A Page of Pan Literature

Tribute to Kelloggs    A poem written by Dayne Gomes of CSSO celebrating the life of his friend and compatriot, Glendon "Kelloggs" Edwards.  Glendon Edwards was a well respected pan man in Antigua who died in 1997.  Glendon is also brother to Carl Edwards, drummer of CSSO.

Listen to De Pan        A poem written by Gene Nanton of Antigua recounting the experience of pan development in Antigua.

Sugar George             A classic Caribbean poem celebrating the life of a pan man by Paul Keens Douglas of Trinidad.

A Pan for Christmas  A West Indian short story about a pan man finding happiness at Christmas by Paul Keens Douglas of Trinidad.

Tribute to Kelloggs
(Brother to Carl Edwards – CSSO drummer)
by Dayne Gomes

It was a real weird feeling ah had last night
As ah went to bed. Man, ah feeling dread
Is a restless night

Something keep telling me
To go and see wha happening
At Supa Stars panyard…It nagging me

Man, when I open back de panyard gate
Wha ah see inside nearly mek me faint

It was Kelloggs, yes Kelloggs Edwards.  Me friend.
Surrounded by a host of strange glowing men playing pan.
And he look up and say to me “Boy, why you tek so long?”

Ah know ah had to be dreaming…
The celestial hosts were playing pan
And de music was so sweet
Ah could only feel a blessed peace

Then Kelloggs voice, pure and clear,
came near and whispered in my ear

Sorry I had to leave prematurely
A job in Heaven awaited me
I had to build a band For the angels to play pan
Night and day, everyday in praise of HIM

So you see, do not despair for me
Or my family
 have been given a special mission
To spread the joy of pan
From here to the hereafter
And my friend, to you

Then he was gone
But the pans played on

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Listen to De Pan
by Gene Nanton

                                                Listen to de pan
                                        hear dem notes ring clear
                                           when de ping pong man
                                        beat de steel wid him stick

Listen to de pan
let de music fill yuh soul
dis is de roots
of our cultural goal

Listen to de pan
for de music tells a tale
of poor struggling men
who fought to be heard

For de pan had to fight
to be recognized
and de men from Point, Villa and so
showed Antigua
dat de pan could grow

Listen to de pan
for it grow fuh so
no more oil drum hanging from yuh neck
is finely tuned steel
glittering and sweet

Pan and piano
pan and opera
pan at Carnegie
and at de Apollo

Innovative, creative
different, exciting
music in steel
wid steel in de music

Beat de pan
Mr. ping pon man
your music is de soul
of our cultural goal

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SUGAR GEORGE
(Adapted from Paul Keens-Douglas)

I was there when they bury Sugar George
When he get the fus' piece of property he ever own
Six foot of hard, dry Antiguan soil.
And was dust to dust, and George to dust
in true Wadadli style.

It was a fitting death for Sugar George
For he was a MAN, a REAL MAN,
And more dan dat, he was a STEELBAND MAN.

Dey say dat Sugar cut he navel string
On a Esso drum dat still had in oil
For as long as dey could remember,
Sugar was beating pan - all kinda pan.
From he small he mix wid big man
Like a dog among doctors was Sugar
But he didn' mind, once he learn.

I could see him now, in a short pants
No shoe on he foot, no shirt on he back
Standing on a box to reach the bass,
Or holding a tenor in he lap, hiding he face;
All you coulda see was de pan back
An' two dry foot sticking out.

But while the res' of dem was drinking
Mr. Sugar was beating
And while the res' of dem was feteing
Mr. Sugar was beating,
An' even when de panyard was empty,
Mr. Sugar was beating.
Dey even had was to say once
Dat how de panyard was haunted
Cause people hearing pan five in de morning
An' dey can't see nobody
An' nobody going to find out.
Till one morning dey find Sugar
With a Tenor sleeping between two crate.

And through the years Sugar grew
And with Sugar de pan grew.
And in those years when pan meant fight,
Sugar learn to fight.
There was no one to pull a blade
As fast as Sugar George
He cut and he get cut too,
But people respect Sugar,
For he fight only when he had to
And only because he had to.
But Sugar never forget he pan,
Dey say when fight start and band clash,
Sugar tek care o' he pan fus'.
Like a baby he used to wrap it up and hide it
And woe to the man who touch
De pan of Sugar George.

I remember the time Sugar really mek it.
Was a panaorama night, people fa so.
Pasture was ramjam wid crowd,
Every band in Antigua was there.
Ah hear music dat nite till ah stupid;
Den Sugar band come out to play.

