Rigidly upstanding citizens are quite upset with me because I've brought the uncomfortable issue of language into the conversation about dancehall culture and public morality. I've been accused of 'anancyism' for diverting attention from the 'real' issue: the need to clean up 'raw chaw' dancehall lyrics on the public airwaves.

Because I choose to pay attention to the power play between languages in Jamaica this must mean I believe sound systems should terrorise innocent people who want to sleep at night. And nothing should be banned. That's simply not true. I frequently call the police to lock off sounds that keep me awake after 2 a.m. It's all right for Bob Marley to disturb his neighbour. But not when I want to sleep.

And some dancehall lyrics are undeniably offensive. I used to take dance classes at the Edna Manley College and I still remember some unsettling lyrics I first heard there: "limb by limb wi a go chop dem down." The 'riddim' was very sweet. But I couldn't dance to that. Metaphorical or not, the lyrics were murderous.

Then I don't mind being compared with Anansi, that wily folk figure of noble lineage. Anansi's stock in trade is cunning, an essential tool for intellectual work. It allows you to weigh contradictory ideas and not lose your balance. It makes you see relationships that are not obvious. The root of the English word 'cunning' is Old Norse: 'kunna' to know or see.

Miss Lou an' di kas-kas

Upstanding citizens will get even more rigid when I draw Miss Lou into the Rampin' Shop kas-kas. But I have to. Miss Lou made fun of our contempt for the Jamaican language and our disdain for the messages it conveys. In one of her witty dramatic monologues, 'Jamaica Philosophy,' Miss Lou's Aunty Roachy declares that Jamaican proverbs are a rich source of wisdom. This idea is immediately derided by a 'fool-fool' girl who asks "how yuh coulda put a deestant wud like philosophy wid di ole jamma bad talkin proverbs-dem?"

That's exactly the question indignant people are asking me: how yu coulda put a deestant wud like 'poetry' - not to mention 'erotic' - wid di dutty, bad-talkin Rampin' Shop lyrics? It's an easy slide from the 'badness' of the language to the 'slackness' of the content. Worse, when the content is sexual. Is slackness top a slackness. We constantly make moral judgements about language - 'good' English versus 'bad' patwa. And we keep drumming these sounds of self-contempt into our children. They are just as polluting as the indiscriminate night noises from irresponsible sound system operators who have no respect for other people's rights: the right to life, liberty and a good night's sleep.

Killing originality

In one of her wicked poems, 'Bans a Killin' Miss Lou persuasively argues that Jamaican - which she calls 'dialect' - is not inferior to English. And she firmly puts in his place censorious Mas Charlie who, somewhat like the Broadcasting Commission these days, is trying to kill off verbal creativity in the slack local language. Here are the first two and the last two verses of Miss Lou's poem:

So yuh a de man me hear bout!

Ah yuh dem seh dah teck

Whole heap a English oat seh

dat

Yuh gwine kill dialect!

Mek mi get it straight, Mas

Charlie

For me no quite understand -

Yuh gwine kill all English dialec

Or jus Jamaica one?

When yuh done kill 'wit' an

'humour',

When yuh kill 'variety',

Yuh wi haffi fine a way fi kill

Originality!

An mine how yuh dah read dem

English

Book deh pon yuh shelf,

For ef yuh drop a 'h' yuh mighta

Haffi kill yuhself.

I've adapted Miss Lou's poem to take on the issue of sexual, not simply oral, slackness. And I've created a fictional character - Aunty Roachy reincarnated as a hottie-hottie dancehall diva? I'm sure literal-minded readers will assume she unequivocally speaks for me. Seet ya. It name 'Bans a Bannin':

So yu a di man me hear bout!

A yu dem seh dah tek

Whole heap a English oat seh

dat

Yu gwine kill slackness!

Mek mi get it straight Misa

Broadcast Commission

For mi no quite understand

Yuh gwine kill off all a di sexy

song dem

Or ongle fi wi dancehall one?

If yu cyaan DJ bout daggerin

Yu cyaan sing no mento bout

solderin

Yu cyaan stir it up inna no kinky

reggae

Yu cyaan sing no calypso bout

going fa cane

Yu cyaan sing no R & B bout

'you send me'

For di whole a dem a sing

Bout di said same ting

Fire fire in di wire wire

Sex a sex no matter what di

tongue

Straight or hide-up, English or

Jamaican

Is all bout tumbling down di hill

If is Jack an Jill or Spice an

Kartel.

Jackass seh di worl no levl

Wat good fi goose no good fi

gander

It look like old time farin

slackness

No loose laka fi wi new style on

ya

An Misa Broadcast Commission

Yu cyaan tap people from watch

dem cable channel

Yu lost yu pass a force eena

people house

A gwaan like seh a you one rule

di waves

Yuh mussi tink seh yu a

Britannia.

Massa day done, Misa

Commissioner

Man an uman free fi tink

An wi don't like wat yu telling wi

Fun is fun an joke is joke

But yu tekkin a joke too far.

Inna dem ya hard time

Yu a try kill off man an uman

business?

Di ongle ting don't gone up?

Yu can still hug up

Fi lickle or notn

Depending pon yu lyrics.

Misa Broadcast Commission

Yu no tink it better wi hold dance

a street

Dan kip up demonstration

Cau wi no ha notn much fi eat?

An careful how yu romp wid

slackness

For mi wi cut yu down to size

Mi wi show yu who a di mistress

When yu nature start fi rise.

That's one of the poems I performed at Yasus Afari's 'Poetry in Motion' stage show which was reviewed by Paul Williams in The Gleaner of March 2. I'm not a real-real poet. I write occasional verse for fun. I dashed off the poem the morning of the show and though I liked the sexual double-speak, I wasn't pleased with the rhythm and rhyme scheme of the last verse which is inaccurately quoted in Williams' review: "An' mind how yuh a tek set pon slackness, for if yuh nature start fi rise, yuh might have to kuum affa de DJ dem back and tek things inna fi yuh owna 'an.'" So I worked at it and came up with the tighter version above.

Incidentally, I question the common use of apostrophes to represent 'missing' English consonants - as in 'an' for hand. Apostrophes visually reinforce the backward argument that Jamaican is mangled English and not a distinct language with its own vocabulary, pronunciation system and grammar. Williams makes the grammatical error of substituting the English 'to' for the Jamaican 'fi' of my original lyrics.

Non-censorial amusement

In the professional judgement of The Gleaner reporter, my performance "made Vybz Kartel and Spice look like cherubs in heaven." Should I take this as a compliment? The poems have been published in local newspapers: The Star and The Observer. I read 'Robin Hood' on the 'Breakfast Club' to the non-censorial amusement of the hosts and many listeners who kept asking for the lyrics.

But that was in the 1990s. In these repressive times, allusions to sex, even if fully clothed in metaphor, can now be subject to censure if the Broadcasting Commission has its way. First lyrics, then literature books. We better tek sleep an' mark death.

Carolyn Cooper is professor of literary and cultural studies at the UWI, Mona. She may be contacted at karokupa@gmail.com. Feedback may also be sent to columns@gleanerjm.com.