Life ! Life’s foibles, mistakes, mis-taken, misshapen Identities
Cornelius Hamelberg
HAFIZ !
I’m wondering ,where is Amatoritsero Ede
and what’s happening with his Maple Tree Literary Supplement ?
I’m asking this as I leaf through Rainbow People by Itumeleng / The Journey by Lefifi Tladi
and wondering why Ede doesn’t rope in these two, albeit Itumeleng ( “Tumi” ) posthumously.
The very first lines I ever read by him (Itumeleng) accidentally opening the book at page 99 as if I was consulting the I Ching , the lines on page 99 :
She opens up her legs
Instead of her heart
and says
“Here, this is all the love I have to give”
Only to wash herself up afterwards.
Tell me then,
How could she ever understand
Whenever you felt misused?
No, you opened your heart,
cut it deep with a knife.
Bleeding you offered yourself to ask,
Is this enough?”,
just as she turned around to spit
“Tough”
She kisses a like she meant it,
and when she thinks
you’re not looking,
She turns around and spits
Well, over here, love, sex etc
is everywhere, no reason for you
to drown in the Mediterranean
for the sake of honey or wanting
to get some of it. Some hussy.
Kabir says, “I laugh when I hear that the fish in the water is thirsty”
Well that’s Kabir’s opinion and I have never known anyone,
not even Robert Bly to argue with him about such a things as
“water is wet”
Over here too, the idiot feels insulted when he’s told that he’s an idiot
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.
“I'm a poet, I know it, hope I don't blow it”
And now he’s buried in the rocks
But everybody still talks about
How badly they were shocked
But me, I expected it to happen
I knew he’d lost control
When he built a fire on Main Street
And shot it full of holes”
Just like grandpa, the driver of the vehicle had completely lost all control.
This is what happens when under the midday sun you mix the palm wine, the akpeteshie ( ogogoro) with some rum, jump into your jalopy and tell your wife or wives that you're going for a drive, or you’re going for a run.
Half a mile down the road he crashed into one of the stalls at Makola Market in Accra.
In no time at all the hungry police were at the scene of the accident.
If you really want to call things by their proper names, it’s known as kalabule.
In advance, hoping for some bribe money, they said the accident was a crime,
a crime against humanity.
The driver of the vehicle pleaded his innocence and told the police, pointing at a nearby leper who had witnessed the accident, “ Just ask Mr. Leper over there, what happened.”
Mr. Leper told the police:
“It was insane!“, he said, and pointing at the driver, he continued ”He must have been driving at 100 m-p-h , no brakes , no horn, it looked like he didn’t know where he was going, crashed into Mama Abie’s stall and as you can see, completely mucked up everything!”
The driver stared at the leper and said, “ Tell the truth: Is that what happened?”
The leper returned the driver’s stare and asked,“ Is Mr. Leper my name?”
Cornelius Hamelberg
Important correction:
The very first lines I ever read by him (Itumeleng) accidentally opening the book at page 99 as if I was consulting the I Ching , the lines on page 99 :
She opens up her legs
instead of her heart
and says
“Here, this is all the love I have to give”
only to wash herself up afterwards.
Tell me then,
how could she ever understand
whenever you felt misused?
No, you opened your heart,
cut it deep with a knife.
Bleeding you offered yourself to ask,
“Is this enough?”,
just as she turned around to spit
“Tough”
She kisses a like she meant it,
and when she thinks
you’re not looking,
she turns around to spit
_____________________________________________
And that was the end of page 99; the rest, that’s below, was me musing on Kabir saying that he laughs when he hears that the fish in the water is complaining of thirst:
Well, over here, love, sex etc
is everywhere, no reason for you
to drown in the Mediterranean
for the sake of honey or wanting
to get some of it. Some hussy.
Cornelius Hamelberg
“Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.” (Great lines from the “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow”Speech
When the dumb-ass idiot reads this he thinks that Shakespeare is talking about him
Dr. Oohay
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Cornelius Hamelberg
Good Morning Doc !
And cheers to all you just said about Shakespeare !
Cheers - even if according to the fettered, the unlettered, the unlearned, the unmind-full, the unread and underfed, suffering from intellectual malnutrition and illusions of grandeur, it’s ”subjective” as are indeed those referred to as the silver poets, the various golden ages and categories of poets, not to mention the diverse groups and movements of which the pretentious chimp writing about “the evolution of poetry in Nigeria” is but another roar of waterfall, cloudburst ( and here I’m thinking of these lines from Joshua Idehen’s “River Niger to the Coloniser”:
“measure me in vengeance
You have never seen my final form
child, I was an ocean
Long before you were born
what are you but another man
claiming what he doesn't understand
a baby trying to name his mother
ask my children for some wisdom”
It’s 11.56 am here in Stockholm, six hours ahead of New York
that’s the time difference between The Big Apple and the capital
of “ Little America”
“The drunken politician leaps
Upon the street where mothers weep
And the saviours who are fast asleep…” ETC
Oohay rhymes with so much - and since you are friend - not foe
the kind of rhymes one can have in mind
are not of the most unkindest cut in kind.
