The Enigma Of Arrival - pg. 135

I wrote of the simplest things in my memory. I wrote about the
street in Port of Spain where I had spent part of my childhood, the street I had
intently studied, during those childhood months, from the security and distance
of my own family life and kouse. Knowledge came to me rapidly during the
writing. And with that knowledge, that acknowledgment of myself (so
hard before it was done, so very easy and obvious afterwards), my curiosity
grew fast. I did other work; and in this concrete way, out of work that cam e
easily to me because it was so close to me, I defined myself, and saw that my
subject was not my sensibility, my inward development, byt the world I contained
within myself, the worlds I lived in: my subject turning out to be a version of
the one that, unknown to me, I had stumbled upon two weeks after I had left home
and in the Earls Court boarding house had found myself in the too big house,
among the flotsam of Europe after the war.