One Ghana, One Voice

How Poems Work #5 - L.S. Mensah on Prince Mensah's "Fresh Memories of an Old Village"

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 19 May 2012 07:45:00 +0000

The following is the fifth installment in our "How Poems Work" series. This series aims to give OGOV readers and poets an opportunity to talk about some of their favourite poems previously featured on the site. We have a special treat this time, as L.S. Mensah brings us a new poem never before published on the site - Prince Mensah's "Fresh Memories of an Old Village".

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Fresh Memories of an Old Village - Prince Mensah

Bare trees and barren earth
Trapped in afternoon silence
Haunted by songs of forlorn
Children left behind by dead
Parents and fleeing relatives.
They watch the dance of dead leaves,
Choreographed by the whirlwind,
Moving to unheard music.
They wait and wait and wait
To awaken with faith,
Expecting this ghost village
To become what it once was.

(Reprinted by author's permission.)

There are many things one could do with a poem. Sometimes like water, a poem can exist in different states: a liquid, a solid, a vapour in the air. Sometimes it is like light, both wave and particle. In the same way, when one reads a poem like Prince Mensah's, “Fresh Memories of an Old Village,” one could take a number of things from it, such as the paradoxical title which sets up the abstract noun fresh against the concrete noun village. One might even see the phrase fresh memories as an oxymoron. By the time we speak of memory/memories, we are already in the past, and so the two words begin to peel away from one another. One could pick up the poem's resemblance to Kwesi Brew's “The Dry Season” and point out that the difference between the two is that while the stripping in Brew’s poem is inevitable, the harrowing in Mensah's is caused by humans. We can also break the poem into, say, three parts, where the poet places his full stops, and from there analyse them. I’ll try to do that, but my main task here is to pick a word/image, and see where that leads.

If you want to know about whirlwinds, the place to go is The Hebrew Bible, also called the Old Testament. But first a detour – the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) defines “whirlwind” as “a column of air moving rapidly round and round in a cylindrical or funnel shape.” The dictionary then concentrates on its cyclical/spherical/curved shape; and passages like Isaiah 5:28 seem to bear that out:

“Whose arrows [are] sharp, and all their bows bent, their horses’ hoofs shall be counted like flint, and their wheels like a whirlwind:”

It seems that every time the whirlwind appears, it is accompanied by an action word, though not always that of a rolling motion. Sometimes there is a scattering, a carrying off, etc. The OED traces the word's etymology to sometime in the High Middle Ages, around 1340; and since the Bible predates it, it is not difficult to see how the definition then is not designed to express the more complex meanings the word connotes in the bible. Biblical scholars remind us that the whirlwind “is not restricted to a rotary movement of air”; it can also be translated as “storm”, “tempest” or “storm-wind” as in Job 21:18 “They are as stubble before the wind, and as chaff that the storm carrieth away,” or Deutero-Isaiah 54:11 “O thou afflicted, tossed with tempest, [and] not comforted ...”

I took it upon myself to ask the poet Prince Mensah about whether he had any biblical images in mind while writing the poem He told me in an email exchange that the whirlwind was his channelling of Hosea 8:7, which states: “For they shall sow wind and reap a whirlwind”. Hosea ben Beeri was an 8th century prophet who prophesied in the Northern Kingdom of Israel in the reign of Jeroboam II, when Assyria's hegemonic ambitions in the Ancient Near East were clear for all to see. Hosea prophesied under the Sinai tradition; which emphasises the centrality of the Mosaic covenant. Ancient Israel brings God's judgement upon itself if it strays from the demands and conditions set by Yahweh at Sinai. Their punishment therefore is as a result of their own sins.

If we follow this reasoning then the barren landscape in the poem is as a result of the adults abrogating their responsibilities. Let's take a look at the first part of the poem:

Bare trees and barren earth
Trapped in afternoon silence
Haunted by songs of forlorn
Children left behind by dead
Parents and fleeing relatives.

The first five lines, a single sentence really, run on the heels of each other, and to see where the poet's thoughts lead, one needs to read the next line, and then the next line – it's like peeling an onion, with each succeeding image revealing another. Look at the opening line again: in both bare and barren, you have the verb bar; in this case, to prevent; and there, trapped in the silence, are the children who have been abandoned, both by the dead and the living. We are in an upside down world with no adults, and the humans alive are children, not usually the normal order of things. When we move to lines 6-8 the children

… watch the dance of dead leaves,
Choreographed by the whirlwind,
Moving to unheard music.

Though the leaves share the same condition of death as the parents, the former have been animated by the whirlwind. It is possible that the children, being children, have no idea that when the whirlwind passes things do not get back to what they once were. But if things were not normal to begin with, what would the whirlwind bring? Even in the Hebrew Bible, the whirlwind is not always the eschaton portrayed by the prophets. Its appearance does indicate the overturning of the old order of some sort, as seen by Ezekiel as he stood by the Chabar in Ez. 1:4:

“And I looked, and, behold, a whirlwind came out of the north, a great cloud, and a fire infolding itself, and a brightness [was] about it, and out of the midst thereof as the colour of amber, out of the midst of the fire.”

It is clear from what follows in Ezekiel’s vision that the Israelites had never before encountered a situation like that. However in Job 38:1: “the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind and said...” This theophany is really the beginning of the end of Job's suffering, and in time he regains all he had lost and more. In 2 Kings 2:11: Elijah “went up by a whirlwind into heaven.” There is a possibility then, for a future restoration; even for the world that the poem depicts. As Mensah says again, in an email:

“The whirlwind can also be seen as a comforting element to the children because it 'choreographs' a display for the forlorn children, giving them a semblance of hope in a time of hopelessness.”

They wait and wait and wait
To awaken with faith,
Expecting this ghost village
To become what it once was.

Conclusion

A poem can mean different things at different times, depending on how one looks at it. So can words and images within a poem. The history that a word or an image carries can lead one to a particular reading. In the poet's response, he mentions the words “forlorn” and “hope”; put them together as “forlorn hope”, and you go back to the phrase's origins in the 16th century, all the way through to the Napoleonic Wars, and to the stalemate in the trenches during the First World War. The forlorn hope is usually a group of soldiers selected to lead an attack, and often not expected to return alive. Sometimes a few do return, and these become instant heroes. Their survival is a testament to man's ability to defy the odds, like the children in Mensah’s poem holding out for a hope that just might come.

References

Egblewogbe, M. and Hill, L. (2011). Look Where You Have Gone To Sit. Woeli Publishers.

Douglas, J.D. (1980). The Illustrated Bible Dictionary: Part 3. Intervarsity Press.

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L.S. Mensah is a frequent OGOV contributor. Read more of her work here.