So here’s some “Good News Nigeria”
and it’s not about a band full of angels
being sent by Jehovah from Jupiter
to set captives and rebel rousers
like Omoyele Sowore
free.
The good news from here for free electrons like Baba Kadiri and me
is that they’ll soon be showing two Nollywood films on Swedish TV!
Six days ago Everybody loves Jenifa had its premiere in Stockholm 👍 at the main cinema theatre:
I’m really impressed that you played Macbeth - it definitely shows some early leadership qualities in you that you actually got the part. I was also a member of our drama club at secondary school, and the literary and debating society too, where I fared better ; at the drama club everybody wanted to play the major roles - especially the pushy ones - I played a minor role in Macbeth, a minor role in Eric Linklater’s “ Crisis in Heaven “ where I had only one line : “ Look to the lady” ( as she fainted); of course in Julius Caesar, I definitely wanted the part of Mark Antony - unfortunately, so did everyone else ( for the annual Speech Day and Prize-Giving ceremony at which all the big shot parents would be present ) but because I didn’t push too hard, had to settle for that of Antony’s servant who brought the message to the assassins at the capitol and the lines are still fresh from my fifteen year old’s mind, as was the trembling, when I delivered them :
ANTONY'S SERVANT[kneeling]
Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel.
[falls prostrate]
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down,
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say:
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest.
Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving.
Say I love Brutus, and I honour him.
Say I feared Caesar, honoured him, and loved him.
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony
May safely come to him and be resolved
How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death,
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead
So well as Brutus living , but will follow
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state
With all true faith. So says my master Antony.”
However, Dr Oohay, depending on the extent to which you took the part to heart, I trust that you have not since then, imbibed / integrated/ assimilated Macbeth’s character or any other Machiavellian tactics which on the other hand could prove useful provided that you don’t intend to machine-gun your way to the Naija presidency ,if you don’t get the swagger that comes with the sway through the ballot box…
BTW, I think that’s what must have happened to some of our leaders , some of them must have played Hitler in some theatre or other, some Saddam Hussein, and got stuck in the role; some others among our Saro Creole leaders are still making speeches in which they try to sound like the late Winston Churchill , even as - politically speaking, they are pulling out our teeth with pliers , you can hear some of my peers, still in the braggadocio mode, boasting “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender…
Cornelius Hamelberg
Cornelius Hamelberg
Correction :
HAFEZ ( poet
Dr. Oohay
Cornelius Hamelberg
Dr. Oohay,
Birds of a feather, you've whet this cat’s curiosity…
Just for the record, I thank God that at our school, the Prince of Wales, religion was not taught or offered in the school curriculum - no catechism, no doctrine , no dogmatism , no Papal Bull , and no distraught discourse on Papal Bull either
In my experience so far, in Sierra Leone, those that went to Catholic Secondary Schools ( St.Edwards, Christ the King’s College, St. Joseph's Convent, St.Francis etc) turned out to be the most argumentative people that anyone is likely to encounter in this lifetime.
Argumentative to the point of sophistry , and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is probably so because they were taught by Irish priests ( the Irish being the most eloquent and the most loquacious of mankind), probably Irish priests of the Jesuit Order.
So, naturally, I do not intend to argue with you - about anything. Discuss? Yes. Argue? No.especially not about something that I know nothing about
My late friend Profesor Arthur Abraham was one such excellent specimen product of the sweet Catholic Missionary endeavour , and to this day I have never met anybody as argumentative as Arthur - even in his letters) - he was on the opposite side of the political spectrum in Sierra Leone, he was SLPP and I was Cyril Rogers-Wright’s UPP and then APC. He was a Pan-Africanist and in our time together he was a Nkrumahist - taking the cult of personality to a great extreme - he would be found prancing around in a Maoist tunic , a short sleevef Safari overgarment of the type worn by Chairman Mao, Kwame Nkrumah and Julius Nyerere - - he was a member of the Kwame Nkrumah Club, along with Ibou Janneh ( Gambian) and a few others; whilst in exile in Conakry, Osagyefo Kwame Nkrumah used to send them crates of Chinese beer, after imbibing which they invariably became more talkative, intoxicated with revolutionary rhetoric, some of it centering on ”the African Personality” “Africa Must Unite” some hot talk about ” paper tiger “. One of his teachers happened to be my first cousin , Father Edward Hamelberg; needless to say, we were forever the best of friends; Father Hamelberg passed away in France in 1984 - he had studied for the priesthood in France during the WW2 and the house in which he had been living had been BOMBED…so he was shell-shocked
On the female side, for more than a year, at her home, on weekends, I had frequent, long and interesting literary discussions with Florence Dillsworth, a product of St.Joseph’s Convent.
The haunting philosophy remains, of The Road Not Taken
If you have the time and inclination, could you please tell us more about the "Mbari Olokun Club" ?
