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mind entropy of the ethiofrican

The Graying of these here Pink Shades

6 May, 2010 | 2 comments | Category: love.of.words!, madness!, poetry, thinking...

by tsepeaces

youth
the bright hues and yellow tints of youth
shimmer with a firm naive plumpness
an alluring image behind pink glasses
tints that ripen into a deep maroon red
under an abrupt, certain stare
under the visor where pleasure equals happiness
gorgeous equals flawlessness

grown
confusion and complexity,
blurring against clarity
all was either peachy or rotten
till these glasses started aging
the tints were fading
gloss now crusty and textured
set in white and gray, black and gray
plain eyes find shades in arrays

accents
 a wrinkle, an involving accent
the heavy weight of dark colors hanging
at the bottom edges of eyes where tears hide
& melancholy has a crackling of pleasure
for the sweetest memories inflict mourning torture

love
eyes behold a black hole we fall into
in love
while they’re also the pools
below the highest cliffs we soar from…
in this same thing called, love

everything
in this reality everything begets everything,
each pit contains a darker or lighter version of itself
love breeds love
while hurt only gives birth to still more hurt

light perception
life’s quirks lay in the angles,
of how we perceive reality than actualities
harnessing reality through the circle of thoughts
creation in the choice of one’s spotlight

imperfect
at the onset of the graying of these pink shades
the know-it-all meets humility
in the mystery of the skies
eyes fixate on imperfection daze
humility, brokenly endearing
scars, badges of lessons learned
love, the art of letting go and holding tight
freedom, void without duty & security
courage, enough to risk breaking
bravery, a leap off the highest hills
fear the only thing to be feared
besides indecision paralysis, waiting, pain

paradox
where paradox carries the realest truth
and reason can be simply foolish
where intuition and love mark the shine at the edge of life
life purely for the sake of itself

art
the surest artform
coming alive
of contrasts, shades, hues,
emotions, choices, mystery, danger
& insanely delightfully enough even…magic

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the horn’s dustyfoot wordisans

31 January, 2009 | 14 comments | Category: book snip, for.the.love.of.words!, love.of.words!, musiqa, poetry

I wrote about the dusty foot philosopher k’naan’s wordskillz last year. looks like the emcee-poet-word artist is back with a new album!

a somali wordisan artisan
K’naan’s poem ‘too well done’ portrays beyond doubt the power of words to relay messages dripping with passion and energy. It does that as it encapsulates an experience within the horn in a unique and touchingly honest way that no other medium could.

Words can shake. caress. arouse. repel. expose. provoke. uplift… It’s intriguing how complicated the history of cultures & their wordplays get. Though, simply -- words sculpt a story through a unique writer-orator’s worldview. enter: the horn immigrant K’naan hailing from Wardhiigleey (”The Lake of Blood”), Mogadishu, Somalia, now a rapper residing in Canada.


the horn of africa’s wordy history

For a region with communities that raised us teaching you must respect the elders without daring to talk back…words weigh a lot. Though the truth -- our stories are not heard in our voices resounding across the world. We hear stories about wars, famine and suffering, no clear and honed voices speaking out in intricate articulation about people of ancient cultures sharing their glorious humanity, until now. The groove of the horn is deep with a lot of treasure within… as K’Naan put it “The horn of Africa has the deepest wells humanity has ever dug to find the truest sentiments that describe the world and what it contains.”

I’ve been reading ‘Notes from the Hyena’s Belly‘, an interestingly written book seeping stories about cultural rituals and traditions through the eyes of a grown man remembering his childhood in Jijiga, eastern Ethiopia -- a cultural crossroads between the interior of Ethiopia and the interior of Somaliland. And I came across a section that described the role of poets in times past, of highland kingdom kings and noblemen, feudal lords and warriors…

The key to the kinae lies in the contradictory nature of the Amharic language…Generations of oppression, without freedom of speech, gave birth to this tangling of meaning and intentions. If a man had been mistreated by a feudal lord or local chieftain, he would compose a kinae to read at a social event, a poem that was sweet and heart-rending to the untrained ar, but quite biting to the lord- one of the intended audience.

The peasants, by and large, were illiterate and unable to put together a recondite kinae, so the poets did it for them. A poet might compose a kinae to inform the lord that the taxes he had levied on his subjects were expensive, about the brutality of his son, who raped and plundered the locals, or as a plea for forgiveness on behalf of the man he had recently thrown into his private jail. The feudal lord was often trained in the interpretation of the kinae, but if he doubted his own judgment, there were always one or two monks beside him to shed light on the subject. Poets were usually exempt form the repercussions of their kinae, as lords were generally reluctant to be seen as monstrous persecutors of humble poets. Besides, the poet could always plead his ignorance, claiming that his intentions were misread, and offer apologies.


It’s quite fascinating really, the horn has such ancient traditions with words…intertwined with the fabric of society where the lifestyle has been dictated by the nature of the location. A location very much at a crossroads and junction point between continents with a variety of cultures. Like most forms of African art, spoken and written words are mixed into the way of life; literature is functional, musical, entertaining, uplifting and has a performance culture fused with it. Like most African art -- it is holistic…interactive…improvisational… communal.