Anamnesis About Mama - Prince Mensah

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 12 May 2012 02:18:00 +0000

mama is a seer of things, she is a hearer
of things - she says deep things

under mammatus clouds, I reminisce
many, many scenes:
some fading, some fond, some found in
pain, some painted with laughter –
your life is a tapestry of triumphs,
your love is a mosaic of meanings –
I look through the past and each picture
contains facets of your preeminence –
I am proud to be your child,
I love you, Mama

mama is a seer of things, she is a hearer
of things - she says deep things

as a child, amidst mammary comforts,
I found acceptance in you -
the world can be cold but Mama’s arms
are always warm, always comforting –
I was a maumet to discard your warnings;
the old ones make sense now, the new
guide me on my life-path – they are lamps,
they are lights whenever darkness comes –
you are a never-ending blessing to me –
I love you, Mama

mama is a seer of things, she is a hearer
of things - she says deep things

my mind is filled with your many voices -
mother: fighter, provider and guide,
mother: my first love, my dove, my ride
to earth and beyond -
true were your prophecies about friendships,
you are prescient and precise –
there were times I did murmur at
discipline, times when I fought
hard against your truths
but I love you, Mama

mama is a seer of things, she is a hearer
of things - she says deep things

eloquence cannot do justice
to your strength and elegance –
early in life, I found inspiration
in your dignity and abilities
and I mammer each time I remember
your resolve against dire circumstance -
my eyes are full of tears (yes, happy tears)
to see that there are no more fears
in your beautiful eyes -
I love you, Mama

mama is a seer of things, she is a hearer
of things - she says deep things

I love you, Mama
I love you, Mama, for loving me when I was an idea
I love you, Mama, for the nurture of nine months
I love you, Mama, for the love, the lectures and the lessons
I love you, Mama, for letting me be your child,
for not letting me run wild and for training me,
for allowing me to intrude on your dreams,
for including me in your plans for life -
whenever you cross my mind, only one word comes up –
love - true love, agape love

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Prince Mensah is a regular contributor and Associate Editor here at OGOV.

veiled eyes - Jabulani Mzinyathi

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 06:51:00 +0000

having gobbled the diet
the diet of befuddling religions
having swallowed hook, line and sinker
the gospel of apostasy
now with their warped minds
they denigrate themselves unwittingly
enveloped by the darkness of foolishness

the essence of our ways is warped
labelling our ways ancestral worship
conveniently forgetting they are our intercessors
hacking at the roots of our confidence
defiling all our sacrosanct shrines
but the resilience is plain to see

Author Profile - Jabulani Mzinyathi

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 06:50:00 +0000

Biography:

Jabulani Mzinyathi was born on 01.09.65 in Ascot high density suburb, Gwelo, Rhodesia (now Gweru, Zimbabwe), to working class parents. He is a qualified primary school teacher turned magistrate, and he holds a diploma in personnel management. In 1997 he was awarded a diploma for excellence by the panel of judges of the Scottish international open poetry contest. He has had several poems and short stories published by magazines in Zimbabwe and abroad. He also once wrote humour pieces for some newspapers in Zimbabwe, and was a columnist for Moto magazine, Gweru. He has served both as the vice-chairman of the Budding Writers Association of Zimbabwe, and as chairman of the Zimbabwe Poetry Society.

Jabulani blogs at: jabulanimzinyathi.blogspot.com.

Five Questions with Jabulani Mzinyathi:

1. Can you speak a bit more about the "resilience" you speak of in that last line? In what ways is it "plain to see"?

the ways my ancestors worshipped the creator refuse to die. most of our people faced with life crises will abandon adopted religions and go back to the ways that have been wrongly labelled "ancestral worship". as a black african i do not believe all this crap about ancestral worship. it is a phenomenon that comes out of sheer ignorance and that unbridled desire by some who espouse superiority to denigrate what black africans find spiritually satisfying. i make no apologies! africa was not a dark continent at all. our people knew of the existence of God long before missionaries came with a warped version of christianity that glorifies subjugation. when i at forty-seven still look back and speak out against this i realise that the ways of my ancestors live on in my blood hence 'resilience'. the same resilience is seen in the teachings of rastafari. slavery and colonialism have not been able to annihilate us!

2. Who are you most interested in reaching/influencing with this poem? If you could present this poem to only one person or group of people, who would it be?

the poem is a bomb to be dropped among those that convert my people to a version of christianity that treats black people as sin. it is also aimed at those who sheepishly follow alien gods that leave them empty deep inside. it is aimed at those who label us "ancestor worshippers". that is not what we do. we worship God and the messages get to the maker via our ancestors. the poem is also aimed at those who sow divisions against my people along christianity and islamic lines. these are the alien religions befuddling my people.

3. "sacrosanct shrines" has a great sound to it. What inspired that phrase? Did it come early, or late, in the composition process?

it hurts me deep inside to know that rhodes brazenly chose to be buried at matopos which is know to be a holy shrine by our people. here are the remains of a coloniser defiantly at our sacrosanct shrine. we talk about maintaining the status quo for the sake of history. what? the story must be told this way: the remains of the coloniser were removed and shipped to Britain to be interred there. that is making history!

4. What is new for you in 2012? How do you see your prospects over the coming year?

in 2012 and beyond i will be working with singers to see whether some of the poems i have worked on over the years can assume a new dimension for me. i love reggae music so the beat will have to be that.

5. Similarly, how do you see the prospects for Zimbabwe in 2012?

the darkest hour is before dawn. looking into my crystal ball i see a great zimbabwe emerging. the recipe is there. look we have a highly educated population. we are richly endowed with mineral and other resources. we need to shape our poly ticks right. that means we need a new constitution for a future zimbabwe. we need to open up more democratic spaces that includes encouraging artistic endeavours - even those that may be called anti-establishment. the birds will freely twitter in the trees! a new zimbabwe is on the horizon. look yonder and you will see!

Contact Jabulani:

Email:jmzinyathi1(at)yahoo.co.uk
Website: http://jabulanimzinyathi.blogspot.com/

Ghana - Teddy Totimeh

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 00:02:00 +0000

Ghana is beautiful
If you pause long enough
To see the colour in the squalor
If you pause long enough to sample the order in the odours.

Ghana is beautiful
If you stand long enough
To feel the humor in the clamour
And are not too particular
About what is correct and what is not.

Ghana is beautiful
When you appreciate the patience
Of a suffering people
Ready to progress.

Author Profile - Teddy Totimeh

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 00:01:00 +0000

Biography:

Teddy Totimeh's poems were recently published in the Writers Project of Ghana anthology: look where you have gone to sit. He has worked in radio, presenting writers and their works. He helped create the radio programme Open Air Theatre on Radio Univers fifteen years ago, and presented the Writers Project on Citi FM last year.

A doctor, Teddy lives in Korle Bu with his wife Maamle and his three lovely children.

Five Questions with Teddy Totimeh:

1. How long have you been writing poetry?

I am 38, and started writing in secondary school (Achimota). So I guess I have been writing on and off for the last 20 something years.

2. Who are your favorite poets? Which poets have most influenced and informed your work?

I have dabbled in and out of following poets, but have always loved Keats and Wordsworth. The imagery of Awoonor and Wosornu have also grabbed my attention at different times.

3. What do you hope to accomplish with your poetry?

I think I would like to communicate my viewpoint of the world in my poetry. I am a human being going along the path of life. I am blessed enough to be able to show others what I see, and how I see it, as beautifully as I can.

4. "sample the order in the odours" is a wonderful phrase. Do you remember how this line came to you? Was it late in the writing process, or early on?

I am not sure how sampling the order came about, but now I think about it, I guess it is the fact that even in the different odors that we have, there is some order. We know where Kobi belongs, and where Momoni does not... and of course we know what to do with the rubbish in the streets. It is just the doing that is the problem... sometimes.

