Category Archives: Poetry

7 October, a year later

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That one god is said to be just,
That other to be loving,
Yet another to be merciful,
And they all are deemed to be one,
Though one, in three, despises all logic on top.
It must be because of all this
That the people around the world are holding their breath,
Again,
Expecting yet worse to come
Out of godly justice, love, and mercy.
It must be because of all of this
That we’re debating what’s worse:
Cutting the heads off of babies?, or
Pulverise their little bodies by dropping bomb after bomb on them?
Quality over quantity, huh?
It must be because of all of this
That some land-grabbing is okay (just!),
While others, elsewhere, are expected to go empty.
If there was a god I should refuse to be a spitting image
And spit in his-her-its face instead
And tell him-her-it to keep their justice, love and mercy all to themself.

Note: I completely misjudged the dimension of the Hamas terror attack a year ago. Too many years of being news-numbed.

Stolen Rivers

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Nile, Niger, Senegal, Orange, Limpopo, Zambezi …

As I was following the online Poetry Africa Festival from KZN, I heard Phillippa Yaa de Villiers recite her poem “Stolen Rivers”, a poem she dedicated to Chiwoniso Maraire. Like the poet, I deeply admire Chiwoniso, I find her very inspirational, and her music enchanting. I have written about her here, and now I allow myself to copy-paste the poem here (> page 2):

Zambezi, Livingstone
Zambezi
Pages: 1 2 3 4

Privileged to hold my breath

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I have been given the privilege
To hold my breath
To make this choice:
I cannot watch that video
I will not watch that video
To see
          How George Floyd is being killed
To hear
          How George Floyd is being killed
To hear
          His breath failing as he tells the whole world so
And Derek Chauvin
          On duty
To see
         Derek Chauvin killing George Floyd
         On duty

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The memory of water

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Constant dripping, so the saying goes, wears away the stone. Yet, everyone who has visited a karst cave with their often astounding richness in rock formations will know otherwise: constant dripping creates the stone! Now, any speleologist (academese for cave expert) may frown over my lax use of the term “stone”. Fine, of course I mean those pillars and bumps and other formations expertly called stalagtites, stalagmites and stalagnates. Water drops, sintering through the earth and rocks that form the ceiling of a cave, containing minerals and other material, carry that material into the cave, where it slowly builds up into said formations. Talk about slowly – think tens of thousands of years, and then some.

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Chiwoniso

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24 July this year sees the fifth anniversary of the passing of Chiwoniso Maraire, one of the world’s greatest musical talents, and revered as the Queen of Mbira in Zimbabwe and elsewhere. Born 5 March 1976, Chi died in 2013, aged only 37, the same age as Alberta, my ex-wife, at that time. I mention this because they were school-mates in Mutare for a while. My introduction to Shona culture and music owes much to her, and I added considerable efforts myself, reading and doing research, to the point of learning to play songs by Oliver Mtukudzi and, of course, Chiwoniso. I explored Zimbabwean music more and more, and Chi has since become a musical icon for me. Her music speaks to me more than many others. It is a sorrowful case of historical irony that I didn’t know her when she appeared at the Würzburg Afrikafestival in 2011. Some of my favourite live recordings were taken there. 
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Melville

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A five-minute walk from my home, and you enter Melville. It’s a beautiful suburb, many streets are lined with trees, there’s artsy decoration in the streets even, you find small charity shops as well as up-market boutiques, galleries, restaurants and clubs. Especially around 7th street and 27 Boxes, nightlife is hot as it is a major attraction for students from the numerous nearby residences and for Jo’burg’s gay community.  

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R.I.P. Mama Winnie

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Now her, after Bra Willie and Bra Hugh the third South African icon to die while I am here. I am not in the position to write much about “Mama Winnie”, the Mother of the Nation, as Winnie Madikizela-Mandela is emphatically referred to. Her death has laid open the rifts that run through South African society – historical, racial, social, gender-related. Even in death, one might say, she polarizes, and thus her impressive legacy was not only praised but also denounced immediately after her passing, which is not just an act of highest indecency, it also echoes the rather tragic fate of a woman who found herself overshadowed by an iconic husband, belittled and vilified.

Yet her name and legacy will forever be remembered in every shouting of “Amandla – Ngawethu”, repeated a thousandfold over the two weeks after her passing, just like the thousands of “Long live!”, and most inspiringly in “She has not died, she multiplied”.

Berita

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