Moore, Gerald; Ulli Beier;
The Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry: Fourth Edition
Penguin Twentieth Century Classics 1998 (Paperback, 480 pages) [gbook]
ISBN 9780141181004 / 0141181001
topics: | poetry | africa | anthology
Some very fine poetry, like Antonio Jacinto's Letter from a contract worker, and many others. But limited availability of material in English makes the task difficult. Much of the poetry mentioned is written in a colonial language such as French or English or Portuguese itself. I wonder if the native African poetry is getting much mileage - we note for instance the Okot p'Bitek stance on shifting back to Acholi for his creative work. At the same time, the poet desires the love of the world, and hence is impelled to shift to the colonial tongue, which serves as a better lingua franca even among his own.
(tr. Michael Wolfers) I wanted to write a letter my love, a letter that would tell of this desire to see you of this fear of losing you of this more than benevolence that I feel of this indefinable ill that pursues me of this yearning to which I live in total surrender... I wanted to write a letter my love, a letter of intimate secrets, a letter of memories of you, of you of your lips red as henna of your black hair as mud of your eyes sweet as honey of your breasts hard as wild orange of your lynx gait and of your caresses such that I can find no better here... I wanted to write a letter my love, that would recall the days of haunts our nights lost in the long grass that would recall the shade falling on us from the plum trees the moon filtering through the endless palm trees that would recall the madness of our passion and the bitterness of our separation... I wanted to write a letter my love, that you would read without sighing that you would hide papa Bombo that you would withhold from mama Kieza that you would reread without the coldness of forgetting a letter to which Kilombo no other would stand comparison... I wanted to write a letter my love, a letter that would be brought to you by the passing wind a letter that the cashews and the coffee trees the hyenas and the buffaloes the alligator and grayling could understand so that if the wind should lose it on the way the beasts and plants with pity of our sharp suffering from song to song lament to lament gabble to gabble would bring you pure and hot the burning words the sorrowful words of the letter I wanted to write you my love... I wanted to write you a letter... But oh my love, I cannot understand why it is, why it is, why it is, my dear that you cannot read And I – Oh the hopelessness! - cannot write! (Poems from Angola, ed. and transl. Michael Wolfers, Heinemann 1979)
When I return from the land of exile and silence, do not bring me flowers. Bring me rather all the dews, tears of dawns which witnessed dramas. Bring me the immense hunger for love and the plaint of tumid sexes in star-studded night. Bring me the long night of sleeplessness with mothers mourning, their arms bereft of sons. When I return from the land of exile and silence, no, do not bring me flowers... Bring me only, just this the last wish of heroes fallen at day-break with a wingless stone in hand and a thread of anger snaking from their eyes.
wikipedia festivaldepoesiademedellin.org bio From the bloodless wars With sunken hearts Our boots full of pride- From the true massacre of the soul When we have asked `What does it cost To be loved and left alone' We have come home Bringing the pledge Which is written in rainbow colours Across the sky -- for burial But is not the time To lay wreaths For yesterday's crimes, Night threatens Time dissolves And there is no acquaintance With tomorrow The gurgling drums Echo the stars The forest howls And between the trees The dark sun appears. We have come home When the dawn falters Singing songs of other lands The death march Violating our ears Knowing all our loves and tears Determined by the spinning coin We have come home To the green foothills To drink from the cup Of warm and mellow birdsong `To the hot beaches Where the boats go out to sea Threshing the ocean's harvest And the hovering, plunging Gliding gulls shower kisses on the waves We have come home Where through the lighting flash And the thundering rain The famine the drought, The sudden spirit Lingers on the road Supporting the tortured remnants of the flesh That spirit which asks no favour of the world But to have dignity. p. 88
p. 91, can be found online Parachute men say The first jump Takes the breath away Feet in the air disturb Till you get used to it. Solid ground Is not where you left it As you plunge down Perhaps head first As you listen to Your arteries talking You learn to sustain hope. Suddenly you are only Holding an umbrella In a windy place As the warm earth Reaches out to you Reassures you The vibrating interim is over You try to land Where green grass yields And carry your pack Across the fields The violent arrival Puts out the joint Earth has nowhere to go You are at the staring point Jumping across worlds In condensed time After the awkward fall We are always at the starting point