5. Do you think poetry can influence the politics of Ghana? If so, how?

I think that the fact that poets are finding a voice is evidence of the fact that something is changing from the inside in Ghana. I am sure that the voice of poets will document what we see now. I am sure it will change how posterity will view this time. I hope that the voice of poets will change something now, in our times. But life usually does not work like that. Unless there is something radically wrong... and Ghana is not exactly too bad at the moment.

Contact Teddy:

teddytt3(at)hotmail.com

Fragment of Life - Uncle Ebo Wheelbright

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sun, 15 Apr 2012 02:26:00 +0000

He spends the evening at the theatre with his long-suffering mistress, Mme. Janet.
Someone has noticed that.
He sits in the same seat,
that seat number 104.
In this seat he travels around the world
without seeing anything
not even in Peking,
where he listens to the vowels and consonants of the echoes of his voice,
yes, he forms a character of this music.
He sees it clear even in the dark in the corridor,
where they are packed in the space like parentheses.
One of these participants to be served with chocolate soup,
is still like something not too far from a seashell.
It begins to crawl, lifting its faceless head,
it begins to sit up again,
this time facing the direction of the rays of the open book coming in from the new day.
But slowly and slowly, disappearing from the stage
and seizing our images of the smoke and shadows
still hiding behind the bodies of our tall building,
it represents an open road
into the clouds,
he has nowhere to escape,
he carries his unpublished work back home
to find a title of monument,
somewhere in Sahara.

Author Profile - Uncle Ebo Wheelbright

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sun, 15 Apr 2012 02:24:00 +0000

Biography:

Uncle Ebo Wheelbright, a poet, literary historian and photographer, is a native of Ghana. He composes most of his poetry on newspapers and leaflets enclosed in medicine boxes.

Five Questions with Uncle Ebo Wheelbright:

1. How long have you been writing poetry?

I don't know exactly when Ibegan writing poetry. What I know is, poetry has been part of my life right from birth. It comes to me in different forms. For instant, in images or words or sounds or movement. When I didn't even understand the word poetry as a little child, I was cutting pictures and words from magazines and rearranging (pasting) them on a surface, entranced by the beauty of imagination and aesthetics.

2. Who are your favorite poets? Which poets have most influenced and informed your work?

I don't have favourite poets. Though I love reading poets whose poetry have many levels, who define time & place. For instance, Russian poets & writers of 19th & 20th century like Pushkin, Pasternak, etc, Gogol, Turgenev, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, etc., Scandinavian writers & poets like Ibsen, Martin Andersen Nexø, Selma Ottilia Lovisa Lagerlöf, Halldór Kiljan Laxness, Sigrid Undset, Isak Dinesen, Pär Fabian Lagerkvist, Tomas Tranströmer, etc., and others like Rainer Maria Rilke, Stefan George, Paul Valery, etc., plus, John Skelton, John Wesber, Robert Southwell, Donne, Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, Amira Baraka, Robert Bly, Adrienne Rich, Chuang Tzu, Li Po, Sarojini Naidu, M. Madhusuda Dutt, Rabindranath Tagore, Amrita Pritam, Narayan Surve, Gabriel José de la Concordia García Márquez, Borges, Fanon, Spivak, Said, Pynchon, Larkin, Heaney, Yevtushenko, Achebe, Soyinka, Faiz, Peter Abrahams, Aristophanes, Sembene Ousman, Ngugi Wa Thiong'o, James Baldwin, V.S. Naipaul, Richard Wright, Derck Walcott, Kofi Anyidoho, Czeslaw Milosz, Joseph Brodsky, Octavio Paz, Pablo Neruda, Wislawa Szymborska, Akpalu, etc. etc., plus traditional poetry and literture of Ewe, Yoruba, Zulu, etc. etc. I could go on & on, but you get the idea. They may be, perhaps, poets who have meant a lot to me at various times. I turn to them when there is a need.

3. What do you hope to accomplish with your poetry?

Actually, I don't exactly know what I hope to accomplish with this poetry. I'm creating from the scrapes of our wishes and hopes. I think I'm doing something which in music they call "atonal" - that is, lacking in key. The result is the formulation of the 12-tone system & the composition is serialism. The sum-up is that knowledge is the key to achieving responsible individuality although the knowledge always brings disillusionment. It always seems that I'm defending the blessings of individuality against conformity. Thus, searching examination of society in contrast to uncritical allegiance, and the richness of the created art as opposed to destruction.

Thus, using this style is not only to write witty, satirical poems about public figures & social systems but also to express about nature, especially through symbolic interpretations of the landscape around me. In my book, Mischief of Poetry & Photography: Autobiography of U. E. Wheelbright, I use this style to explore the questions: Who are we? Where are we coming from? What are we doing here? Where are we going?

4. Before publishing this poem, you and I had a brief exchange about the ending of this poem, which puzzles me. The syntax and word choices disorient me a bit, which leads me to find the poem to be both intriguing and frustrating, at once. Can you discuss a bit why you chose to write in this style? What effect do you hope for it to have on the reader?

Over the years writers & poets have been fighting within themselves what grammar should look like when they turn their attitude to society & imagination. Shakespeare did. His in a different direction. Creating words and phrases like assassination, bump, eventful, lonely, fair play, catch cold, disgraceful conduct, a foregone conclusion, etc. He used nouns as verbs for dramatic effect. In Measure for Measure, for example, a character remarks that Angelo "dukes it well", referring to the forceful way "in which Angelo handles the duties of the absent Duke of Vienna." He changed words, invented words, and borrowed words from other languages. Though many of his words he employed are no longer used. However,the bottom line is that, by freely experimented with grammar and vocabulary, he helped prevent literary English from becoming fixed and artificial.

Through Orwell in his essay "Politics and the English Language", Hilaire Belloc & others have been concerned for the preservation of the language from corruption. So does T.S. Eliot in his East Coker. However, this doesn't mean that a creator must not do what he wants to do with a language in his hands. Many critics have attacked Shakespeare right from his days to now. Many of them were bothered by his failure to follow rules. During his lifetime, Robert Green attacked him for thinking he could write as well as university-educated playwrights. He was also accused of often breaking the neoclassical rule against mixing comedy with tragedy. The neoclassical rule based heavily on Aristotle's theories on drama creation. Though Dr. Johnson praised Shakespeare for holding up a "faithful mirror of manners and of life", he rejected his comic sexual passages as vulgar. He considered them as his weakness.

Now back to the language and its grammar, Thoreau in his Journals [February 3, 1860] wrote this:

When I read some of the rules for speaking and writing the English language correctly - as that a sentence must never end with a particle - and perceive how implicitly even the learned obey, I think:

Any fool can make a rule
And every fool will mind it.

5. You mentioned in your bio that you are also a photographer. Which love comes first for you, poetry or photography? How, if at all, does one influence the other?

Poetry is my first. Photography is my first. Word or image. It does the same thing but in different ways. They influence each other. Although camera & poet produce pictures of the world, it is only the camera that records full visual detail in a moment of fleeting. The poet, on the other hand, selects only some details he sees. This adds to the nonvisual elements to the presentation. This selection is guided by the purpose of creating the pattern to be felt in a language of see, hear, smell, taste, and touch, or the move in our imagination from actual objects to animated abstract, perhaps our sense of feeling which is stimulated by the memory of a camera.

