Posted in Poetry

Peace and Pieces on a Chessboard

By

Noel A. Ihebuzor

ChessSet

On an uneven chessboard, across

boundaries of squares, fading

lines almost erased by coarse rough moves

pawns lurch around in drunken

lounging leaps

 

 

To the beckon and rhythm of the imperious,

rooks regal in a flurry of frenzied

moves, cavort in wobbly diagonal swoops

the dance of hubris revs and raves,

in the dawning madness

sense swims poorly and eventually drowns

 

 

We sit and watch the king’s ungainly ambles

the queen’s sauntering about

all over and everywhere

in kinky dizzying circles and cycles

in spins like a dancer

possessed and guided by the moon

 

 

Voice hoarse with passion, she

chants the moon is mine

that star is yours

but the sun is mine, mine to have and hold

as I please

 

 

And in this maddening clamour

of screams and scrambles like from fevered dreams

all that emerges,

ugly like a noisy fart at prayers

is a fight for portions of a cake

we did not bake

but “reason” now belongs to treason

to the loud and the lewd

 

 

Pawns and persons move,

associations form and un-form,

permanence is fluid

fluidity, permanent

 

 

During this dance of pawns and rooks,

of crooks, new saints,

canonized in their halls of infamy

play new strains of strange chimes of fiefdom

suggestive of floating notes

from tunes of thiefdom

 

 

In these moves and countermoves

the loudest is always right

the cloak of might and night

threatens the light of truth

 

 

Soon the haze of a dawning evening

catches pawns, bishops, king, queen and knights

unawares, night soon blankets them,

while the stars above blink and wink

at the now dispersing crowd,

seduced and befuddled onlookers

still clutching the half full bowls of porridge

for which they sold their soles and souls

and pawned their very voices

 

 

Posted in Poetry

HerStory

By Noel A. Ihebuzor

(A response to this poem which pains and troubles me)

 

I veil my face

I fake, I affect a pace

I strike a pose to please

 

I part unveil my ware

to attract, to beckon, to appeal,

all to strike a better bargain

 

draining nights

on these dark streets,

mean, dim

where for a fare fair

I fair sell my flesh and frame,

me tame, soul lame, filled with shame

before rates of exchange

driven hard, harsh, heartless

unequal, the weak cannot bargain

 

I empty my soul,

as he emptyng inside me, also empties me

so much pain,

for so paltry a gain

all so that you, my child

will not be empty

when you rise

 

In the mornings, when you rise

clad in your innocence,

as you eat and fill up, I sing for you

but also to forget, my smiles fake, as guilt

and self-pity gnaw at my insides

 

And I sink, I sink and sing to forget.

Posted in Poetry

Review of Biko Agozino’s “Today na Today”

By Noel A. Ihebuzor

Title – Today na Today

Author – Biko AGOZINO

Biko Agozino 2

Publishers – Omala Media Ltd, Awgu, Enugu

Year of Publication – 2013

I have just been privileged to read a collection of poems  most of them in pidgin English by Biko Agozino. Onwubiko Agozino (Biko), is a Professor of Sociology and Africana Studies, Virginia Tech, Blacksburg, VA, USA

The collection, titled “Today na Today” is made of 36 poems, 31 of which are in pidgin English and the last 5 in standard English. The poems treat a broad range of contemporary social issues in Nigeria from life in our typical urban ghettos characterised by “face me- I face you” type of accommodation to protests over the conditions of host communities in the oil rich Niger delta of Nigeria. The issues covered are indeed broad but a common thread of social relevance unites them all. Take the poem “Fire the devil”. Here Biko slams with very biting wit the rise in a theology that seeks explanations for social failings in the unceasing interference of the devil. Or consider “Black sperm” where the poet describes and takes issues with the social consequences of new developments and possibilities in fertility management and reproductive choices, especially the whole issue of sperm banks and artificial insemination.. “Time na Money” starts off innocently on the title of a song by Okri but ends up with a deep and shattering broadside on an enlarging cult of materialism. Poor people pay more is particularly disturbing and contains lines that etch their words in the minds of the reader

“Them fit prospect for oil self right inside we wife and daughters’ thighs

We only beg make them rub small oil for we cassava leaves make them shine”

These are strong words. These are powerful condemnations of the activities of the oil companies in the Niger Delta  (ND) whose failures and negligence along with other failures explain the abject poverty of the ND.