Was a classical, a high class classical,
And Sugar was on de tenor.
When dey start, de place was noisy, noisy, noisy,
But as dat music hit de crowd,
Everything get quiet, quiet, quiet,
Like de whole o' pasture hold it breath.
Dat was de sweetest music Wadadli ever hear,
And high in de air, leading de band
Was de sweetest Tenor dis side of heaven.
It was Sugar beating he heart out,
Bend over he pan like a statute of stone,
He eh feeling, he eh hearing, he eh seeing
De whole world for him was de sweet Tenor in he hand
And he beat, and he beat, and he beat
And de pasture fall in love wid Sugar dat nite.

At a time people forget de band,
Dey jus' digging de tenor up there in de sky,
And every man jack was up there wid it.
De gateman stand up wid he mouth wide open
About five thousand people get in free
But he eh taking on dat, only de music.
Ah fella say "LORD, JESUS, AFRICA!!!"
Ah woman say "UHH HUH!!!"
And Sugar keep on playing.

Dey say de Tenor reach Heaven dat night
And how God and St. Peter smile,
Was a night I could a never ever forget.

And now Sugar dead and gone.
And ah see him laying there on de bed
The greatest Tenorman in Wadadli
As poor as the day he born
But richer than any millionaire in de land
More respected than any politician;
For Sugar was AH SOMETHING, AH SOMEBODY
He was a part of a Caribbean plan
Dat we eh even begin to understand
Where we people going. eh? Where we going?

De boys wanted to be quiet for Sugar,
But before he dead he say
None of dat stupidness man, beat pan.
So dey beat when he sick
And dey beat when he dying
And dey beat when he dead.
And when dey finally put Sugar away
Every band in Wadadli play.

And as we mek for the rumshop to wuk a white
To fire a last one on Sugar head
I swear to Jesus I could hear
Sugar tenor playing softly, softly
And Sugar laughing...
Whey yu dey, Sugar boy, whey yu dey???????

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Ah Pan For Christmas
(Adapted from Paul Keens Douglas)

Fargo was in a bad mood.  It was Christmas Eve, and he hated Christmas Eve.  Because dat was de one time of the year he used to feel like nobody eh like he.  Because Fargo didn’t have no family to like he.  He mudder dead when he was six, and he never even know who he father was.  He grow up with ah ole aunt – he mudder sister – who everybody used to call Miss Silverina.

Fargo never used to like she at all, because she was always dey in ah church – morning, noon and night – and she used to drag Fargo along with she.  So from de time he get big enough to make he own money, is gone Fargo gone from dat scene and rent ah lil place downtown.

In no time at all Fargo was one ah de baddest cats on de block.  Everybody did fraid Fargo, and nobody does skylark with him.  But they did respect him, because Fargo had a way with pan.  As ah matter of fact, dat was the only ting Fargo used to take any real interest in – beating pan.

But what Fargo did like most about beating pan, was de company in de panyard.  When he was dey beating, it was like he had a family.  He used to feel like he belong somewhere. 

But Christmas was a different thing, because most of the fellas had family, or outside chile or outside woman.  And Christmas was the one time they used eased up on de pan beating and go spend a little time with dey folks and bring present for the children. 

Fargo was the only one who didn’t have no place to go on Christmas Eve, except back to he little place.  Even Gloria, de one chick dat he really dig up on, tell him dat she have to spend de Christmas with she family.

“To hell wid all a dem man, I going go downtown and raise some hell and have a ball by myself.  Who ain’t dead, badly wounded.”

And he tek off for town.  Everywhere he go, people in de Christmas spirit, buying gift, laughing, hugging up dey girlfriend or their children.  A iron band full of people was passing up de road blasting music and jumping up and dancing.

But what attract Fargo de most was a fat, round, funny looking little man, with a white bushy beard who look like a dwarf from a Snow White nursery rhyme.  He was the liveliest of the whole bunch, singing away at the top of his voice and jumping up and down in time to de music.  But what Fargo notice de most was de tenor pan the little man had round his neck. 

It was the most beautiful tenor pan dat Fargo ever see in his life.  It look as if it make out of silver and gold.  It didn’t have even one little dent in it.  Everything was smooth, smooth, and as the little man move about, de pan catch the sunlight and reflect it in Fargo eye as if de pan was woodfire with plenty sparks flying out ah de smoke.  De inside of de pan was jet black, so much so, you could hardly see the notes raise up on de pan.

Fargo eh even stop to wonder what a tenor pan doing in the middle of a iron band.  All he could study was de beauty of the pan, and the fact that the little man was playing some real off key notes.  Now if dey have one thing Fargo can’t satnd, is to hear somebody playing bad pan.  So without even thinking twoce, Fargo walk up to the little man and say:

“Hear nah pardner, is like yu playing dat wrong you know.  You holding de stick and dem wrong.”