Contact Uncle Ebo:

uncleebowheelbright(at)gmail.com

From the Archives: Harmattan don come again ooooooh - Mariska Taylor-Darko

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 08:40:00 +0000

Cracked lips
Not good for a kiss

Split heels
Not good for the sheets

Dry skin
Not good for man

Static Hair
Not good for the comb

Dry white dust
Not good for the houseproud

Icy nostrils
Very good for shea butter

A hot bowl of light soup
Just right for the insides

Harmattan! Na wa ooooh

Old poems at OGOV don't die, but live on in our archives! Every once in a while we will dust one off for our newer readers to enjoy. "Harmattan don come again ooooooh" was orginally published on OGOV on March 20th, 2010.

Author Profile - Mariska Taylor-Darko

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 08:37:00 +0000

Biography:

Born in Manchester, England in 1956, Mariska attended Holy Child Secondary School in Cape Coast and St. Mary's Secondary School, Mamprobi, Accra. She then returned to the UK and attended Beresford College of English and Commerce, Margate, Kent and later Harrow College of Further Education, Harrow, Middlesex. She has a PhD in Life.

She has two sons, Niinoi and Kwame. She is a motivational speaker, poet, writer, beautician, fire walker and lover of jazz, blues, reggae and old time highlife.

Five Questions with Mariska Taylor-Darko:

1. Your wish came true this year and the Harmattan did not come! How do you feel about this?

I missed the Harmattan. I was looking forward to the cool weather after the heat and I think we had one day where it threatened after some heavy rains and we said, "It's coming oooooo." Alas it never happened and it made me realize that climate change was really affecting us.

2. When you were a child, did you have similar feelings about the Harmattan, or have your feelings changed as you've aged?

When I was a child I didn't like it as much as I do now. I hated having shea butter or cocoa butter smeared over me and I had nosebleeds when the dryness came.

3. This is a very playful poem. Is there something about the Harmattan that draws that playfulness out of you?

The sight of people in Ghana, a warm place with an average of 35 degrees, wearing thick winter jackets and cardigans with ashy white lips always made me smile. I called it "Ghanaian Winter." Just the change in people's mannerisms and the Fan Ice sellers trying to convince you that its not harmful to eat frozen yoghurt while the biting wind was going through your bones!

4. What drew you to writing this poem in short-lined couplets? It seems to be a popular style these days amongst Ghanaian writers.

I wrote in short-lined couplet because that is how it came to me.

5. Is there anything new going on in your life/writing that you'd like to share with our readers? [Editor's Note: This interview was conducted in March 2010]

Still looking for a reasonable priced publisher for my three completed books.

Contact Mariska:

Email: mariska.taylor(at)gmail.com
Alternate Email: arabataylord(at)yahoo.co.uk
Websites: African Woman's Poetry, Mariska's MySpace Page

The Hoodie - Prince Mensah

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 09:25:00 +0000

In Memory of Trayvon Martin

just because I wear a hoodie does not mean I'm up to no good -
why does a simple outfit stroke all these fears?
what have we learned about ourselves through all these years?
the last time I checked, character was first on the checklist
but I guess it doesn't matter if my skin is black,
it doesn't matter if my sin is to be black,
it doesn't matter if people presume I'm guilty
so they shoot, oh shoot, they shot the wrong man
and young life is wasted on old misconceptions
race has replaced reason and logic; tragic is our time
for the slime of hatred chokes our conscience -
what should bring us together divides us more
what is essential has become another boring chore -
all I want is peace, why this war on my rights?
All I want is justice, all I want is fairness, all I want
is what you will want when one of your sons gets shot
by a stranger, it keeps getting stranger when a law backs
murder - what is the need to stand your ground when no such need exists?
I am tired of the tears, tired of the false fears that stain and strain
relations between fellow americans - give me liberty or give me death -
liberty to live without fear of partiality, liberty to trust that justice will serve me
just as it serves sons of other mothers

just because I wear a hoodie does not mean I'm up to no good -
why does a simple outfit stroke all these fears?
my life has ended because justice is upended
by forces of schist origins, the old practice
of separate justice has seeped its way
into the body politic and people cannot agree
that, in the land of the free, it is unacceptable
for race to have a place in our considerations -
my life has ended because old habits die hard -
justice is still hijacked by die-hards of division -
america needs an ablution from prejudice;
this country's absolution begins when we actualize
the preamble of the constitution -
all men are equal - not words but deeds -
all men are equal, not in speeches but in laws -
my life has ended because we still pretend that our precepts
give each citizen a fair shot at justice -
I am sorry but you made my color part of the equation,
it sits at the very center of this sad situation -
when shall we accept, in our national psyche, that each race
is the same as the other, to refuse to accept this simplicity
is a crime against common sense

just because I wear a hoodie does not mean I'm up to no good -
why does a simple outfit stroke all these fears?
the love of guns has erased the love for man
death and division have the blueprints for this labyrinth of chaos -
our society is ready to lose its young in its enjoyment
of dangerous vocations - as a young black man,
I always got to check for looks and location,
Why? I am no criminal, I'm just an American -
but my American experience exorcises my confidence
I have more hurdles when I try to exercise my rights -
I belong here, it was my ancestors who built this country -
I belong here, my forebears sacrificed their lives for this nation -
we tell other countries to practice human rights:
can we use that same advice here at home?
you checked my dead body for drugs as you allowed
my murderer to go home without scrutinizing him -
I guess his looks were enough to make him innocent,
I guess he stood his ground so the law protected him -
what if I had the gun and he has the hoodie on?
what if it was your son with iced tea in his hands and skittles in his pocket?
what if it was your son who was walking through the neighborhood?
what if it was your son who was wearing the hoodie?

what if?

what if, america?

---

Prince Mensah is a regular contributor and Associate Editor here at OGOV.

Night Falls on Children Playing - Kofi A. Amoako

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 17 Mar 2012 23:01:00 +0000

I could predict, almost to that very minute
When mothers would begin calling their children
Kofi! Ama! Kojo! Esi! Kwame!
Of course, the sweetness of play encouraged boys to ignore these calls
But one by one, they would disappear as play began its slow death.

I could predict because it was almost always at the same time
When the pestle and mortar began their fufu dance
When pots and pans chimed as they struck the ground
When ladles swam across hot pots of groundnut soup.

I could predict because this was right after
The sun had settled but not comfortably still
And bats were eagerly flying to wherever in their thousands
When the coops were quiet because the roosters had began dozing
And the young shepherds trailed the last sheep and the excitable goats.

Such were the times when nights fell on playing children.

Author Profile - Kofi A. Amoako

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 17 Mar 2012 22:59:00 +0000

Biography:

Kofi A. Amoako was born and raised in Ghana, however he has spent the last decade and a half in Toronto, Canada - mainly as a student and and as a youth engagement worker. He's working to complete his International Development studies degree. He enjoys humour, soccer and all the other simple things in between.

Five Questions with Kofi A. Amoako:

1. The two poems of yours that we've featured on OGOV, "Night falls..." and "Memories of the Electric Company of Ghana" both have a touch of nostalgia to them. In relation to your memories of Ghana, what do you think you personally get from writing these poems? Is it a way to share your memories publicly, or a way to record your memories for yourself, or a way to unlock memories you may have forgotten, or... ?

It is definitely about recapturing memories and smiling, laughing or crying to them. On a personal level, it is a way of re-living those moments. It is also a way of capturing "the good old days", as every generation likes to maintain. And surely people who have experienced similar things will be able to picture the instances and join in saying that "ah, those were indeed some good times." It’s like sharing childhood stories with old friends.

