PALMS OF OIL by Kolawole Adebayo

PALMS OF OIL by Kolawole Adebayo

by | Oct 27, 2019 | ISSUE, Issue - Poetry

PALMS OF OIL

by Kolawole Adebayo

I wondered as a boy

Why the flies always hovered

Around fluorescent lights

 

And one day, my mother said to me:

Kola, ọwọ́ epo laráyé ń bá’ní lá,

Ẹnikẹ́ni kìí bá‘ ni lá tẹ̀jẹ̀.

She asked me:

 

Do you see the flies hover in/around darkness?

I say no.

“When do you see them”, she asked?

“When there is light”, I said.

 

Ọwọ́ epo laráyé ń bá’ní lá,

Ẹnikẹ́ni kìí bá‘ ni lá tẹ̀jẹ̀.

Light attracts, and darkness repels.

 

Ọwọ́ epo laráyé ń bá’ní lá,

Ẹnikẹ́ni kìí bá‘ ni lá tẹ̀jẹ̀.

The tongue only lusts after sweetness,

The bitter things do not call to us naturally.

 

Ọwọ́ epo laráyé ń bá’ní lá,

Ẹnikẹ́ni kìí bá‘ ni lá tẹ̀jẹ̀.

Fame is no man’s foe.

 

The sugar cube lies there on its own,

Calls to no ants, but they come.

They come first in twos and threes

 

And then call unto others

Saying there is something for us here,

Come, let us make a home.

 

The sugar cube that welcomes every ant

Will soon be as a speck of dust.

 

A friend is not known in the crowd.

A friend is not known in the spotlight.

 

I asked her: Who then is my friend?

And she said: It is you first. Every time, it is you first.

“Who are the others after me”, I asked?

She said: Anyone who walks into your darkness

To experience it with you.

 

Ọwọ́ epo laráyé ń bá’ní lá,

Ẹnikẹ́ni kìí bá‘ ni lá tẹ̀jẹ̀.

The world licks the palms full of red oil;

No tongue craves the palms full of blood.

 

* Ọwọ́ epo laráyé ń bá’ní lá, enikẹ́ni kìí bá‘ ni lá tẹ̀jẹ̀ is a Yoruba proverb in South-western Nigeria loosely translated as “people follow after success, and no one looks in the direction of failure”.

Source: From the Rebel Issue (October 2019)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

KOLAWOLE SAMUEL ADEBAYO is an old soul in a young Nigerian body whose poems seek to awaken human consciousness. His works have appeared on Glass Poetry, Button Poetry, Burning House Press, The Amethyst Review, Mojave Heart Review, Praxis Magazine, BPPC anthology, Kreative Diadem, and elsewhere. Kolawole won the April Edition of the Brigitte Poirson Poetry Contest in 2017. He likes to connect with his friends via his twitter handle, @samofthevoice.

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BUT THIS IS NOT A POEM ABOUT RAIN by Hauwa Nuhu

BUT THIS IS NOT A POEM ABOUT RAIN by Hauwa Nuhu

by | Oct 27, 2019 | ISSUE, Issue - Poetry

BUT THIS IS NOT A POEM ABOUT RAIN

by Hauwa Nuhu

outside, the wind holds my window by the sides, gingerly.

the sound is the quiet jiggle of a woman’s waistbeads

 

outside, the rain beats down with vengeance

for a sin only the earth knows

 

but this is not a poem about rain.

 

there’s a finality to the voice a heart assumes

when it begins to writhe for its lover

 

a memory could curve into vision,

try to civilize itself into a distraction.

 

(and there, you will see

that remembrance

and forgetfulness wear the same skin)

 

you could assemble all the songs your bones know,

have them singe themselves into the present.

 

each trying to outclass the other

in their race to the heavens

 

the rain could rage louder and louder,

drown out the origin of any form of sound.

 

that voice,

it will stay.

it is not in the nature of hearts to be bullied.

Source: From the Rebel Issue (October 2019)

BUT THIS IS NOT A POEM ABOUT RAIN

by Hauwa Nuhu | POEMS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

HAUWA SHAFFII NUHU is a Nigerian poet and essayist whose work has appeared on Popula, Ake Review, After the Pause journal, Brittle Paper, Tiny Essays and elsewhere. She is a 2018 fellow of Ebedi Writers Residency. She writes from Nigeria where she is currently rounding up a law degree.

PLAN FOR MY ONE WILD AND PRECIOUS LIFE by Laura Kaminski

PLAN FOR MY ONE WILD AND PRECIOUS LIFE by Laura Kaminski

by | Oct 27, 2019 | ISSUE, Issue - Poetry

PLAN FOR MY ONE WILD AND PRECIOUS LIFE

by Laura Kaminski

poem honoring, and with lines from, Mary Oliver, 17-January-2019

 

The complexities were beyond me, I couldn’t

seem to get beyond the split infinitive

and comma splice, the English grammar that

matters so much when spit-polishing a poem.

