Students grabbed Walcott’s representation of a seasonal storm:

all the village could do was listen to the gods in session,

playing any instruments that came into their craniums,

the harp-sighing ripple of a hither-and-zithering sea,

the knucklebone pebbles, the abrupt Shango drums

made Neptune-rock in the caves. Fete start!

Chapter VI, p.37: Helen, at a stall selling T-shirts from racks.

“and just as a pantheress stops swinging its tail
to lightly leap into grass, she yawned and entered
a thicket of palm-printed cloth, while I stood there…”