obit: The Guardian The past Is but the cinders Of the present; The future The smoke That escaped Into the cloud-bound sky. Be gentle, be kind, my beloved For words become memories, And memories tools In the hands of jesters. When wise men become silent, It is because they have read The palms of Christ In the face of the Buddha. So look not for wisdom And guidance In their speech, my beloved. Let the same fire Which chastened their tongues Into silence, Teach us–teach us! The rain came down, When you and I slept away The night's burden of our passions; Their new-found wisdom In quick lightening flashes Revealed the truth That they had been The slaves of fools. p.105
wikipedia At home the sea is in the town, Running in and out of the cooking places, Collecting the firewood from the hearths And sending it back at night; The sea eats the land at home. It came one day at the dead of night, Destroying the cement walls, And carried away the fowls, The cooking-pots and the ladles, The sea eats the land at home; It is a sad thing to hear the wails, And the mourning shouts of the women, Calling on all the gods they worship, To protect them from the angry sea. Aku stood outside where her cooking-pot stood, With her two children shivering from the cold, Her hands on her breasts, Weeping mournfully. Her ancestors have neglected her, Her gods have deserted her, It was a cold Sunday morning, The storm was raging, Goats and fowls were struggling in the water, The angry water of the cruel sea; The lap-lapping of the bark water at the shore, And above the sobs and the deep and low moans, Was the eternal hum of the living sea. It has taken away their belongings Adena has lost the trinkets which Were her dowry and her joy, In the sea that eats the land at home, Eats the whole land at home. p.106
bio educated in Moscow and London, professor at U. Ghana, president of Ghana literary bodies. nine hundred and ninety-nine smiles plus one quarrel ago, our eyes and our hearts were in agreeement that still The sun rises in the East and sets in the West, that still Rains fall from above Downward to the earth That Still smokes rise from the Earth, reaching for the sky... p.120
p.133 Because because I do not scream
You do not know how bad I hurt Because because I do not kiss on public squares You may not know how much I love Because because I do not swear again and again and again You wouldn't know how deep I care You keep saying How somehow our world must live by signs But see how much we give away Doing time in pursuit of signs deprived of all meaning and all purpose We break our words in two. Then we Split each half into sounds and silences.
brilliant and controversial author, accused of plagiarism for his novel, Bound to violence Everyone thinks me a cannibal But you know how people talk Everyone sees my red gums but who Has white ones Up with tomatoes Everyone says fewer tourists will come Now But you know We aren't in America and anyway everyone Is broke Everyone says it's my fault and is afraid But look My teeth are white and not red I haven't eaten anyone People are wicked and say I gobble the tourists roasted Or perhaps grilled Roasted or grilled I asked them They fell silent and looked fearfully at my gums Up with tomatoes Everyone knows an arable country has agriculture Up with vegetables Everyone maintains that vegetables Don't nourish the grower well And that I am well-grown for an undeveloped man Miserable vermin living on tourists Down with my teeth Everyone suddenly surrounded me Fettered Thrown down prostrated At the feet of justice Cannibal or not cannibal Speak up Ah you think yourself clever And try to look proud Now we'll see you get what's coming to you What is your last word Poor condemned man I shouted up with tomatoes The men were cruel and the women curious you see There was in the peering circle Who with her voice rattling like the lid of a casserole Screamed Yelped Open him up I'm sure papa is still inside The knives being blunt Which is understandable among vegetarians Like the Westerners They grabbed a Gillette blade And patiently Crisss Crasss Floccc They opened my belly A plantation of tomatoes was growing there Irrigated by streams of palm wine Up with tomatoes p.199
Grew up in Bomoundi by the River Nun, in the Niger Delta, where water was everything for us. We used it for cooking, washing, transportation; travelling from place to place. My father was a trader so we travelled a lot selling our wares. All that experience of rivers coupled with the indirect experience I had in the writings of writers like Charlotte Brontë and William Shakespeare inspired me into writing. - Interview on african-writing.com The son of an Ijọ chief, he went to college in Umuahia, where he started to write and painted. Worked for some years at a print shop in Enugu. Came to fame with his poetry collection, the Call of the River Nun, which goes: I hear your call! I hear it far away; I hear it break the circle of these crouching hills. I hear it break the circle of these crouching hills. I want to view your face again and feel your cold embrace; or at your brim to set myself and inhale your breath; or like the trees, to watch my mirrored self unfold and span my days with song from the lips of dawn. I hear your lapping call! I hear it coming through...