One cannot in a short review of this nature cover all the poems in the collection but a few deserve special mention – Dialectical dialogue, Yabbis, Capital punishment, Slum dwellers, Odyssey, Below sea level, Too Much Generals, Knowledge be privilege, Again born again, You be witch and Brain drain all stand out. Each in its special way takes up an aspect of our social life and our experience of it, be it as voluntary emigres in God’s Own country or as forced prisoners/participants in the gaols of our country where social services are almost comatose, social inequities and cleavages are on the increase, misery and despair so palpable and a tendency to play blame games on the ascendancy and dissects this with a blend of humour, sarcasm, irony, wit and some compassion. But for my concern not to enflame current sensitivities concerning the Igbos and the Nigerian state in the 1967-70 period and even beyond, I would also have mentioned “Forgive” as one of the poems that stand out given its plea to the Igbos to forgive the wrongs done them during the civil war. I will keep clear of that. The topic is too delicate, but the theme of Victory song, a poem which celebrates the victories of the ANC and Mandela among others, is not. Read it and rejoice with the successes of the liberation struggles. Read it but please do not say “Cry, the beloved country” for some of the failed dreams, unfulfilled expectations and matters arising in the present from those brave liberation struggles of the past.

The last five poems in standard English (is there such a thing, by the way) – Abu jah, Say Sorry, Massa day done, Con and Blue – are a delight to read. Abu Jah is troubling as it reveals all the shenanigans and shoddy dealings in our new capital city, a city, where for example, one family gets allocated 8 plots of choice land out of 16,000 plots in a country of 160,000, 000 people and the person who was principally involved in making the allocation is either unable or incompetent to recognise his guilt and to say “Sorry”! “Say Sorry” is a listing of our failings in society, failing we should be sorry for and to turn away from. I could go on but it is best I stop here to allow the reader discover and enjoy this collection of poems where art is used to project social conditions, contradictions and challenges for herself or himself as I have done.

Biko has certainly enriched the literary world with this collection of poems. Some of the poems betray his Igbo origins in their choice of words, cadence and rhythm! “My water pot it done broke” in its form, structure, especially repetitiveness of lines, has all the elements of the akuku ufere –  akuku ifo  (poem tale usually with a refrain) we used to chant as children during moonlight plays –  “Ebele mu akuwala”.

I just have one problem with Biko’s efforts to write in pidgin – Biko him pidgin no trong at all at all – him pidgin na oyibo pidgin. Him pidgin na “ajebo” pidgin.  He mixes correct English forms with pidgin forms (he uses “them” instead of dem, for example). This is a weakness and a “corruption” of our “ogbonge” pidgin. But we can pardon this “corruption”once we realise that this professor of sociology and Africana plus poet at Virginia Tech, VA, grew up inside Naija but has lived outside the country for more than 20 years in places like the UK, the Caribbean and the US. (Incidentally, his  pidgin orthography is similar in many ways to the style of Chinua Achebe who used ‘them’ instead of dem in many of his novels).

The collection is published by a small publishing house, Omala Medsia, based in his home town, Awgu in Enugu State, Nigeria, and it can be ordered from www.lulu.com but I look forward to when this collection can be re-published by a more renowned publishing house but this is beyond the control of Biko or any of us. Decision for that lies with the publishing houses whose choices on what to publish are driven less by literary worth of a manuscript but by consideration of economics and market realities. But here, I stray and dabble into the difficult waters of the sociology of publishing. Happy reading.

