His recently published volume of verse is entitled `Oh Gawd, I Vish Dis Ig'rance Vud Stop!' and has been earning praise for its humour and ironic observations on life and customs in Bermuda.

Jeremy Frith, married to a Canadian and now owning a farm on Cape Breton in Nova Scotia, gave a talk and readings from some of his Bermudian poems at a special launch held at the Biological Station last week. There was general agreement that he has skilfully combined humour and satire to push his main themes which centre on environmental and political topics.

Most of all, however, says Mr. Frith, he compiled his anthology to acknowledge his pride in the many facets of Bermudian culture -- "and to provoke some thought''. Stating his belief that there is a tendency for Bermudians to take life, and themselves, far too seriously, the Warwick-born and bred poet addresses all sections of the community in this bright, entertaining and, yes -- thought-provoking volume.

Much of his poetry is written in dialect -- understandable enough in anyone of a poetic turn of mind who yearns to convey the unique sound of a Bermudian in full voice -- but sometimes a bit of an ordeal for the uninitiated. In this case, however, it is worth persevering (there are notes on pronunciation at the back), as Mr. Frith has a very good ear indeed, whether he's talking the Rasta talk, as in the ironically humorous `Rastaman Xmas Eve', testing the politically murky waters in `Swans and Waders', and `daan Grape Bay', or warning of the dangers of going out to `Norf Rock', "vif nuffin but my nacktie on''. One of his inspirations for writing poetry is his belief that it is important to preserve Bermuda's long tradition of oral culture. "Our culture is very important,'' he says, "as it gives people a sense of identity.'' A knowledgeable and committed conservationist who is now a chairman of Canada's Forest Stewardship Council, Mr. Frith includes poems which warn of Bermuda's frail ecology. `I Ain't Got -- Um Got' is hard-hitting in its reflections on how many natural assets have already been destroyed: lamenting that he has no more cedars "raun my house'', for instance, he notes that now, "um got lots finnulvood, cassareena, indian laurel/An pridewinda trees droppin leaves in my guttas''. He says that when he was growing up on his Warwick farm, there were no "kickscadees'' raucously greeting the dawn, and in place of "rockfish raun my dock'' there is now "lotsa glass bottles, tincans, ole tires''. As he writes in the book's notes, the various elements of the old and the new ecology are too numerous to mention.

In his poem `Van My Deddy Vas A Bye' there is a lovely evocation of Island life in a simpler time, reviving memories of using "lammon juice and winnaker, lye an' turpentine'' to make things shine, a time of "frash food on de table/An no lock upon de doowa''.

The second half of the book, written in plain English, includes a poem entitled `Violation', a powerful piece on the `rape' of Bermuda in which he laments that "amongst the hill grown cedar ships/The senseless frenzy of commerce, cottages and condos'' have all but ruined his Island home -- and, incidentally, the former family former farm which is now a condominium block.

Educated at McGill and the University of Michigan, he returned to Bermuda in the late 1960s when the drug problem was beginning to have a serious impact on the community. Working in one of the first drug abuse programmes, he believes he saved many people from heroin through farming and husbandry. He inaugurated a small farming operation at Admiralty House and then set up kitchens in the cottages where they baked and made jams.

Poet talks straight about Bermuda life "These people had turned their lives around, producing and selling and then our own Health Department closed the whole project down! Said they didn't have a permit! To this day, Government is bound up in this kind of bureaucratic nonsense -- instead of acknowledging that we had done a wonderful job with these people, they smashed these drug addicts back down. The people " `in charge' still don't seem to understand the importance of self-worth and involvement.'' He has some straight talk, too, on the subject of tourism. Now deeply involved in the community of Cape Breton, he says he uses Bermuda's tourism experiences as a cautionary tale: "I try to emphasise how important it is to maintain a normal life-style and infrastructure, continuing to grow food, fish and maintain woodlands. People came back time and time again when we had lily fields, farms and open countryside. People could see for themselves the sense of vibrancy and self-sufficiency. They didn't come here for the duty-free stores! But we have gradually become like every other place in the world and I try to convince Cape Breton not to follow us in thinking that tourism is the panacea.'' As for Bermuda's future, Mr. Frith is, as his poems relate, dismayed by the obvious over-development of the land and notes, rather acidly: "I suppose we could do the Bierman's thing and become a concrete city in the middle of the ocean, and that would be OK, because we can just leave it to the rest of the world to worry about things like ecology. We can't rely on other people to keep our Island beautiful. We have to learn to be responsible ourselves. If we could strive to be ecologically minded and racially harmonious, Bermuda could be a microcosm for the rest of the world.'' `Oh Gawd, I Vish Dis Ig'rance Vud Stop' is on sale for $15 at stores throughout Bermuda.

THE VOICE OF BERMUDA -- Jeremy Frith, back on a visit from his Nova Scotia farm to launch his first book of Bermudian verse.