p.232 The wind comes rushing from the sea, the waves curling like mambas strike the sands and recoiling hiss in rage washing the Aladuras' feet pressing hard on the sand and with eyes fixed hard on what only hearts can see, they shouting pray, the Aladuras pray; and coming from booths behind, compelling highlife forces ears; and car lights startle pairs arm in arm passing washer-words back and forth like haggling sellers and buyers - Still they pray, the Aladuras pray with hands pressed against their hearts and their white robes pressed against their bodies by the wind; and drinking palm-wine and beer, the people boast at bars at the beach. Still they pray. They pray, the Aladuras pray to what only hearts can see while dead fishermen long dead with bones rolling nibbled clean by nibbling fishes, follow four dead cowries shining like stars into deep sea where fishes sit in judgement; and living fishermen in dark huts sit around dim lights with Babalawo throwing their souls in four cowries on sand, trying to see tomorrow. Still they pray, the Aladuras pray to what only hearts can see behind the curling waves and the sea, the stars and the subduing unanimity of the sky and their white bones beneath the sand And standing dead on dead sands, I felt my knees touch living sands- but the rushing wind killed the budding words.
p.233 Look! Look out there in the bucket the rusty bucket with water unclean Look! A luminous plate is floating – the Moon, dancing to the gentle night wind Look! all you who shout across the wall with a million hates. Look at the dancing moon It is peace unsoiled by the murk and dirt of this bucket war.
Suddenly becoming talkative like weaverbird. Summoned at offiide of dream remembered Between sleep and waking, I hang up my egg-shells To you of palm grove, Upon whose bamboo towers Hang, dripping with yesterupwine, A tiger mask and nude spear ... Queen of the damp half light, I have had my cleansing, Emigrant with air-borne nose, The he-goat-on-heat.
For he was a shrub among the poplars, Needing more roots More sap to grow to sunlight, Thirsting for sunlight, A low growth among the forest. Into the soul The selves extended their branches, Into the moments of each living hour, Feeling for audience Straining thin among the echoes; And out of the solitude Voice and soul with selves unite, Riding the echoes, Horsemen of the apocalypse; And crowned with one self The name displays its foliage, Hanging low A green cloud above the forest.
Banks of reed. Mountains of broken bottles. & the mortar is not yet dry ... Silent the footfall, Soft as cat's paw, SandaRed in velvet in fur, So we must go, eve-mist on shoulders, Sun's dust of combat With brand burning out at hand-end. & the mortar is not yet dry ... Then we must sing, tongue-tied, Without name or audience, Making harmony among the branches. And this is the crisis point, The twilight moment between sleep and waking; And voice that is reborn transpires, Not thro' pores in the flesh, but the soul's back-bone. Hurry on down - Thro' the high-arched gate - Hurry on down little stream to the lake; Hurry on down - Thro' the cinder market - Hurry on down in the wake of the dream; Hurry on down - To rockpoint of Cable, To pull by the rope the big white elephant ... & the mortar is not yet dry & the mortar is not yet dry; And the dream wakes the voice fades In the damp half light like a shadow, Not leaving a mark. {Cable: Cable Point at Asaba, a sacred waterfront with rocky promontory, and terminal point of a traditional quinquennial pilgrimage.}
An image insists
From flag pole of the heart;
Her image distracts
With the cruelty of the rose ...