The horn is the land of storytelling, poetry, fables, riddles of play, wisdom and double edged words…warrior chants and calls, songs of childplay, lyrics to accompany the grinding of grains & the sifting of dry pepper fruit … Religious & spiritual hymns resound along with rhythmic recitations of scripture and the echoing sounds of mosque prayers …words spar for justice village elders witness conflicts of village members, scribes record mystical tales as beggars and singers improvise poetry & lyrics to customize to their listeners…

the dusty foot filosofer’s wordy inspiration

‘Somalia tops Forbes magazine’s “Most Dangerous Destinations,” list above Iraq and Afghanistan. And yet it is “The Nation of Poets,” where a poem has the power to inspire peace. Where every weekend, regardless of the climate, one can find a play or concert.’

‘Somalia was dubbed by the 19th century British explorer Richard Burton in his book ‘First Footsteps in East Africa‘ as a nation of bards:

The country teems with poets, every man has his recognized position in literature as accurately defined as though he had been reviewed in a century of magazines -- the fine ear of this people causing them to take the greatest pleasure in harmonious sounds and poetic expressions. Every chief in the country must have a panegyric to be sung by his clan, and the great patronize light literature by keeping a poet. Read more about Somali poetry

.

As Said Samatar explains, a Somali poet is expected to play a role in supporting his tribe or clan, “to defend their rights in clan disputes, to defend their honor and prestige against the attacks of rival poets, to immortalize their fame and to act on the whole as a spokesman for them.” In short, a traditional poem is occasional verse composed to a specific end, with argumentative or persuasive elements, and having a historical context.’

The grandson of Haji Mohamed, one of Somalia’s most famous poets, and nephew of famed Somali singer Magool, K’naan the emcee is creating his own musical orator path through reggae, funk, pop, soul and hip-hop. K’naan says he makes “urgent music with a message”, talking about the situation in his homeland of Somalia and calling for an end to violence and bloodshed. He specifically tries to avoid gangsta rap clichés and posturing, saying:

“All Somalis know that gangsterism isn’t to brag about. The kids that I was growing up with [in Rexdale] would wear baggy [track] suit pants, and a little jacket from Zellers or something, and they’d walk into school, and all the cool kids would be like, ‘Ah, man, look at these Somalis. Yo, you’re a punk!’ And the other kid won’t say nothing, but that kid, probably, has killed fifteen people.

”

“My job is to write just what I see / So a visual stenographer is who I be,” he rhymes in “I Come Prepared.”

here’s the video of his first single from his latest album.

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Yell-o nailpolish

31 August, 2008 | 11 comments | Category: for.the.love.of.words!, I.dentity, poetry, thinking...

did she know? she got a sticker stuck on her,

in a box with labels pressed to hips.
they read a sign on her forehead
in bright orange sharpie scribble
did you know? or you imagined?

yellow nail polish on fingertips and toes.
even as paint flakes where paint cracks…
messy dry dribbles on toe tips
speak out bright loudness in yell-o

tears… despite smudges of eyeliner smearing
crying out speaking
drawing lines on eye lids
dulled shades of dark. shades of sad.
shades of thoughts.

echoes resounding
screams bouncing
on the afro, nail polish, tear smudges.

pent up breath explodes
release me
release. let be

and you, with raised eyebrows and crinkled lips
shrink mignon!

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above belly.underneath heart

7 May, 2008 | 5 comments | Category: love.of.words!, musiqa, poetry

getachew mekuria and susheela raman. “the love trap” an adaptation of Mahmoud Amhed’s “bemin sebeb litlash”

trancing a light curly zigzag
lazily. teasingly. tingling
…lips, finger tips…

half-dreaming colors and warmth
floetry, underneath the heart,
above the belly.

feelings that look like…
gradient orange sunset rays piercing through blazing red fire
surrounded by pulsing rhythms and…
sifting fragile petals of yellow on translucent maroon sashes…
like skipping butterflies as they prance between the deep pit of the belly where feelings reside, and the base of the heart where they overflow.

the depth of the feelings mirror shadows falling creating accents…
provoking a vulnerable smile at the cosy humble fire they stroke…
at the heady euphoria of an embrace
a sweeter crush,
a more delish lushness,
a softer…scrumptious flutter,
a more tasty brush.

feels, textures, tints and tones…
tempting finger tip senses, lip buds, eyes.
skimming along the edge of shoulders exposed to air.
sending a delicious tingle down…

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Blind Ears

18 March, 2008 | No comments | Category: love.of.words!, poetry

at the base under where certainty resides,
jaws release pulses. clenched tight. assured…
flippant eyes glazed, or averted.

heads foam-filled, fuzzy from ear to ear.
stuffed with pretentious filler.
puffing with insistence of rigid and sure…

as if foam is unbudgingly fixed metal.
as if phobic of metals scratching when flexing and flowing.

halt the flex. stop the motion. parch the dialog.
testify the non issue.
decelerate the rumbling, bubbling flow.
avert eyes. defocus ears

what of listening to fluidity?
watching for raw individualities.
stories. emotion…the drumming of the heart.
the rhythmic motion of life
patterns of contradictions and idyosyncracies.
colorful volume and noise.
the unscripted and uncrypted textures.

opaque. beaten.
by listening to fluff and argumentation.
seeing fluff testify…
weave its tangling spell. tangling.

silent eyes close
blind ears numb

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