2. In our last interview you listed your favourite poets, and then added "the poetry in old high-life songs". Could you elaborate on that more? What are some of your favourite high-life songs? And which songs jump out at you for their poetic content?

I love highlife because of the intelligence, words, rhythms and the quality musicianship. Old high-life songs are filled with wonderful messages and the lyrics are full of great symbolism, proverbs and analogies. It is really impossible to pick favourites, but here are some memorable ones:

- Alex Konadu sings “A dumb (mute) man had a dream/ how is he going to get it interpreted" (this song is about the powerlessness in being voiceless OR the powerlessness of being the lone witness). Another verse of that song goes, “if you see ‘truth’ crying by the roadside, it’s because ‘lies’ are beating him”.

- Nana Ampadu sings “family is not a social club that you can join and quit/ If it were, I would’ve quit mine a long time ago" (he talks about the difficulty in being a permanent member of a structure - as in accepting the good with the bad, whether you like it or not).

- In another song, Nana Ampadu says "The fact that I’m going to die does not hurt me as much as the possibility of an evil person inheriting my family" (having no control when death is involved).

- In “Patience” by Yamoah’s Band, one verse goes “if you don’t look carefully, you won’t see it clearly / if you doing listen carefully, you won’t understand it".

- Amakye Dede sings “when a rock breaks, you can’t sew it / If it could be sewn, I would’ve sewn mother back together” (he equates mothers to rocks while crying about the finality of death)

3. How do you choose where to break your lines? To break your stanzas?

Line breaks and stanza breaks are very difficult for me. This is because I have a tough time deciding where to cut off and begin again. For me, since I prefer the story form of writing, as in ‘retelling’ stories, I enjoy blabbing on and on. I like to get the ideas out of my head and onto paper as quickly as possible so a lot of the time I don’t think about breaks until after the idea has been released.

4. This poem is filled with motion - the pestle and mortar "dance", ladles "swim", etc. I wonder here how you planned this poem before you wrote it - did you start with a complete vision that included all of this motion (the mother's busy kitchen, the children in the playground, the bats, etc.) or do you start with perhaps one image or one line and build from there in a less "envisioned" manner, pulled perhaps from line to line or image to image?

Thinking back, the evening time was filled with a lot of movement or motion. You see that everybody is trying to complete their tasks before darkness settles in (eg. nobody wants to pound fufu in the dark). And this is especially so for people who are away from home – they try to get home before full darkness. So you have working men walking briskly, people rushing to get on buses and taxies, sellers doing their final accounting to close down shop in order to rush home to their families, etc.

I’m glad you noticed these ‘motions’ because I certainly didn’t consciously think about it. It wasn’t planned in that way – I was just attempting to describe what I remember of that part of the day.

5. Were you always obedient to your mother when she would call you in? Do you have a particular memory of a time when you disobeyed and got in trouble? This can be either trouble that resulted from staying out late, or trouble that came down upon you when you returned home and faced your mother!

Young boys enjoy playing and football got many of us in trouble. I would be called to do my evening chores like fetching water with the other kids before the tap was shut off. But of course I would continue playing while the others did their rounds. When I finally got home, I would still have to go get the water (either alone or with the rest of the boys who had ignored their mothers’ calls). This often involved traveling long distances because the closest taps would be closed for the evening. You were always scared to return home empty-handed because that would result in beating. This was a daily thing.

Contact Kofi:

eugene.amoako(at)gmail.com

From the Archives: Wofa Adwo, The Man of the House - Nana Agyemang Ofosu

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 08:12:00 +0000

Wofa Adwo, the man of the house
Wofa Adwo ei
Nkaafa
Nipa eregye den
Wofa Adwo the man of the house
Indeed I am

Surrounded by children of no mean ages
He still lives in the dark ages
Of filth, treachery and food shortages
No plan to manage his family
But he is able to afford wine made of barley
Oh poor them
Mobutu the eldest left home
When he found his rhythm
The father had no idea of him
But he muddled through to a foreign land
Years and little was heard of him
Senghor the youngest has started school
But he walks a mile every day
He is tired, but his desire eggs him on
He is sad when he returns home
To no food, no electricity
And another mile to fetch water

Wofa Adwo ei
Nkaafa
Nipa eregye den
Wofa Adwo the man of the house
Indeed I am

There is a gloomy shade of horror for the mother
She is at the mercy of slaps and beatings
When she demands money for upkeep of the home
The home is starving but Adwo is partying with friends
Wofa Adwo ei
Nkanfa
"Man no be firewood" he says
"I will soon vaporize like camphor
So let me have a good time"
His character due him three of his sons dead
But he cares less
He knows he can marry and bring forth again
The woe of his famiy is no worry
When he is belly full behind closed doors
He walks in flashy shoes and clothes
But his house is wailing
Oh Wofa Adwo
Why this, why bring chaos to your home

Wofa Adwo ei
Nkaafa
Nipa eregye den
Wofa Adwo the man of the house
Indeed I am

By virtue of his position as the Abusuapanin
He visits the shrine and consults the oracles
Even here he has stolen the drinks of the spirits
No wonder his six remaining sons
Gang to kill him
And take over his possessions
But he survives with no knowledge
Of the attempt made to terminate his life
Wofa Adwo, in his gluttonous element
Sank into the valley of his family's anger
When he stole the artifacts of the family -
He walks now with nothing
The new Abusuapanin, Peter Dafa
Has said he will inspect
And will take back all the lost family possessions.

Old poems at OGOV don't die, but live on in our archives! Every once in a while we will dust one off for our newer readers to enjoy. "Wofa Adwo, The Man of the House" was orginally published on OGOV on January 30th, 2010.

Author Profile - Nana Agyemang Ofosu

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 07:00:00 +0000

Biography:

Nana Agyemang Ofosu, born on February 3rd, 1985 in Kumasi, Ghana, is a young poet. He holds a degree in civil engineering from Kwame Nkrumah University of science and technology and is currently honoring his national service at the Department of Urban Roads, Kumasi. As a student of science, he accidentally discovered his interest in poetry when he made a bad comment about a poetry piece of his younger brother. He is a member of an open mic poetry team in Kumasi and also a founding member of Unified Talents, the organizers of Open Mic Poetry.

Five Questions with Nana Agyemang Ofosu:

1. What inspired you to write this poem?

The African approach towards politics really inspired me to write. I, having witnessed political take overs in the current dispensation of democratic governance in Ghana has made me aware of the behaviours of leaders in Africa. And more importantly the Ghanaian family system is no different from politics.

2.Why did you choose to include the refrain in the poem?

This was added for spoken word purpose just to include something comic when I do recite it someday. The very statement "Wofa Adwo ei, Nkaafa, Nipa eregye den" is an old saying of one of my grannies who used to serve in the shrine and the attitude is one similar to the character described in this work. It also brings the poem to life should anyone read it.

3. In June you spoke with us about your upcoming Open Mic Poetry project organized by your group Unified Talents. Do you have any updates on how that project is doing?

The program visited some schools and witnessed massive performances from students. Unfortunately the final event could not be organized due to lack of funds and support. Still, we were able to visit schools and had excellent preliminaries which to us was encouraging. It is hoped that poetry will go down well to the populace, and enjoy the support it deserves. We are still forging ahead to ensure that a final event is organized to give young talents in the senior high schools an opportunity to express themselves through poetry.