I couldn’t see the point in layering allusion,

 

metaphor, and simile so thickly over the top

of a small seed of meaning that it didn’t

stand a chance of sprouting and finding its way

up to the surface through the dirt. Wanted

to write, but had the misimpression: poems had

to always be in fancy-dress, lines always had

to be exactly five feet long. Then your

poems found me, offered invitation: just say

what you mean, best you can, informally, your

readers are your friends, you’re together in

the garden, working, weeding, mulching.

 

So this is what I plan to do with my one wild

and precious life. Say it simple. Low-growing.

Humble. Don’t so much look for accolades as give

them, honor human becoming and green-tongue leaf

and purple petal. Oh, violets, you did signify,

and what shall take / Your place?

Source: From the Rebel Issue (October 2019)

PLAN FOR MY ONE WILD AND PRECIOUS LIFE

by Laura Kaminski | POEMS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LAURA M. KAMINSKI (HALIMA AYUBA) grew up in northern Nigeria, went to school in New Orleans, and currently lives in rural Missouri. She is an Editor at Right Hand Pointing, and also serves as Poetry Editor for Praxis Magazine Online, where she curates the digital chapbook / Around This Fire response-chapbook series.

Lights Out by Chiamaka Nwangwu (1st Position – Poetry Category)

Lights Out by Chiamaka Nwangwu (1st Position – Poetry Category)

by | Mar 17, 2018 | CONTESTS, POEMS

Lights Out by Chiamaka Nwangwu (Winner – Poetry Category)

Poetry Category

1st Position –  Lights Out by Chiamaka Nwangwu

I wish that I could capture brilliantly the art that was 21 road yesterday
Of the lone fueling station surrounded at all angles by hundreds of cars waiting for fuel.
The sweat trickling down the brows of the tired fueling station workers
Hands cramped up from hours of injecting fuel into cars and jerry cans
I wish I could capture the ebony coloured face
Of the little child still scurrying along the streets of Festac at night
Jerry can in her hand and determination on her face
Desperate for ten litres to last her madam’s family the night
I wish I could capture the sigh of the tired single mother
Gazing at the empty fuel sign in her car
Thoughts on the absent father who won’t provide
And on the children for whom she can give so little
I wish I could capture the controlled expression of the middle class worker
Foreseeing another night of darkness
Of rumpled clothes and hot pure water to drink
Another day the children have to take a public bus to school
I wish I could capture the worried look of the bus driver
The frustration in his eyes and slight crease of his brow
Unsure of his tomorrow
Of the empty seats that will greet his now empty fuel tank
I wish I could capture the teary eyes of the little boy
Riding shotgun in his father’s car
Thinking no cartoons for the night
No excited squeal when his father draws the rope that pulls the generator
I wish I could capture the determined gait of the market woman
Wrapper half undone, trailing along on the dirt road
Making her way along the zigzag route of long car lines
Hand absently on her bra, stuffed full with crumpled Naira notes.
I wish I could capture the graceful strike of the match
Of the teenage girl lighting a candle from the flat across the street
Younger siblings clustered around her
Resigning to the fate of another day without light
I wish I could capture the tired smile of the grandfather
Entertaining his grandchildren with stories on the veranda
With just the moonlight to shield them
From the darkness of this night

LIGHTS OUT (1st Position - Poetry)

by Chiamaka Nwangwu | Creative Writing Contest

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chiamaka Chukwudire Nwangwu is a contemporary Igbo-Lagosian. She is currently in her fourth year of a romantic relationship with the Faculty of Law, University of Ibadan. She is a budding public speaker. She loves to read but particularly enjoys reading contemporary Nigerian fiction, history, and poetry.

Her poem, “Defiance in Death” was published in the 1st edition of the top 100 poems of the Nigerian Students Poetry Prize Anthology, “The sun will rise again” in the year 2016. She won 1st place in the Kreative Diadem Poetry Prize for her poem “Lights Out” in December 2017. Her essay, “Savior” was published in the “My Book Affair” section of the literary blog, theafroreader.com

Chiamaka is absolutely certain that she is supposed to write.

“Poetry is imperfect and it’s that imperfection that makes poetry beautiful” – Interview with Okwudili Nebeolisa

“Poetry is imperfect and it’s that imperfection that makes poetry beautiful” – Interview with Okwudili Nebeolisa

by | Aug 2, 2017 | THE TABLE TALK

TABLE TALK

“Poetry is imperfect and it’s that imperfection that makes poetry beautiful” – Interview with Okwudili Nebeolisa

We recently met up with Okwudili Nebeolisa, a heavily-decorated Nigerian writer.  His manuscript, “Country” was one of the final shortlisted entries for the Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets in 2016.