Oblong-headed lioness -
No shield is proof against her -
Wound me, O sea-weed
Face, blinded like strong-room -
Distances of her armpit-fragrance
Turn chloroform enough for my patience -
When you have finished
& done up my stitches,
Wake me near the altar,
& this poem will be finished ...
{Limits V-XII:} Fragments out of the Deluge
{Fragments out of the Deluge}
{V}
ON AN empty sarcophagus
hewn out of alabaster,
A branch of fennel on an
empty sarcophagus...
Nothing suggests accident
where the beast
Is finishing her rest ...
Smoke of ultramarine and amber
Floats above the fields after
Moonlit rains, from tree unto tree
Distils the radiance of a king ...
You might as well see the new branch of Enkidu;
And that is no new thing either ...
sarcophagus: The body of one of the Egyptian Pharaohs is said to have
metamorphosed into a fennel branch.
beast: The lioness of LIMITS IV who destroyed the hero's second self.
a king: The hero is like Gilgamesh, legendary king of Uruk in
Mesopotamia, and first human hero in literature.
enkidu: Companion and second self of Gilgamesh.}
Introduction xxi
Augustinbo Neto (1922--79)
Farewell at the Moment of Parting 3
African Poem 4
Kinaxixi 5
The Grieved Lands 6
Antonio Jacinto (b. 1924)
Monangamba 8
Poem of Alienation 9
Letter from a Contract Worker 12
Ameelia Veiga(b.1931)
Angola 15
Costa Andrade (b.1936)
Fourth Poem of a Canto of Accusation 16
Ngudia Wendel (b. 1940)
We Shall Return, Luanda 17
Jofre Rocha (b. 1941)
Poem of Return 19
Ruy Duarte de Carvalho (b. 1941)
I Come from a South 20
Makuzayi Massaki(b. 1950)
Regressado, yes I am 21
Indelible Traces 22
Mawete Makisosila(b. 1955)
They Told Me 23
Emile Ologoudou(b. 1935)
Vespers 27
Liberty 27
Barolong Seboni(b. 196?)
Love that 31
memory 31
Simon Mpondo(b. 1935)
The Season of the Rains 35
Mbella Sonne Dipoko(b. 1936)
Our Life 37
Pain 37
Exile 38
A Poem of Villeneuve St Georges 38
From My Parisian Diary 40
Patrice Kayo(b. 1942)
Song of the Initiate 41
War 42
Onesimo Silveira(b. 1936)
A Different Poem 47
Tchicaya U Tam'si(1931--88)
Three poems from Feu de brousse (1957)
Brush Fire 51
Dance to the Amulets 51
A Mat to Weave 52
Four poems from Epitome
I was naked for the first kiss of my 55
mother(b. 1962)
What do I want with a thousand stars in 55
broad daylight
You must be from my country 56
The Scorner 57
Two poems from Le Ventre:
I myself will be the stage for my 58
salvation!
