Jason Allen-Paisant
Self-Portrait as Othello I
Undeterred by father’s anger
& disapproval,
she thinks that we
should have every right
to be in love—
Venice aristocrat,
African soldier.
Her belief,
this version of myself,
a future
for her and for me—
why should I always fight?
Raised by tales of Barbary
and Guinea, she offered her country
in exchange for my stories—
encounters with death,
my childhood as soldier
on the River Gambia.
The jealous white boy’s venom
was language—
even now very now
an old black ram is
tupping your white ewe.
When I spoke, my sound
was white gaze—
proving I was just as good
& everything was done
to remind me these rules will never
make you forget—
the very real thing
is that you should not have
too much, should not be
too large in this space.
What is Iago but that—
the language controlling the play.
And what he was saying,
thousands were saying and thinking.
Here I am now; we see
how it ends; yes,
we’re freed from the play.
As faith crumbled
I thought, probably
you loved my storytelling
more than me, Mandinka warrior
da Ghinea;
and the demon became
my own face.
And still—dare I believe
that this was real?
Is there chance for revision?
Do we enter the stage
in another world?
Do we continue
our unfinished rehearsal?
Othello Walks
Othello walks through
the marbled city;
his skin betrays him.
I am not what I am.
He is striving against
badmind. This is Othello’s life—
trying to beat the odds
and what is asked of him?
To be more fair than black
If virtue no delighted
beauty lack—
a body
just an envelope
bearing no mark
†
Where are you from &
why are you so far away
from your country?
†
You’re real to me as I
ring your name; more present
than the living. I imagine what
may have brought you to this city.
In one scenario, you’re following
your father’s
footsteps across the oceans.
You’re looking for him in the wind.
Self-Portrait as Othello II
The Black body is signed as physically and psychically open space… A space not simply owned by those who embody it but constructed and occupied by other embodiments. Inhabiting it is a domestic, hemispheric… transatlantic… international pastime. There is a playing around in it.
Dionne Brand, A Map to the Door of No Return.
You left home for
a wondering lust
for pain
had driven you
to the edge of yourself
and wanting to open the windows
of life
you decided
to migrate to this country
leaving job behind
becoming student again
to fulfil a lifelong ambition
Travelling was a glory
especially for the poor
a miracle to leave your own
you came to Europe
a way of changing gears
greener pastures
the term that floated about
—prestige
but you also came
for a different sound
the quaintness of gestures
of faces & food &
new tongues are something
like trophies
faccia faces façades . . .
The façade hides things
you like this
Something about the air that you
take into your body
tongues, words not understood
what does it mean
to be far more fair
than black
education speech
dress learning
You have the brawn of an
intellectual rude boy
sturdier in brain-
work than in war
You know hard life
streets and livity
talk Shakespeare, Baudelaire,
Dante and Nietzsche
talk sound system
What actually is the language
of where you’re from?
It’s that familiarity with rough life
that eye of struggle, that smell
of fight
a little hardness
in speech, in words, in something
a coming up vibe
Oxford and all
that she likes
so invites you to visit at Christmas
three whole days with family, and
one party to the next
but they think it’s going
to pass, this fascination
with the dark-skinned boy;
surely she’ll come around
find someone of her kind
when she is sated
Who Is Othello? I
Raised on the river Gambia, where
I learned to row in the Venetian way,
dive with amphibian lungs &
fight with hands and sword.
Men came looking for us,
promising residences
on the Canal Grande,
estates on the mainland,
jobs as condottieri.
At 28, I was in Venice;
at 30, a commander of land armies.
Otello, from Old high German Otto,
meaning ‘rich and prosperous’
I am here and I’m striving.
Otello
da Ghinea
is my name
I stopped in at many ports where
sailors cavorted
I stopped in at Venice
and it became my home
Who Is Othello? II
The decree of 1489 distinguished
between white and black slaves
for the first time
And in the midst of that you
as a noble Black in Venice
saraceno nobile
contracted because of
your skills in war
a sailor and sea captain
Tall and sculptural
your body
split the wind boldly
Condottiero
you excel in battles
but not in the city
Self-Portrait as Othello III
I was called bois d’ébène
pieces of scattered wood
I am dismembered
I look for the different parts of myself
in the world’s oceans
in the black blood of Europe’s
monuments, in their sweat stains
In the nervous system
of the bridge—
Rialto—
I sound my cells
I have been here before and heard
the lips of the water against the houses,
seen the light of the Canal
This place is no stranger
The vowels planed from the ocean
dissolve on my tongue.
A patina-streaked conqueror
wants to be my father
I birth you with my seed
My name is in crisis
I am scattered all over
your cities, Europe
Self-Portrait as Othello IV
I am neither a thugz nor a shotta
All I wanted was not
to be invisible to have face
have talk
Here, I am anything I want—
I make myself
They want stories
stories are everything
for my audience
I tell stories
That she likes
can’t get enough
Stories—
she wanted in I mean
she wanted in—
to this outside world
Iago’s voice
was too loud
too controlling
public school boys sit
in parliamentary green chairs
in the MCR
their accent so round
so sonorous
so full
of the knowledge that money bought
they know every place
have done everything
and me
my knowledge was
undefinable desire
for a country—a country,
the breathing of the ocean;
hunger not for hair’s breadth escapes
for dangers, but for stories,
the liquid of language
Jason Allen-Paisant is from a village called Coffee Grove in Manchester, Jamaica. He is an Associate Professor of Aesthetic Theory & Decolonial Thought in the School of English at the University of Leeds and his debut collection is Thinking with Trees (Carcanet. 2021).