That same year, Nebeolisa was shortlisted for the Writivism Prize for Poetry-in-Translation and earned a coveted selection for the Ebedi Writers Residency. We discussed his beginnings, influences, abandoned projects, creative process and momentary feelings of despair. Enjoy.

KD: Can you please tell us about yourself? What was your childhood like?
 
Okwudili: My childhood was quite funny and very normal like anybody’s. I was very inquisitive and, according to my mom, I wrote on any blank sheet I could find, even the back of doctors’ prescriptions. My father loved reading; he was a fan of Achebe and he even had two books by Wole Soyinka. He read a lot of newspapers, sometimes several newspapers in a day, though he didn’t have a tertiary education. He just loved the idea of investing in someone’s thoughts. I got that reading streak from him. I don’t think I read as much as he does, though.
 
KD: At what age did you know you would follow a literary profession?
 
Okwudili: I think I started writing when I was sixteen. I was in SSS 2 at that time. But I started writing seriously two years later in my first year in the university.

Okwudili Nebeolisa

Photo accessed via Facebook

KD: You were one of four Nigerian writers selected for the Ebedi International Writers Residency in 2016. Could you describe your experience and the impact on your writing?
 
Okwudili: It was memorable. At least I got to write a complete poetry collection that got lost when I was kidnapped – but that is story for another day. I was also able to meet Rasaq Gbolahan, a wonderful poet in his own way. I was able to write some poems about Iseyin where the residency is located. I was able to have cherishable conversations with my very good friend David Ishaya Osu.
 
KD: Accept my sympathy. But what effects would you say that ordeal had on your writing? Did you at any point feel like quitting after losing such a body of work?
 
Okwudili: Of course, I felt like giving up in the beginning; but then that feeling of despair dissipates, and then you find yourself writing. I mostly wrote poems about the experience after that event, and then I began to make outlines for stories.
 
KD: How far gone is work on your first novel The Spirit House?
 
Okwudili: It was just halfway gone. That, too, went with the kidnappers. Sometimes I think that was a good sign for me to maybe discard the project.
 
KD: When you said you discarded the project, do you mean you are not going to write this particular book the same way you conceived it before it was lost, or that you don’t intend pursuing it any further?
 
Okwudili: I haven’t totally abandoned that project, but I do hope I will come back to it someday. Writers hardly totally abandon projects. I think I need some sort of luxury like the one at the Residency to return to that project.

“But then, I found out that much about poetry is imperfect and it’s that imperfection that makes poetry beautiful.”

KD: You write poetry, fiction and nonfiction. When you have an idea do you immediately know the medium it will take? Of these three, do you have a favorite? Why?
Okwudili: I think, for now, my favorite is fiction, if we go by which genre I read the most, though that may change in the future. But I read across genres. It matters what I want to get across to my audience. For example, if I want it totally fictional, I write it as fiction. If I want it autobiographical or totally true, I write it as nonfiction, if I want it to be both, I normally use poetry.
 
KD: Is ‘The Pages’ in August autobiographical? To what extent do you allow memory in your writings?
 
Okwudili: Partly autobiographical, if by that you mean true. I was writing a batch of poems based on familial and personal themes. Currently, I am still working on very personal poems, trying to assess what I think of things that have happened to my parents (my mum especially), though fictionalizing some part to effect.
 
KD: Who are your favorite writers and what do you value in their works?
Okwudili: It matters across genres. In fiction, I adore Chimamanda Adichie, Marilynne Robinson, Edward P Jones, Anne Enright, Colm Tobin, Chinelo Okparanta; basically because of how they treat their novels on the character level and the relative ease with which they seem to make writing look. In nonfiction, I like Teju Cole, I like the essays of Atul Gawande and Samantha Powers. In poetry, it’s basically a thing of generation: the older generation has Louise Gluck as my favorite. I also like Wole Soyinka (though I haven’t read anything by him lately); I wish Chinua Achebe had written a lot more poetry. I like Sharon Olds, Spencer Reece, Charles Wright, Alice Oswald; in the younger generation, I love poems by Gbenga Adesina, Anthony Carelli, Mathew Dickman, Gbenga Adeoba (he has a way of saying the usual in the unusual way), Kechi Nomu, and Katharine Larson.    
 
KD: Ishion Hutchinson has said that a poem is the vehicle of reciprocal tension between what came before and what is present, not as perfect synthesis but from, and towards, memory. Would you agree with that?
 
Okwudili: That reminds me of a saying Jameson Fitzpatrick told me, ‘that prose proceeds and verse reverses’. I found out that when I am writing poetry, I am often going back to make sure there aren’t redundant statements, and in that sense I think I am trying to make sense of an event. I don’t know whether it’s reciprocal, it may be, I don’t know. But then, I found out that much about poetry is imperfect and it’s that imperfection that makes poetry beautiful.
 
KD: Thanks for your time.
 

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