I tear at my belly 58
Two poems from L'Arc musical (1970):
Epitaph 59
Legacy 59
Jean-Baptiste Tati-Loutard (b. 1939)
Four poems from Poemes de la mer (1968):
News of My Mother 61
The Voices 61
Submarine Tombs 62
Pilgrimage to Loango Strand 62
Two poems from Les Racines congolaises
(1968):
Noonday in Immaturity 63
Death and Rebirth 64
From La Tradition du songe (1985):
Secret Destiny 65
Two poems from Le Serpent austral (1992):
End of Flight 66
Letter to Edouard Maunick 67
Emmanuel Dongala (b. 1941)
Fantasy under the Moon 68
Joseph Miezan Bognini(b. 1936)
From Ce dur appel de l'espoir (1960):
My Days Overgrown 73
Earth and Sky 74
Two poems from Herbe feconde (1973):
We are men of the new world 75
Suddenly an old man 75
Charles Nokan
My Head is Immense 77
Antoine-Roger Bolamba (b. 1913)
Portrait 81
A Fistful of News 82
Mukula Kadima-Nzuji (b. 1947)
Incantations of the Sea: Moando Coast 83
Love in the Plural 83
Lenrie Peters (b. 1932)
Homecoming 87
Song 88
We Have Come Home 88
One Long Jump 90
Parachute Men 91
Isatou Died 92
Tijan Sallah (b. 1958)
The Coming Turning 94
Sahelian Earth 95
Ellis Ayitey Komey (b. 1927)
The Change 99
Oblivion 99
Kwesi Brew (b. 1928)
A Plea for Mercy 101
The Search 102
Kofi Awoonor (b. 1935)
Songs of Sorrow 103
Song of War 105
The Sea Eats the Land at Home 106
Three poems from Rediscovery (1964):
Lovers' Song 107
The Weaver Bird 107
Easter Dawn 108
from Night of My Blood (1971):
At the Gates 109
from Ride Me, Memory (1973):
Afro-American Beats III: An American Memory 110
of Africa
from the House by the Sea (1978):
The First Circle 111
from Collected Poems (1987):
Had Death Not Had Me in Tears 113
Ayi Kwei Armah (b. 1939)
Seed Time 115
News 116
Ama Ata Aidoo (b. 1942)
Totems 118
Atukwei Okai (b. 1941)
999 Smiles 120
Kojo Laing (b. 1946)
Black Girl, White Girl 124
Godhorse 125
I am the Freshly Dead Husband 127
Kofi Anyidoho (b. 1947)
Hero and Thief 130
Soul in Birthwaters: vi. Ghosts 131
A Dirge for our Birth 132
Sound and Silence 133
Ahmed Tidjani-Cisse (b. 1947)
Home News 137
Of Colours and Shadows 138
Khadambi Asalache (b. 1934)
Death of a Chief 143
Jonathan Kariara (b. 1935)
A Leopard Lives in a Muu Tree 145
Jared Angira (b. 1936)
If 147
The Country of the Dead 148
Manna 149
A Look in the Past 150
Request 151
Micere Githae Mugo (b. 194?)
I Want You to Know 153
Wife of the Husband 153
Marina Gashe (b.194?)
The Village 155
Maina wa Kinyatti (b. 195?)
The Bridge 156
Jean-Joseph Rabearivelo (1901--37)
Four poems from Traduits de la nuit: What 159
invisible rat
The hide of the black cow 159
She whose eyes are prisms of sleep 160
The black glassmaker 161
From Presque-songes (1934):
Cactus 162
Flavien Ranaivo (b. 1914)
Song of a Young Girl 163
Song of a Common Lover 164
David Rubadiri (b. 1930)
An African Thunderstorm 169
Felix Mnthali (b. 1933)
My Father 171
The Stranglehold of English Lit. 172
The Celebration 173
Jack Mapanje (b. 1944)
Before Chilembwe Tree 174
On Being Asked to Write a Poem for 1979 175
An Elegy for Mangochi Fishermen 175
At the Metro: Old Irrelevant Images 176
The Cheerful Girls at Smiller's Bar, 1971 176
The Famished Stubborn Ravens of Mikuyu 177
Your Tears Still Burn at My Handcuffs (1991) 178
Smiller's Bar Revisited, 1983 180
Steve Chimombo (b. 1945)
Napolo: The Message 182
Developments from the Grave 183
Frank Chipasula (b. 1949)
In a Free Country 185
A Love Poem for My Country 186
Blantyre 187
The Rain Storm 188
The Witch Doctor's Song 188
Nightfall 190
Nightmare 191
A Hanging 191
Stella Chipasula (b. 195?)