4. Can you tell us a bit more about Unified Talents in general?

Unified Talents is a group made up of young minds like myself bringing into life the dreams we have and poetry is a segment of what we do. We are working hard to break grounds to make our seed of greatness germinate, because that is the purpose we believe we are here.

5. Do your colleagues at the Department of Urban Roads know that you write poetry? If so, what do they say about it?

It's surprising how people sometimes cast doubts about one's abilities. People did not believe I could write good stuff, but now they have come to accept that I am talented and have a good taste for creative writing, especially poetry. But one thing is important: when you find what makes you happy never give in to the derogatory remarks of people. I have suffered these before and they can sometimes discourage you.

Contact Nana:

bunitslove(at)yahoo.com, unifiedtalents(at)hotmail.com

Finally at Peace - Dela Bobobee

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 22:12:00 +0000

With your music
you offered so much to the world
with your lovely voice
raised emotions to new heights
with your incredible voice
reached the hearts of the masses

with your love life
we know you didn’t get enough in return
with abusive lover, spat on, scorned
surrounded by friends, family and staff
yet isolated in the midst of the crowd
no love was as expressed as in your music

with your troubled talent
you paid the high price of isolation
the gap between public adoration
and private pain, tight in accepting support
with the pain of exquisite sensitivity
underscored flaws that influenced escapism

with your sudden death
you transformed into an ethereal message
with your tragic loss a reminder:
the ability to take in affection and care
is perhaps as important as giving it out

with the hope of immortality
Whitney, please when you finally get there
do extend our love and appreciation to Janis Joplin,
Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Michael Jackson,
who like you were cruelly tossed about by fame and fortune...
and are finally at peace.

Artist Profile - A Tribute to Whitney Houston from Dela Bobobee

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 22:07:00 +0000

Whitney Houston died on February 11th, 2012, at the age of 48. Last week we featured a tribute by Prince Mensah (in both poetry and prose) to Houston and her work in support of the Anti-Apartheid movement in South Africa. Inspired by Prince's contribution, Dela Bobobee sent us this very moving personal account of the role Whitney Houston's music played in his life, and we're honoured to have the opportunity to share both it, and the above-featured poem of Dela's, here with you:

When I was a child, for whatever reason, my dad decided that none of his younger kids would proceed to secondary school without first acquiring Middle School Leaving Certificate (MSLC). I was just 16 years old in 1980 when I completed my 10 year elementary education in Aveyime Methodist Primary & Middle School in Ghana. A lot of perplexing questions that needed urgent answers flooded my teenage mind then. I couldn’t find such answers either in the peer-pressure groups that exerted so much negative influence on me, or from my overly disciplinarian parents, due to the yawing generation gap.

The teeming teenage challenges I faced then in my formative years became adversely overwhelming until on January 18, 1986, I dropped out of school, left my suitcases and other belongings at the boarding house and secretly left Ghana for Nigeria under some upsetting circumstances. Even in Nigeria, the confusion and the harsh realities of fending for oneself so early in life continued. I became disillusioned and had serious self-doubts as thoughts of returning home as a failed voyager crept into my agitated mind. Answers came to me when, on March 14, 1986, "The Greatest Love of All" was released by Whitney Houston. The words of the music describe deep feelings about coping with the great challenges that one must face in life.

In fact, I strongly believe that the words of that song were actually sent from heaven and meant to strengthen me in the specific challenges I faced. It encouraged me to be strong during those difficult times, whether I succeeded or fail. It also talked about passing that strength on to children to carry with them into their adult lives. Those were the only answers I needed. I decided never to give up the struggle; I needed to continue my education that came to such an abrupt halt in Ghana. I started by doing “kayakaya” or porter work in some markets in Lagos, parts of Ogun State, and also did other menial jobs in construction sites, until the opportunity came and I was able to save enough money to enroll in Methodist Boys' High School, 11 Broad Street, Lagos. I got my SSCE in record time, passed the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board exams (JAMB) and got admission into the University of Lagos where I studied for my bachelor and master’s degrees. While still in the university as a full-time international student, I was still doing menial jobs in addition to a part-time job as a permanent night security operative in Dolphin Estate in Ikoyi. Interestingly, I even in some points of time functioned as a falcon that fed its falconer. I periodically sent gifts to my parents and siblings back home in Ghana while still in school.

At the early stages I became one of the greatest fans of Whitney, and her music continued to inspire me through life, especially another hit song called “When You Believe”, which was released on November 2, 1998. That was exactly the time I finished my first degree and was preparing for my master’s programme in the Faculty of Law. This music encouraged me immensely when I was again in self doubt about my potentials, because when I passed the PG qualifying entrance exams I had no money to pay for the course as an international student. And so when the music was released at that particular crucial time, I keyed unto the powerful words of faith in the chorus. It worked, because a miracle did happen, and I was able to successfully complete my master’s degree in Law and Diplomacy.

There can be miracles, when you believe
Though hope is frail, it's hard to kill
Who knows what miracles you can achieve
When you believe, somehow you will
You will when you believe

I got my master’s degree almost fourteen years ago. The point I am trying to make here is that, single-handedly, I sponsored my way from high school through postgraduate school in a foreign country. All this happened in part because of the strength of the deep impact of Whitney’s inspiring voice behind those great songs. Today I am the CEO of my own company with my children as shareholders. I now have a family of my own to nurture and am duty-bound to pass that self-reliant strength on to my children to carry with them into their adult lives. You see, I owe God Almighty all the thanks and praises, and still believe that it was truly God who sent Whitney to sing into my heart and soul all the strength I needed to carry on in those turbulent points in my life, especially when I needed it most.

Adios, Whitney! Today we are all chief mourners who, within our angst, also celebrate your life with elation, knowing that you are finally at peace!

-----

Dela Bobobee is a frequent OGOV contributor. You can read more of his writing here.

Whitney: An Acrostic - Prince Mensah

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 02:36:00 +0000

What a voice, what a voice sent from heaven!
Here we are, browsing memories you left.
I Will Always Love You, you sang to us,
Telling us about heartaches and heart pain.
No one captured love like you did,
Even angels knew not to face you in song.
Yes, we are struggling to remain strong.

Every life is a candle on life's path,
Lighting places where heartbreaks rule.
In your voice was a sweet, sweet spirit that
Zeroed in to secret places in our hearts.
All we wanted was to hear you sing again
But God needed you badly in heaven's choir.
Every time we hear your voice, our hearts
Tell us that you are resting in peace,
Happy to be where troubles cease.

Here we are, to remember your life -
Only God knows why you left us early.
Until we meet again, we shall sing
Songs of love that you immortalized.
This moment, our hearts are heavy with sadness,
Only God knows why you left us early.
Now look to Him, He waits by gates pearly.

Artist Profile - Whitney Houston and the Anti-Apartheid Movement

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 02:31:00 +0000

Whitney Houston died on February 11th, 2012, at the age of 48. She was well-known for her support of the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa, though following her sudden death little mention of this has been made in the Western media (her New York Times obituary, for instance, fails to mention this part of her life). We asked Prince Mensah to supplement his poem with a brief overview of Houston's roll in the anti-apartheid movement. Here is what he had to say:

Whitney Elizabeth Houston was a soldier in the global fight against apartheid in South Africa. Early on, in her career as a model, she refused to work with any agency that had ties to the then-apartheid regime in South Africa. Her stance cemented her status as an icon among Africans, who felt she was one of the few bridges between their continent and the rest of the world.