An additional treat is that Biko Agozino recorded nine of the poems, mostly at Harry Mosco Studios, Lagos Nigeria with just one recorded at Paramount Studios in Nashville, TN. To listen to the recorded poems, follow the link here.  Enjoy.

Noel A. Ihebuzor

@naitwt on Twitter

Posted in Prose

The precursors of Boko Haram

The article here by Professor Wole Soyinka

Prof Wole Soyinka

 

see link was written in 2009 but the contents are still very relevant to the challenges we face today. The article is long but it is worth reading in its entirety.

Here is a very revealing excerpt from the paper –

Boko Haram is not really about a detestation of Western or other forms of education, but the expression of a malignant outcrop of fanaticism, intolerance. It is, above all, the will to dominate, to control, to enforce conformity – in this instance, conformity of the most sterile, uncreative kind.

Enjoy the rest of the article.

Noel

Posted in Prose

“Things Fall Apart” and we are “No Longer At Ease”, an Unworthy tribute to the Iroko of African Literature

By Noel Ihebuzor

 

Chinua-Achebe1

 

The titles of Chinua Achebe’s early works “Things Fall Apart” and “No Longer At Ease” (borrowed from the works of WB Yeats and TS Eliot respectively) aptly describe the condition of things in our dear country. I try to play with these titles in my observations on why things are the way they are as my unworthy tribute to this literary giant. I have also proposed a few initial suggestions as to how we can begin to move forward and beyond our present morass.

Please read and let me have the benefits of your comments.

  1. Things fall apart when…corruption overruns the land and the souls of men are at the soles of their feet.
  2. Things fall apart when…chaos and anarchy become normal
  3. Things fall apart when alienation and a sense of anomie invade and overpower the land
  4. Things fall apart when…expediency and opportunism become elevated to state religions.
  5. Things fall apart ….when “agbero” culture and violence install and become the determinants of social engagement.
  6. Things fall apart …when thugs become agenda setters for political discourse.
  7. Things fall apart …when the noisiest and the rowdiest struggle to seize the centre stage and set the agenda.
  8. Things fall apart …the voices of moderation and balance are dimmed and drowned in the angry howls of the crowd.
  9. Things fall apart when destructive tension replace creative tension and wreak havoc on the polity.
  10. Things fall apart when ambitions bind us and blind us to the truths.
  11. Things fall apart when ambitions make us inflexible.
  12. Things fall apart …the best have lost all their conviction and found solace in silence
  13. Things fall apart…ethnic considerations have displaced professional ethics in choices and decision making.
  14. Things fall into place for good when all pull together.
  15. Things fall into place for good when a culture of positive and constructive engagement replaces our predilection for destructive discourse.
  16. Things fall into place for good when an ethos of deeds replaces our compulsive greed and grab mentality.
  17. Things fall into place for good when personal pride and loyalty to tribe cede places to love of others and nation.
  18. Things fall into place for good when we renounce and defeat alienation from our nation.
  19. No longer at ease in a country marred by corruption, nepotism, graft and “egunje”.
  20. No longer at ease in a country that celebrates mediocrity and eviscerates excellence.
  21. No longer at ease in a country that spawns mediocrity and spurns excellence.
  22. No longer at ease in a country where religious bigotry and extremism are described by some as crusades for social justice!
  23. No longer at ease in a country where violence and insecurity cripple the economy
  24. No longer at ease in a country where fear stifles and chokes the population
  25. No longer at ease when “black is white and white is black” depending on who is looking.
  26. No longer at ease…when all political parties share a common ethos of exploitation and people expropriation.
  27. Ease and contentment will return when we say “No” to greed.
  28. Ease and comfort will return when we enthrone virtue and renounce vice.
  29. Ease and comfort will return when we create incentives to reward virtue and punish vice.
  30. Ease and comfort will return when we embrace positive values.
  31. Ease and contentment will return when we all come together to foster cohesion and rebuild social capital.
  32. Ease and comfort will return when we replace destructive with creative tension
  33. Ease and comfort will return when we abandon hate and discord and seek courses that advance our common cause.
  34. Ease and comfort will return when we live as people of conscience.

