How those who once I knew, disowned me.
They thought too little or not at all
busy with their decorations and babies.
If I mention them now it is only to invite
them to their old age, to the round-up.
We need more clowns in cannons.
29.11.12
25.11.12
Heat Seeking
Despite the war: harmonicas.
We'd have been who we are
only taller, our shirts less worn.
Scriptures are rewritten
into dictionaries of the absurd
before they matter.
This is the moment in time
that to forget
is to remember strongly
the real myth
a mirror locks on
to the target, bam
and it is over.
Despite the war: harmonicas.
We'd have been who we are
only taller, our shirts less worn.
Scriptures are rewritten
into dictionaries of the absurd
before they matter.
This is the moment in time
that to forget
is to remember strongly
the real myth
a mirror locks on
to the target, bam
and it is over.
24.11.12
The Sound of Olatayo
I've known people who were passengers
on high-jacked planes.
They were assholes before they hit Libyan airspace
and probably still are.
I've seen a black man
come out of the sea
like an aboriginal -
Mexican sand on his face,
hair twisted into tribal knots.
It was the week after he stormed out
of the Que Pas, a community college diner
where I met Olatayo Sowandi too,
watched him and the other Nigerians
as they listened to the sound
of foreigners eating.
Not a word between them and I recall
how sweet their silence felt
when I was in it with them.
As Mahdi busted out of the sea
I remembered his anger that day
when the Arabs at the cafe -
Saadi Sartawi the Kuwaiti, Faisal the Libyan, Wassim
the Palestinian brothel owner's kid from Egypt -
kept calling him abed in conversation
instead of just calling him
the Sudan-ee because he was
definitely not their slave, he was just
from Africa and knew
how to make an impression
when walking out of the sea at Kino Bay.
Reprint from 2006 but written sometime in the 80/90's most likely, Remembering the Sudanese before I knew what that meant. Almost Juvenalia by now.
"Abed" is literally "slave" in Arabic and a common name in terms of being a slave to Allah (Ab'dallah) however it also carries a certain connotation of bigotry when used by Arabs in reference to those with 'dark skin'. Arabs tend to be either comfortable with the usage and not necessarily bigoted when using it or 2) we as outsiders to the language impose our own meaning on it and hence we feel and perceive a bigotry that is actually our own. Not sure really but at the end of the day I choose the alternative meaning which is Mahdi saw it neither way as they were all muslims involved in the cafe incident and he didn't like being considered differently from the other muslims as we consider ourselves as one type, all slaves, all equal. My experience in the muslim world has shown me that the Sudanese overall are highly respected and some of the most gracious of all the muslims. This is a view that is shared by a majority of muslims worldwide. I find it to be a nice poem to revisit upon my return from Liberia.
The irony of this piece is uncovered later (as is the case with poems from the heart) that "Mahdi" itself has profound meaning within Islam. I won't go into that particular detail except to say Mahdi in this poem has a saving grace.
I've known people who were passengers
on high-jacked planes.
They were assholes before they hit Libyan airspace
and probably still are.
I've seen a black man
come out of the sea
like an aboriginal -
Mexican sand on his face,
hair twisted into tribal knots.
It was the week after he stormed out
of the Que Pas, a community college diner
where I met Olatayo Sowandi too,
watched him and the other Nigerians
as they listened to the sound
of foreigners eating.
Not a word between them and I recall
how sweet their silence felt
when I was in it with them.
As Mahdi busted out of the sea
I remembered his anger that day
when the Arabs at the cafe -
Saadi Sartawi the Kuwaiti, Faisal the Libyan, Wassim
the Palestinian brothel owner's kid from Egypt -
kept calling him abed in conversation
instead of just calling him
the Sudan-ee because he was
definitely not their slave, he was just
from Africa and knew
how to make an impression
when walking out of the sea at Kino Bay.
Reprint from 2006 but written sometime in the 80/90's most likely, Remembering the Sudanese before I knew what that meant. Almost Juvenalia by now.
"Abed" is literally "slave" in Arabic and a common name in terms of being a slave to Allah (Ab'dallah) however it also carries a certain connotation of bigotry when used by Arabs in reference to those with 'dark skin'. Arabs tend to be either comfortable with the usage and not necessarily bigoted when using it or 2) we as outsiders to the language impose our own meaning on it and hence we feel and perceive a bigotry that is actually our own. Not sure really but at the end of the day I choose the alternative meaning which is Mahdi saw it neither way as they were all muslims involved in the cafe incident and he didn't like being considered differently from the other muslims as we consider ourselves as one type, all slaves, all equal. My experience in the muslim world has shown me that the Sudanese overall are highly respected and some of the most gracious of all the muslims. This is a view that is shared by a majority of muslims worldwide. I find it to be a nice poem to revisit upon my return from Liberia.
The irony of this piece is uncovered later (as is the case with poems from the heart) that "Mahdi" itself has profound meaning within Islam. I won't go into that particular detail except to say Mahdi in this poem has a saving grace.
19.11.12
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