I'm My Own Mother, Now 194
Albert Kalimbakatha (b. 1967)
Snail's Lament 195
Ouologuem Yambo (b. 1940)
When Negro Teeth Speak 199
Oumar Ba (b. 1900)
Justice is Done 205
Familiar Oxen 205
The Ox-Soldier 206
Nobility 206
Edouard Maunick (b. 1931)
Two poems from Les Maneges de la mer (1964):
Further off is the measured force the 209
word of the sea
I love to encounter you in strange cities 210
Jose Craveirinha (b. 1922)
The Seed is in Me 213
Three Dimensions 214
Noemia de Sousa (b. 1927)
Appeal 215
If You Want to Know Me 216
Valente Ngwenya Malangatana (b. 1936)
To the Anxious Mother 218
Woman 219
Jorge Rebelo (b. 1940)
Poem 220
Poem for a Militant 221
Mvula ya Nangolo (b. 194?)
Robben Island 225
Guerrilla Promise 226
Gabriel Okara (b. 1921)
The Snowflakes Sail Gently Down 229
Adhiambo 230
Spirit of the Wind 231
One Night at Victoria Beach 232
Moon in the Bucket 233
Christopher Okigbo (1932--67)
Six poems from Heavensgate (1961):
Overture 234
Eyes Watch the Stars 234
Water Maid 235
Sacrifice 236
Lustra 236
Bridge 237
Four Poems from Limits (1962):
Suddenly becoming talkative 237
For he was a shrub among the poplars 238
Banks of reed 238
An image insists 240
From Lament of the Drums (1964):
Lion-hearted cedar forest, gonads for our 240
thunder
Two poems from Distances (1964):
From flesh into phantom 241
Death lay in ambush 241
Two poems from Path of Thunder (1967):
Come Thunder 243
Elegy for Alto 244
Wole Soyinka (b. 1934)
Seven poems from Idanre & Other Poems 246
(1967): Death in the Dawn
Massacre, October'66 247
Civilian and Soldier 248
Prisoner 249
Season 250
Night 250
Abiku 251
Four poems from A Shuttle in the Crypt
(1972):
Ujamaa 252
Bearings III: Amber Wall 253
Hanging Day: Procession 254
I Anoint My Flesh 255
John Pepper Clark (b. 1935)
Eight poems from A Reed in the Tide (1965):
Ibadan 256
Olokun 256
Night Rain 257
For Granny (from Hospital) 258
Cry of Birth 259
Abiku 260
A Child Asleep 261
The Leader 261
From Casualties (1970):
Season of Omens 262
Frank Aig-Imoukhuede (b. 1935)
One Wife for One Man 264
Okogbule Wonodi (b. 1936)
Planting 266
Salute to Icheke 267
Michael Echeruo (b. 1937)
Melting Pot 268
Man and God Distinguished 269
Femi Fatoba (b. 1939)
In America 270
Those Lucky Few 270
Hooker 271
The Woman Who Wants to be My Wife 272
Pol N Ndu (1940--78)
udude 274
Evacuation 275
Onwuchekwa Jemie (b. 1941)
Iroko 276
Towards a Poetics: 1 and 2 277
Molara Ogundipe-Leslie (b. 1941)
Song at the African Middle Class 279
Aig Higo (b. 1942)
Ritual Murder 280
Hidesong 280
Niyi Osundare (b. 1947)
The Sand Seer 282
I Sing of Change 283
The Word 284
Like the Bee 284
A Nib in the Pond 285
Not Standing Still 286
Funso Aiyejina (b. 1950)
Let Us Remember 287
May Ours Not Be 288
And What If They Broke Wind in Public? 289
A View of a View 289
Odia Ofeimun (b. 1950)
Let Them Choose Paths 291
A Naming Day 292
A Gong 292
Break Me Out 293
Ifi Amadiume (b. 195?)
Bitter 295
Iva Valley 295
Ben Okri (b. 1959)
The Incandescence of the Wind 298
An African Elegy 301
On Edge of Time Future 302
And If You Should Leave Me 304
Alda do Espirito Santo (b. 1926)
Where are the Men Seized in This Wind of 307
Madness?
