Poetry

The Tropical Paradise of Margaret Mead

John Whitworth

“As the dawn begins to fall among the soft brown roofs and the slender palms stand out against a colourless gleaming sea, lovers slip home from trysts beneath the palm trees or in the shadow of the beached canoes, that the light may find each sleeper in his appointed place.” That is the twenty-three-year-old Margaret Mead in her ground-breaking classic of anthropology Coming of Age in Samoa (1928). I confess I have never been to Samoa myself, but then, according to the great and good Raymond Tallis, a sojourn of less than six weeks sufficed for “one of the Founding Mothers of Romantic Primitivism and … an inspirer of much New Age garbage”. 

Let us go to far Samoa where a tropic moon
Lights the soft, brown roofs round a blue lagoon
And the palms are dark against a gleaming sea.
       As the dawn begins to fall
       How the birds begin to call,
How the scarlet parrots call to you and me, you and me,
How the yellow parrots call to you and me.

And lovers in the shadows of the beached canoes,
In the grumous purple shadows of the beached canoes,
       Are lying thigh to thigh,
       As the moon rides high,
And the slender palms stand out against the sea:
       Young lovers in their blisses
       Trading lingering last kisses,
Slipping home before the light can find them gone,
       Where the palms grow slim and tall
       As the dawn begins to fall
Slipping home before their families find them gone.

Should we go to far Samoa where the scarlet parrots call,
       Oh how happy we would be
       You and me, you and me,
For we know that in Samoa it’s a paradise for all;
       By those shadowy canoes
       What can anybody lose,
Where the palms stand out against a gleaming sea?

       There’s a whole lotta lovin’ going on, going on,
       Such a whole lotta lovin’ going on!

John Whitworth