“Wah yu know bout pan?”  the little man say.  He had a strange musical voice, like a foreigner trying to talk West Indian.  But he face look like he want to bust out laughing any moment, and he two eye squinge up as if he fighting to hold back de laugh.  Fargo just chupps and say

“Man, I is pan father.  Wha me en know bout pan eh worth knowing.”  And he tek the two stick from the little man and begin to show him how to hold them properly.  By this time now, the rest of the iron band done gone up de road and leave the two of them standing on the sidewalk with de pan between them, and people passing all around.  While Fargo busy showing the little man how to hold de stick, he couldn’y help but admire de pan out loud and he ask de little man: “But is where you get this sweet pan, man?”

“Ah mek it myself.  I is a boss at making tings.  You should see how much ting I have in my workshop.”

Fargo didn’t want to ask too much question so the little man tink he too fast.  So he just stand there hitting notes on the pan and testing it out. And the more he play, is the more he love the pan.  Dat was the best pan Fargo ever hold in he hand in all de days he beating pan.  As a matter of fact, he get so involve with de pan, dat he tek it off from round the little man neck, put it round his own and start to run scale on it.

All dis time, the little man stand up there watching him, not saying nothing.  At last he say: “What a nice fella like you doing all by yourself on Christmas Eve?”

Fargo only shrug he shoulder and say: “Me eh have no family man.  I si de Lone Ranger. An in any case me eh need nobody.  I is Fargo.”

“Don’t need nobody?  Ridiculous!  Every body need somebody.  Christmas is a time of joy, of remembering, of giving, of cheering others.  You feel you eh need nobody, but remember somebody may need you.  If nobody could make you happy, den you mek somebody happy.  You don’t have no family?

Fargo begin to get vex, because he don’t like people to ask he too much question bout he personal business.  But he hold his temper and say: “Only a old aunt, ne eh see she for years.”

“Why not drop in and see she tonight?  Is Christmas, and she might love to see you.  You can never tell with Christmas.  Is a time of magic.  Strange tings does happen.”  Anyway I got to go now.  I have plenty to do tonight.”

He put out his hand, and almost reluctantly, Fargo give him back the beautiful pan.  And he set off after the iron band, but just as he reach the corner, he turn and look back at Fargo, den he wave and shout: “Merry Christmas, an remember to go look for your aunt.”

An dat was the last Fargo see of he, ah busy little, round man with a tenor pan dangling round he neck.  Fargo stand up there for a while, den he shake his head, shove he hand down in he pocket and head uptown.  All the way he go what the little man had to say was running through his mind.  “If nobody could make you happy then you make somebody happy.”  “Boy ah really treat my auntie bad in truth.” He think to heself, den he catch a taxi and set off for his aunt house.

When he finally reach his auntie door, he tek a deep breath and walk up to the door and knock.  “Who dat?”  “Is Fargo.”

There was silence for a moment, then the door open and his aunt standing there looking at him she two eye open big, big as if she seeing a ghost.  Den she say “Fargo” and she bust out crying.  Now Fargo start to lie: “Wha happening auntie, I was in the area so I decide to drop in and say hello.”  Well is now the auntie start to bawl.  Fargo self start to feel kinda stupid, because he don’t like to see people cry, plus she was wetting up his one good shirt. Den his auntie dry her eye and say:

“well, what you standing up there for.  You fraid de house?  Come inside boy.  Is a strange thing, must be the Lord send you.  Is only tonight my mind run on you.  A present come here for you and I was wondering how I would ever get it to you.”

“Ah present?  For me?”

“Yes.  Look it there.  A little man bring it.”

Fargo look at the sofa and nearly drop dead.  Lying right there in the middle of the sofa was the beautiful tenor pan.  Fargo begin to tremble so much he coulda hardly pick up the pan.  An when he finally pick it up he see a little note in one set a scrawling crappofoot handwriting that say: “Merry Christmas Fargo – if nobody could mek you happy – den make somebody happy.”  But there was no signature.

“But how dis man know where I living?  Me never tell he nutten!  Ah wonder who is dis little man.  I hope this pan don’t have in no obeah.

“Wha happen to you boy.  You never get a present yet?  Play it leh me hear yo man.

And Fargo start to play de pan.  And as he play he begin to feel happier than he ever feel in a long long time.  And as the music fill the room, he feel as if the whole steelband was playing.  And he know that somehow, after that night, things would be different with he.  An he say “Merry Christmas Auntie” and he keep on playing as the clock strike midnite.