Whitney sang at the 1988 Wembley Concert in London to celebrate the 70th birthday of the then-incarcerated Nelson Mandela. She had the opportunity to sing to Mandela in person, in 1994, when he visited the United States as the first president of post-apartheid South Africa.

Whitney Houston was one of the few African-Americans who believed in Africa long before it became fashionable in the United States. She celebrated her identity as a Black person in many ways. As a person born in segregated times, she chose a front seat role in fighting against prejudice. Some people might choose to remember only her struggles, but Africa remembers her as a sister, a queen, a trailblazer and an inspiration. She truly left indelible footprints in our lives.

-----

Prince Mensah is a regular contributor and Associate Editor here at One Ghana, One Voice.

A Birthday - Etornam Agbodo

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 11:31:00 +0000

He came to me.
This morning the 24th of May.
Beaming a smile with radiant eyes.
Expecting as is his right.

I opened the door to his authoritative knock.
"Good morning!" He exclaimed triumphant.
Through sleepy haze I glanced at him.
One eye almost closed.

"Dad, it’s my Birthday." He said.
The power of sleep lost hold instantly.
Yes, the 24th of May.
He was born the day afore nine years ago.
That his birthday was yesterday mattered not.
I was not there, had not wished him happy.
It is his birthday until proper ceremony is done.

I stood helpless, hiding tears behind mock frown.
I couldn’t make promises,
For I had no power to fulfill.

Penniless.
"We’ll see to that later."
The deep boom of my worthless voice answered.
Blatant lie.
We’d see to nothing.
There was naught I could do.

Shames this sphere heaps on me.
My lot may be.
Helpless.
Shy still to state.

Without means.
Not able to provide one morsel of my own.
Yet still I hope.
A birthday to you my son though I dare not say happy.
Perchance that day comes,
When I can truly wish your birthday happy indeed.
Till then, "Birthday" to you, son.

Author Profile - Etornam Agbodo

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 11:22:00 +0000

Biography:

Etornam Adbodo was born premature in the Township of Agbozume in the Volta Region, two and a half months before time. He bets he was making a dash for it, never wanted anything slow. The year was 1974, the world was not well equipped for little hell-raisers like him, much the worse in Ghana. The doctor rightly said he had a very slim chance of making it but he did, and in fact has outlived that doctor. He schooled in Ghana and left for the UK just after his tertiary education. None of his school days were without incidence though. He is back in Ghana now and happy though he still goes back to the UK now and again to see family and friends.

Etornam's first ever complete published work, a compilation of poems entitled Verses of a Poet was published in the UK. He has written short stories and poems, with some making it into magazines and newspapers. Writing, for him, is a continual journey. The journey of his life, lights and sounds that he loves to share. He endeavors to live each day in a meaningful and even profitable way, though he might fail often. It is all part of the journey.

Five Questions with Etornam Adbodo:

1. How long have you been writing poetry?

I started my journey into the literary world in the good old days sitting in the sand and listening to my aunts and gran telling fables under the moonlight. I got so carried away by it that I started telling my own tales. I was fascinated they enjoyed these and kept asking where I heard them from, not suspecting I formulated them myself. Then there came a time when I just wanted to get long ideas and experiences written in short syllables. That is when I stumbled upon the poetry thing. That was back in the early nineties. I had some good audience I still hope they did not follow my writings because they were friends.

2. Who are your favourite poets? Which poets have most informed and inspired your work?

I love poetry and indulge that whim so much. I have read alongside poets like Spicy Fingers in Birmingham and Mrs. Cooper at literary events. I love their works but for now if I should select favorites, I should go for the renowned Wole Soyinka and that eternal poet, Thomas Hardy. I must confess my list does not end there.

3. What do you hope to accomplish with your poetry?

Poetry for me is the totality of my journey and experiences I wish to share. It is an effort to reach out and feel myself breathing and living.

4. You were a resident of the UK, but have moved back to Ghana. What inspired the move?

Moving back to Ghana was no easy choice. I had built stable family life and amassed good friends in the UK, but I still missed those little treasures I used to take for granted when I hadn't traveled. That social grace where everyone in the community knows your family by name, that sense of belonging which is more present in Ghana than in good old Britain where it was from work to the comforts of the heater in your house, and where your next door neighbor hardly knew your name. I could give a thousand and one reasons but permit me to say it in one established idiom: "Home Sweet Home".

5. Can you tell us a bit more about your novel, in case our readers might be interested in picking it up?

My recent novel is entitled The Dawn of Day. It is an attempt to confront modern day segregation that is rife, though like the proverbial ostrich we tend to hide our faces in the sand and pretend there is no danger until it creeps up on us. I have had to complete application forms and contend with the part where you have to state whether you are a black African, black British, Asian or Caucasian as if your race might determine your output. The novel tells of love's triumph over racial and social segregation. The statement "love conquers all" stands to test.

Contact Etornam:

etornamagbodo(at)yahoo.com

Memories of the Electricity Company of Ghana - Kofi A. Amoako

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 00:02:00 +0000

On, off
On, off
On for a while
Off for a while longer

On during the day
Off during the night time when the moon is late
On when the television is broken
Off when the final match is showing

On when nothing needs freezing
Off when the morgues are overcrowding
On when the clothes are drying on the line
Off when it's time for ironing

On when the charcoal is plentiful
Off when there's a kerosene shortage
On when there's nothing to do
Off when needle needs threading

On when nobody's home
Off when the party is still young
On when there are secrets to be shared
Off when we need to see the faces of strangers

Dear Electricity Company of Ghana,
Turn it on when I need to see my scars, my memories
Turn it off when I cry and feel vulnerable
Turn it on when I mouth "I love you" to my dear
Turn it off when my lover feels shy
On those nights when rain bounces on the roof.

Author Profile - Kofi A. Amoako

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 00:01:00 +0000

Biography:

Kofi A. Amoako was born and raised in Ghana, however he has spent the last decade and a half in Toronto, Canada - mainly as a student and and as a youth engagement worker. He's working to complete his International Development studies degree. He enjoys humour, soccer and all the other simple things in between.

Five Questions with Kofi A. Amoako:

1. How long have you been writing poetry?

I've been writing for about 10 years now - though not focused enough or consistently enough for my own liking.

2. Who are your favorite poets? Which poets have most influenced and informed your work?

I enjoy the poetry of Amiri Baraka, Gabriel Okara, Maya Angelou, Chinua Achebe, Leopold Senghor, and Ernest Hemingway is wonderful as well. I also love the poetry in old high-life songs - they are simply brilliant.

3. What do you hope to accomplish with your poetry?

I just want to share some of my ideas or perspectives on all sorts of topics and happenings. But on a personal level, it is a way of reflecting on certain experiences and realities (whether first-hand or of others). It is also a way of relating to other people who may or may not have an understanding of the images that the poem is attempting to paint. It's a way of providing commentary on day to day activities, event, memories, imagined worlds, etc.

4. You note in your bio that you are now living in Canada (hence the poem being about "memories"). When were you last in Ghana. Do you have plans to return soon?