Noel @naitwt

Posted in Poetry

The tweet fighter

By Noel A. Ihebuzor

Hollow head
shallow mind drowned in
emptiness,

seething rage,
hurling hate soaked rants,
gloom and doom

searching for meaning,
for self in others, drifting,
fallow, easy prey

for agile, clever
manipulators looking
for cheap tools to use.

Posted in Poetry

Cycles and circles

By Noel Ihebuzor

The tragedy of a journey

on this hunch back road,

slippery, muddy,

filled with slime and grime

tired limbs trudging round

in unending cycles and circles,

on this sterile,

empty, barren highway

smeared generous with a coating

slippery, of thick okro sauce,

now going sour

Truth does not walk this road any more

lies lie in wait for the unwary,

from all four winds and corners

fetid fumes and foams

frothing from ogbono coated tongues

hollow throats,

mirroring hollowed consciences,

deformed by elephantiasis of the soul

the festering cancer enlarges

feeding off a bottomless greed

that has gripped the strong breed

ripped their souls grim

with the grim reaper’s blade

moral paralysis now spawns

new barren creeds of

chop comot make we chop

on a betrayed people,

trapped in endless cycles and circles

IDPS RDC-est

Mbandaka 2009

Posted in Poetry

Song of a Child Bride – a duet

By Susan L. Daniels and Noel A. Ihebuzor

I am a girl.
Eleven years ago
I came too early for you,
but I was yours
as nothing else was,
and I grew under love
brighter than the sun.
I am still growing.  I am green
& unripe fruit, unready

I am a girl,
I long to play, feel
and unfurl.  I run after butterflies
I wave after birds in flight
I dwell in innocence
I harvest smiles and stars in all I see

I am a child
my eyes carry hope.
I feel.  I dream past this body
and carry in these bones
a life that hums promise
and walks joy

I am a girl,
body, soul and spirit,
and human
not a piece of flesh
not an object for peace
not an object to be priced

I am a girl,
though lately this body bleeds
and these breasts can make milk
I am too young for this business of women
my hips are too narrow to balance a child,
too slender to push one out;
my mind too new to mother another
and I will break beneath a man’s need
my young body if forced to yield will only hurt,
weep in pain and shame

I am a child,
I long for safe spaces
to draw and discover my dreams,
to live them, and to sing, joyful
as I discover the marvels of the world,
my world expanding

I am a child.
I dream of books I have not read
and the only seed I am fit to hold now
are those of the mind, scattered to work deep;
not the body choked with seeds of a man
I must accept but carry in fear and bitterness.
Death will bloom inside my body, not life
if I am planted now

I am child,
not a wife
marriage at my age will drown me
twist my bones
pierce my body
and break my spirit

Mother, father
I am your child.
Your flesh made and fed me;
to send me to a husband
is to send me to a slaughterhouse
where the floor is stained
with the blood of so many cattle
listen to my words, words
eyes speak but mouth cannot;
words my body shouts in trembling
your eyes can hear if they open.
I beg you to answer past my fear
and shield me with your arms

Father and mother
ignore the clutter of culture
spare your daughter this chain of torture
Ignore the clatter of the appeal of gain,
remember our  bond of blood
before you cause me pain,
before your decisions tear and shatter my developing body
and eventually spill this innocent blood

 

Intro to this duet by Susan  on her blog – >

**You guys had to know this was coming, right?  Noel (regular text) and I (italicized) have created this duet, using the voice of a child.  Though it was, as always, a pleasure to weave lines with Noel, the subject is not one that leads to much joy…no matter how talented your duet partner is.

****Let me only add to this intro that Susan’s talent is infectious, and that it has been my luck to be so infected by it! 🙂 

http://susandanielseden.wordpress.com/2012/10/06/duet-for-the-girl-child/#comment-12719