals came and took my cane. Yes, there has been a lot of discouragement. I planted bananas and the thieves came.

I would say that in every way and in all things in my life, what they could not take away was my ambition.

You may fall, but ambition brings you right back up and keeps you up.

The Tide Surges

We suffer and ye know it not,

Nor yet can ever know,

What depth of bitterness is ours,

Or why we suffer so;

If ye would know what anguish is,

Ask of the dark-skinned race,

Ay! ask of him who lives to know

The colour of his face.

Then plead as he has often pled

For manhood among men,

And feel the pain of rights denied;

Thou canst not know till then.

Or share with him for one brief space,

Ambition's fond desire,

Reach out, and strive, as he has striven,

And aim for something higher.

Let knowledge cultivate, refine,

Let culture feed the mind,

Then fondly dream of hopes fulfilled,

And dreaming wake to find;

That merit worth or patient toil

Does not suffice to win.

Then learn the cause of this defeat,

The colour of the skin.

We suffer and yet know it not,

Nor yet can ever know,

What depth of bitterness is ours,

Or why we suffer so.

I came back to Kingston and joined the police force. It was in Kingston that, in 1947, I met my prospective wife.

Darling it was with you I strolled in the light of the moon,

'twas at your side I enjoyed the night in June

'twas on you the moon did smile as your graceful gait I admired the while.

I met her at Gibraltar Camp in Kingston where the World War II evacuees from Gibraltar and Malta were housed. I was on duty as a member of the constabulary force.

I saw her there and asked her name. And she refused to say. She told me to guess.

I remember when I was about 15 years old, while I was in the bushes - on the farm - I asked God to choose a wife for me.

She was a wonderful woman, Neva Goffe. She died in 1994.

Acrostic - dedicated to my wife

May you prosper where'er you go

Eternally abiding under God's love

Vindicating for the right you know

Always remembering thy reward above.

God preserve, honour and uphold thee

Offering help to thee in need

Faithful to the end, desperation never see

Founded on the 'Rock' evil supersede

Every hour, every day strengthened and free.

I write from experience, from life's inspiration, and sometimes, too, you write about the things you did not do.

Regret

I said a thoughtless word one day,

A loved one heard and went away;

I cried: "Forgive me, I was blind;

I would not wound or be unkind."

I waited long, but all in vain,

To win my loved one back again.

Too late, alas! to weep and pray,

Death came; my loved one passed away.

Then, what a bitter fate was mine!

No language could my grief define;

Ah! deep regret could not unsay

The thoughtless word I spoke that day.

I have never counted the number of poems I wrote. This other poem was inspired by a cat and a lizard I saw right there on my veranda.

The lizard was having a fine time until he was caught. Other poems have been inspired by the ordinary situations of life.

They don't mix

Don't be stupid, it's what I mean

You say one for the road, Dean?

Do you want it still?

Haven't you your fill?

Don't you remember the road havoc

Just because of an extra gill?

Can't you realise your head gets light,

And your brakes can't bite

When your foot's on the accelerator not right

And now there is death in sight?

Listen, one never knows what tomorrow will bring. My sight is good. So is my hearing, but my memory is gone. The words come and then they are gone.

At Sunset

I stood in the doorway at evening,

And I looked to the hills far away

Where the sun's last rays seemed to linger,

Ere they faded in brilliant display.

Yes, lingered in beautiful splendour,

And the scene was rare to behold,

A pale blue sky was its background,

With stretches of pink and gold.

What wonder that Nature's rare beauty

So inspires the soul and thrills

Our beings with tender emotions,

As we look far away to the hills!

These are not just poems. They are my thoughts, too. The verses come like flashes of light but, they come to me and then they go.

I may not be around tomorrow

To see the young grow stalwarts

Living lovingly and hate never borrow

Discuss opinions with open hearts

For there may never be a tomorrow.

We saw yesterday and today

Who knows of expected tomorrow

When none can help in anyway

Bludgeoned by death the foe today;

See, there is no tomorrow!

According to life and according to the way of living today, some people think that they are the masters of tomorrow. But, the truth is, nobody knows what tomorrow will bring.

It is only God who holds the future. We know only of yesterday and all we have is today.

Please note that the poems printed here do not appear in their complete form, but are abbreviated for space.