Jamaica and the world have lost another great dub poet, Klyde Brooks, originally Clyde Brooks, who was known to the world of poets as Durm-I.

The ever-laughing poet and I shared a lot in common. We were both born in Delfland in the parish of Westmoreland. Durm-I would often say, “Malachi,” pronouncing every syllable, “Delfland produce two of the greatest dub poets ever.”

Durm-I was a strict originalist in his philosophy of dub poetry and called out who should not be categorised in the genre. For him, the ascetics and art form of dub poetry is uncompromising in its molecular make-up. The dub poem must not adhere to European or other world models. If it’s written in standard English, ascribes to iambic, trochaic, anapaestic, adctylic or paeonic, in his book, it wasn’t dub poetry.

Durm-I used to boldly assert that the first dub poet was Bongo Jerry and the first dub poem was Bongo Jerry’s
Mabrack. He had a problem with people ascribing the moniker of first dub poet to our cultural mother Louise Bennett-Coverley, “Miss Lou”, as the aesthetics, rhythm patterns, that is, the foot of her poems is iambic pentameter.

In his mind’s eyes, the dub poet is a free spirit who is not, could not, and should not be bounded by societal or Babylonian constructs. “De tin mus be our spellin, our riddim patterns, our stylin, on de page and in delivery, totally our Jamaican informed by our Griot tradition(s) from de motherland.”

Durm-I has written one of the most fascinating philosophical definitions of dub poetry in his thesis titled ‘Dubpoetryologi’.

Durm-I also believed that one would have had to have lived a certain lifestyle, come up and through the fire, lived on the street, to earn your authenticity as a dub poet, and so he deliberately decided to be homeless for a while on the streets of Kingston to immerse himself in the sub-culture of the “suffarah”. In other words, he didn’t believe your words were true if you didn’t live the life of the people’s plight that you were bringing to the fore. To him, the dub poet was a revolutionary. He pined for a poetry revolution. To Durm-I, poetry was god. He also believed that poetry created the world. He said, “abracadabra” was the first word that was spoken. It became light and all other things.

After being away from Jamaica for 30-odd years, living in the cold of Canada, where teaching was his profession — he was a graduate of The Mico College University and the University of Technology, Jamaica — he joined the Jamaica Poets Nomadic College and School Tour in 2019. Looking back, I am glad he did. I had the opportunity to be with him on many country runs. I remember picking him up very early one morning, off Mannings Hill Road, for a session at Brown’s Town Teacher’s College in St Ann. He had a hard time functioning as he hadn’t had his morning smoke. Nevertheless, he did a phenomenal job reading and performing his poems and teaching a poetry workshop for the students at the college.

I chided him on our way down to Ocho Rios High School. I said, “How you a Rasta man and let weed a rule you. You weak.” He didn’t like it at all. He didn’t take kindly to my sentiments and so we engaged in a deep discussion on the subject of smoking. In the end, it was all fun. In retrospect, herbs is a sacrament and food, yes food, for many. We would later stop at a novelty store in “Ochie”, where he bought a lot of T-shirts and other gift items. He took his own poetic time. Staying away from home so long had unleashed a hunger in him for everything Jamaica.

On our drive back to Kingston we engaged in a spirited discussion about making Jamaican our official language. He believed that the time wasn’t right and more work needed to be done on agreeing on some things. I vehemently disagreed. You should have heard the banter and point, counter point between us as we engaged intellectually.

Durm-I also taught the Jamaica Poets Nomadic College and School Tour poetry workshop at The University of the West Indies (UWI), Mona, along with Professor Opal Palmer-Adisa and Lloyd Record. He ended up staying in Jamaica for over nine months after the tour ended, engaging in Poemmagic initiatives until the COVID-19 pandemic struck and left him stranded. He wrote prolifically on
Facebook about his plight when he returned home to Canada. He lost his place and basically had to start all over again.

In June 2023, I flew up to Toronto and drove back down to South Florida. I told him that I was coming and had planned to stop by him on my way down. Unfortunately, we didn’t make the connection.

Late last year I began receiving some sudden and frequent messages from Durm-I that we needed to talk as he wanted us to “go bun some fiyah in Delfland because the violence and killings there was unacceptable”. I agreed to go and do some work in that community with my brother. We had agreed on a date and then the following week he sent me a message informing me that he was very sick and he wouldn’t be able to make the trip, but he wanted me to go. He went as far as telling me that “no police should be at the event”. He wanted it to be a performance and reasoning, on a level, with the community. He even went as far as giving me names and telephone numbers of his relatives in Delfland with whom I should communicate to make the session happen.

After he was told his illness and prognosis, I informed my colleagues from our poetry tour. They were so concerned and would ask me to get daily updates. The last time Durm-I and I spoke, I asked him how he was doing. He didn’t want to hear anything about that and he made that clear. He said man have to dead. Let’s talk about life. I didn’t bother to check on him after. I gave him his space. I followed him online though, as he was so enthused about his new book of poems and some recording project that he had started. I hope to get my hand on a copy of his book and access to his recordings.

Brother Durm-I, you left an indelible mark on the landscape of poetry in Jamaica, in Canada, in the world. I am richer for knowing you and experiencing your Poemmagic. I will never forget your magical readings at Mona High School. Your reading of
I Want To See More People Like Me On My Colour TV had the students in a frenzy. Magic. They demanded an encore. You delivered.

May your laughter be added to the pantheon of stars that light our heavens. Rest in peace, brother.