A wave of strong African men
Prisoners exploding with colour and song
Their picks raised harmoniously
Their ankles shackled
Prisoners exploding with color and song
Their rage and longing in lyrics
the withering warden dismisses
as the pleasant nothings of natives at work
Their picks raised harmoniously
high above the hatted head of their emaciated oppressor
Oblivious to their power
over him, the earth and the shackles
Their ankles shackled
The earth bleeds in anticipation
For the picks to strike down hard
For the picks to sing their song
I've only just discovered Gerard Sekoto.
Tragic that artists and important South Africans like him were kept from my school textbooks at the time. I think I'm still recovering from a pretty damaging education system. These paintings are incredible!
I recognize this poem. It's always been and I've always wanted it. To choose me to sing it down. On paper. How strange then that it isn't me after all this time. It's you. Your life it chose... Is this what my dad was so afraid of? So much so that he wouldn't read my poems? Dread that he would know my poem? "It looks like a poem," he said, handing it back to me. Well Jungle, I'm one up on you. Because I LOVE this poem. I would NEVER have had the colours, the courage, the life, to earn it. My version, by comparison, would have been a grey ghost. This is ROY'S poem. It has the marathon runner's fortitude and power. It has his exiled-to-Taiwan longing for our music, our red dust. YOU nailed it, our family is blessed with a new poet.
ReplyDeleteThank you my father! I don't know why Jungle wouldn't have wanted to read your work. He can't have realized the sense of honor that a young poet is filled with following in his father's footsteps and writing a poem for him to read. That must have hurt you a great deal. I can begin to imagine at how I would feel if you were to reject/dismiss my efforts. I started writing purely because it was what someone I loved and looked up to did. I still aspire to write poetry as honest and beautiful as yours. You will see that this poem is in fact in a similar format to "Though I Shoulder this Rain" which is simply my favorite piece of writing ever. Thank you for your words on this my father. I love you.
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ReplyDeleteSorry Roy, I just deleted what I said yesterday, the dream I shared with you. It just seemed a little odd, this morning... Hope all is well.
ReplyDelete(I love you too. Your happiness is all that matters to me.)
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