Memories are important to living and Ghana is a memorable place. Luckily, I have gotten the opportunity to go to Ghana on two occasions in the last two years. I was there for five months from May-October 2011 on an internship. And yes, I plan on returning soon (I've begun the long process of saving all the pennies that I come across).

5. How do you think living in Canada for the last decade and a half has shaped your writing? Do you think yo would be writing more or less the same things, in the same style, if you still lived in Ghana?

Living in Canada has definitely influenced me because I have spent over half of my life here. Being an immigrant definitely allows one to have a clearer understanding and/or appreciation of both the life experiences in the old country and in the new country. So for instance, I am much appreciative of my Ghanaian upbringing as a result of being in Canada. Similarly, I am thankful for my Canadian experience because it has allowed me to grow in many ways. So surely, my writing wouldn't be the same if I still lived in Ghana because the lens with which I engage the world would not be the same. A person's perspective is shaped by many factors and for migrating people, location plays a critical role in forming that perspective.

Contact Kofi:

eugene.amoako(at)gmail.com

O! Jebu! Stared At The Beginning As Ananse Tickled Himself In The End - Novisi Dzitrie

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 00:02:00 +0000

O! Jebu! climbed the mountain and stood atop, akimbo!
As if as if...
looked deep down the valley into the hole;
raising his head next to look up at the empty sky.

This system is sick...
O! Jebu! must face the tasks:
put things apart; make sense of the whole;
bring the pieces back together!
But where...
where do we place the noesis?

O! Jebu! stretched his right hand upwards...
The sky was nowhere within his reach!

So let us tell tales...
for the lack of knowledge
between the hole deep down the valley and the empty sky high above.
Let us say... they say...

They say Mawu used to live on the next floor upstairs!
And as it used to be... they say...
O! Jebu! could stand on his two feet and touch the sky
or when he felt like it, he could look out of his window
and give Mawu a wink or a wave of high five!

But it came to pass... the ancestors disobeyed Mawu!
Day after day
they lifted their heavy pestles skywards
and pounded the peace of Mawu
as they crushed yam, coco-yam, plantain and cassava into fufu.
So Mawu stormed out in anger
and removed the sky from within the reach of man!

And so O! Jebu! must now rent the services of an intercessor,
born of a virgin or of pure oracles,
if he ever wishes to speak to Mawu the omnipresent!
And yet little did Mawu the all-knowing know
O! Jebu! would soon fly aircrafts into his sky.
Mother of palmwine! Mawu Sodza!

The same God who remains the same, they say,
and yet changes regardless without prior notice.
Mother of palmwine! Mawu Sodza!

So let us tell another tale.

They say, again, so let us say:
Let us say Kweku Ananse the spider took the place of O Jebu
and presented himself before Death
in a puzzle of many a great complication.

So Death said to Ananse:
"Because you have eaten my food,
you must die...you will die! You and your family!"

But Ananse did not want to die. No!
Instead, Ananse pedaled his many legs
in one heart-throbbing attempt to flee...
So they say... and so let us say...
Let us say it is the reason why Ananse is seen caught in his own web
in corners or on ceilings of buildings in his attempt to flee…
Flee...flee from Death!

So we tell tales...
Tales to fill up the space, to make up for the lack of knowledge
between the hole deep down the valley and the empty sky high above;
strange-tales... fairy-tales...

Tales that make us cry maa maa! Or make us laugh kwa kwa kwa!

Tales of why the crab is headless,
Tales of why the moon dies,
... of why soldier-ants move in a file,
... of why indeed the monkey has a tail!

Author Profile - Novisi Dzitrie

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Taylor) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 00:01:00 +0000

Biography:

Novisi Dzitrie is a Ghanaian who was born in Kakata, Liberia. He moved to Ghana when he was four years old, long before the war. Novisi has ventured a number of genres of writing but poetry comes pleasingly to him as a first love. Some of his short stories have been published in The Mirror, and two of his poems were recently published in the anthology Look Where You Have Gone To Sit, edited by Martin Egblewogbe and Laban Hill.

Five Questions with Novisi Dzitrie:

1. How long have you been writing poetry?

I started writing poetry by some "accident" in 1999. So that makes about 13 years now.

2. Who are your favourite poets? Which poets have most informed and inspired your work?

I must confess I didn't read much poetry before I found myself writing it. So I’m yet really in the process of discovering the works of other poets. However, I generally tend to like works from Nigeria for the force behind their words and for their palpable frankness. Niyi Osundare, Ogaga Ifowodo, J P Clark, Christopher Okigbo, and Wole Soyinka readily come to mind. Elsewhere, I like works by Eavan Boland, someone I consider, if you want, a man of a woman in her writing. And closer home in Ghana, I have developed some connections with works by Kofi Anyidoho and Martin Egblewogbe. These are poets whose works I have been informed and inspired by in many ways than I can consciously mark out.

3. What do you hope to accomplish with your poetry?

I write to express myself; to free my head from being flooded with thoughts and keep me from going mad. I like to brood over issues and search for logical threads but I don’t like to memorize points. I think there is enough storage media in the world for that. Yet I don’t think there are enough words, breath or punctuation to hold the places in the expression of ideas by any one individual, and that is where poetry comes in handy for me. Poetry can say a lot in a few words.

So I’d say I want simply to contribute my thoughts to the body of ideas that already exist in society so I don’t need to be around in person before anyone can access these. That for me is critical because I hold the firm position that human beings have come very far and so should have enough to learn from so that we can minimize the mistakes we make.

4. Your poems are punctuation-rich (lots of exclamation marks and ellipses and colons and question marks). What drove you to adopt this style?

I just don’t seem to have enough words to capture the moments between speech and thought, the moments between high and low pitches of sound, the moments between choking on something and the welling up of tears in the eyes and so on. Such moments, for me, are rich and need somehow to be communicated, however inadequately, even with the form of text on paper, so that one needs not be told these moments explicitly. That is how I find life to be. Genuine tears, for example, are not announced, they just happen by the kick of some emotions. So I don’t know if I should call it a style really, but I try to employ punctuations to capture those moments when thought processes are not complete or when sentences need not be completed before communication is effected and so on.

5. Do you believe that poetry can affect the politics of Ghana? If so, how? Are there particular types of poetry that are better suited to accomplishing this than others?

I’d say yes, poetry can affect the politics of Ghana and I think it already does in varying ways that may not be readily obvious. It depends on the quality of the discourse. If the discourse is about triviality then I’d not expect positive impacts. So to answer the question of how, I’d say the debates must be high on sustainable philosophical and theoretical postulations or affirmations. And poetry is one tool for capturing theories succinctly in as much as they help in dissecting issues.

I’d not say some particular types of poetry are better suited. I’d rather say, like any other political tool, it must just be appealing no matter how it’s crafted, and then people’s attention can be captured for the intended message. Even for mere aesthetics, which poetry provides in abundance, we can observe that Obama in America, for example, won an election by delivering awe inspiring prose-poems on his campaign. The phrase "Yes We Can" speaks volumes. Nkrumah did a similar thing in his speeches for Ghana’s Independence and for African unity, and the poet holds the unique place in society for establishing such influences in the political discourse with his/her craft. Indeed I actually hold the position that a poet has no option than to speak to political choices, either directly or indirectly, because a poets art is affected by the political forces.

Contact Novisi:

dnovisi(at)gmail.com