Grandma Mariana 309
Leopold Sedar Senghor (b. 1906)
In Memoriam 313
Night of Sine 314
Luxembourg 1939 315
Blues 315
Prayer to Masks 316
Visit 317
What Dark Tempestuous Night 317
New York 318
You Held the Black Face 320
I Will Pronounce Your Name 320
Be Not Amazed 321
Birago Diop (1906--89)
Diptych 322
Vanity 323
Ball 324
Viaticum 324
David Diop (1927--60)
Listen Comrades 326
Your Presence 327
The Renegade 327
Africa 328
The Vultures 328
Annette M'Baye d'Erneville (b. 1927)
Kassaks 330
Thierno Seydou Sall(b. 196?)
Sugar Daddy 332
Amadou Elimane Kane (b. 196?)
Violence 333
The Continent That Exists No More 334
Testament 335
Syl Cheney-Coker (b. 1945)
Six poems from The Graveyard Also Has Teeth
(1980):
On Being a Poet in Sierra Leone 339
Poem for a Guerrilla Leader 340
The Hunger of the Suffering Man 341
Poem for a Lost Lover 342
Letter to a Tormented Playwright 342
The Road to Exile Thinking of Vallejo 344
Three poems from The Blood in the Desert's
Eyes (1990):
The Philosopher 345
The Tin Gods 346
The Brotherhood of Man 347
Lemuel Johnson (b. 194?)
Magic 348
Hagar, or, the Insufficiency of Metaphor 349
The Defiance of Figures in Wood 350
Dennis Brutus (b. 1924)
At a Funeral 355
Nightsong: City 355
This Sun on This Rubble 356
Poems About Prison: I 356
Mazisi Kunene (b. 1932)
The Echoes 358
Elegy 359
Thought on June 26 360
Sipho Sepamla (b. 1932)
On Judgement Day 361
Civilization Aha 362
Talk to the Peach Tree 362
Don Mattera (b. 1935)
Departure 364
The Poet Must Die... 365
Sobukwe... 365
I Have Been Here Before 366
Keorapetse Kgositsile (b. 1938)
The Air I Hear 367
Song for Ilva Mackay and Mongane 367
The Present is a Dangerous Place to Live: I 369
and IV
When the Deal Goes Down 370
Montage: Bouctou Lives 373
Oswald Mtshali (b. 1940)
Inside My Zulu Hut 375
Ride upon the Death Chariot 375
The Birth of Shaka 376
Arthur Nortje (1942--70)
Up Late 378
At Rest from the Grim Place 379
Mongane Wally Serote (b. 1944)
The Growing 381
Hell, Well, Heaven 382
Ofay-Watcher Looks Back 383
From Come and Hope with Me (1995):
In that day and in that life 384
Gcina Mhlophe (b. 1959)
Sometimes When It Rains 386
Okot p'Bitek (1931--82)
From The Song of Lawino (1966):
Listen, my clansmen 391
From Song of Prisoner (1970):
Is today not my father's funeral 393
anniversary?
Richard Ntiru (b. 1946)
If It is True 395
The Miniskirt 396
Gwendoline Konie (b. 195?)
In the First of Your Hatred 399
Hopewell Seyaseya (b. 195?)
The Hereafter 403
Nightsong 404
Albert Chimedza (b. 195?)
I screw my brother's wife 405
Now that my mind flies 405
Dambudzo Marechera (1955--87)
Answer to a Complaint 407
Punkpoem 407
The Bar-stool Edible Worm 408
Dido in Despair 408
Musaemura Bonas Zimunya (196?)
Tarantula 409
See Through 409
Her 410
Jikinya 410
Kristina Rungano (196?)
After the Rain 411
Notes on the Authors 413
Sources of the Poems 429
Acknowledgements 435
Index of Poets 438
Index of First Lines 440