LAMENTATIONS OF A WANDERER – Victor Enite Abu
Could I have known that in the dark corners of a building
In the chaos of music and swinging hips
In the cloud of smoke and streams of liquor
Guest Editors: I.S. Jones and Cheswayo Mphanza
Cover Design by Tochi Itanyi
Both considered and contemporary, this is promising and exciting verse that gestures to place, language, and movement. Between these pages English is global and plural, and both literary and literal landscapes are determined from within.
These poems live, as all poems do, in language, but they are also alive too and not distanced from the everyday and the local. They leap from ‘the country running behind my feet’, to the ‘blue miracle’ of water, even as they consider what speech signifies when we choose to say: ‘merci / thank you /… and never / shukran’. Some of the contributing poets such as Clifton Gachagua, Hiwot Adilow and Busisiwe Mahlangu may be familiar to readers but perhaps this third anthology of African poets between the ages of 20 and 35 has achieved exactly what it ought to: offering us an engaging, insightful and imaginative introduction to continentally and globally new voices. These twenty-three poets rise to the occasion with preoccupations as disparate and connected as one would hope for from any collection featuring a perceptive and keenly intelligent coterie.
Across the collection, history is made as personal as it is national, home is both longed for and interrogated, languages are cajoled and questioned, and love shows its many faces as intimacy, as inter-generational memory and as worship. Poetry’s old friend ‘Grief’ underwrites large swaths of this anthology. Even as they eat and archive, wait and agitate, these poets are not afraid to reflect on the place and moment they are in, proclaiming that ‘Geometry has put our home at the centre of the world: Grief’s Capitol. & suddenly / All the flowers are sick’.
These poems are far from singular in their aesthetic ambitions and they reveal an unwavering attentiveness to everything from personal hurt to the symbolism of plants. But what may yet constitute this anthology’s true value are all these magnificent signs of listening before telling.
— Tjawangwa Dema
Could I have known that in the dark corners of a building
In the chaos of music and swinging hips
In the cloud of smoke and streams of liquor
We are mere observers, witnessing tradition: a long line
of trauma. Ah Lord please take our silence, send us back the soured prayer.
Let the soup be both the house & the arguments.
there are sicknesses as old as time, there is a tribe as new as the pain your body invented,
and there are rivers that were once here but have now dragged themselves into your eyes
This is cartography.
This is how we are; we live our lives growing in the branches of things
and spend our lives trying to carve words to fill the ellipsis
the night gets halved as the broadcast from the radio declares another series of loss. grief is no place to seek asylum when borders close & the shadows of your lost ones haunt the nights
here, there’s no time for memory or regret or any feelings
of shame, or nostalgia, or experimenting. no looking back.
to start something with someone I want to impress
I mention I’m reading Delany’s Hogg.
Barefooted woman
Dancer submerged in music
Swing, swing on
The waist is praised for ripples made in the arena
what I am is metadata, dream text. mathematics without the science. fuck roots. these names continue to mean nothing. I’m a blue, underlined link to a page of useless language
Tell me, what semblance in nature can outshine your steps?
The dance of mangroves when the wind plays their drums?
Or the bubble dance of boiling soup
i. When the tip of me touches the tip of youit is only the tip of the icebergplunging deep and
my lover holds my hands & whispers safe into the labyrinth of my right ear to calm the tremor dancing on my hands, but still, this revival crumbles at the foot of my demons.
This machine regulates mein ways;at times it secretes serotoninat certain juncturesin the way a dial returns againaccordingly to indicatepassinglike a
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