BTW, my ambition - passion - - inspired by Wole Soyinka, was to study Yoruba Drama at Ife and God willing to eventually occupy a chair there, in that sphere; I got married in August 1969, up to December I had not even applied for Ife, went to Legon, in Ghana in January and got thoroughly acculturated.
It beats me how you do not mention our greatest common interest : The Great African Music !
On the day that I got married Charlie Byrd had a concert in Freetown
Fast forward to early 1981, I had got a job at Benin ( then Bendel State) - one of the cultural headquarters of Nigeria - my classmate Abimbola Sylvester Young was teaching maths there, but Better Half had been sold the idea that Port Harcourt is “ The Garden City” ( like Amsterdam) so her imagination was running riot , and, as you know, the Almighty said to Abraham , “whatever Sarah tells you, listen to her voice”
Me? I’m still listening , as in
“I couldn’t see when it started snowing’
Your voice was all that I heard
I couldn’t see where we were going’
But you said you knew an’ I took your word” ( One of us must know)
There’s the strong Yoruba element in the Sierra Leone Creole culture , the rites of passage, the cuisine, the hunting societies, Remi, Rainbow, Paddle ( Yoruba) Egungun masquerades, our Ojeh Society , a lot more...
Nigeria, ah Nigeria! Above all, Nigeria' s cultural riches, the greatest blessing
We could do more with human capital
Nollywood gaining popularity in the West - such positive cultural and artistic advertisements could result in an explosion in tourism once the insecurity situation is brought under control, so that Kemi will have no excuse anymore, as she will be compelled to tell her people in Merry England that the British pirates, the slave trade, colonialism, and Boko Haram are all things of the past
Back in the day, in Sierra Leone where I was mostly an urbanite, we were colonised by Congolese music, Johnny Pacheco on flute, there was also music from neighbouring Guinea Conakry ... King Sunny Ade took Freetown by storm, and EVERYBODY had Joromi and Guitar Boy on their lips:
Guitar boy,
If you see mami wata o
If you see mami wata o
Never, never you run away
Ay, ay
Never run away
Bembeya Jazz : Mami Wata
BTW, I feel that wherever we happen to be stationed in the Diaspora, we could act as facilitators, for instance invite the Nigerian Poet laureate to give a poetry reading at the scene where Teju Cole held house recently, to rapturous applause.
I'm very good at blowing other people's horn
As Don Cherry chimes in Multikulti Soothsayer
There’s nothing I cannot do
I’ll talk to God for you!
Amatoritsero Ede
Cornelius Hamelberg
Amatoritsero Ede,
I’m much relieved
because I had thought
of the distinct possibility
that in this troubled &
turbulent vale of tears
in this Kali Yuga
screaming like Allen Ginsberg
you, as a former Hare Krishna Sadhu
had retired to the forest or one of the
Himalayan caves in answer to the call
of Lord Krishna’s flute to retire to a life
of profound contemplation, once again
a sacred calling to renunciation.
Unlike the pretentious chimpanzee,
(and the chimp always knows where is he )
for some of us,
real connoisseurs
Kudos !
Your poetry anthology
Globetrotter & Hitler's Children
set the pace
Mazel Tov and Mighty Congratulations
that through hard work and commendable
patience you are vibrantly in circulation
going from strength to strength and stronger
than Johnnie Walker, still going strong
“Walkin’ to and fro beneath the moon
out to where the trucks are rolling’ slow
May the Holy Spirit fire your imagination
anoint you with more of the holy midnight
Oil. I sincerely wish more grease and unction
to your elbows, more fluid ink to your pen
“Walkin’ to and fro beneath the moon
out to where the trucks are rolling slow
I have forwarded your kind thoughts to
Lefifi Tladi , (https://www.facebook.com/lefifi.tladi.7)
I last saw him here and another poet friend that was
present to also pay his tribute to Harvey, was
the prolific Bengt O Björklund -
hopefully
to be roped in
to the Maple Tree Literary Supplement corral
although I’d better be careful about the word “corral “
since it might be his won’t to joke that he
is not a horse that has to be “roped ” - I almost
wrote “raped”, or broken in, maybe in the same
sense as Joseph Brodsky when asked about his roots
said, “ I am not a tree “ -
and among the tens of thousands.
there's Eugene Skeef
We have so many poets over here in Sweden -
a veritable land of poetry -the very first one I met
back in 1972 was Per Eric Söder
Here’s a very partial list,
some of them writing
in their mother tongue and
in English, some of them, of course,
you have never
heard of before
for example I’m thinking of Kiluanji Kush,
our brother from Angola whose swinging poems in pidgin
were published by Författares Bokmaskin
Apart from the big shot power poets ( for some reason
unknown to my mind, why am I just at this very moment
thinking of George Lamming’s In the Castle of My Skin ?)
Well, thankfully,
your literary journal which is
one of the best in existence
is also fulfilling another purpose
which only God knows
providing a venue
featuring such extra-
ordinary talents, among whom
previously, perhaps were those
sung about, mournfully :
“Through the wild cathedral evening the rain unraveled tales
For the disrobed faceless forms of no position
Tolling for the tongues with no place to bring their thoughts
All down in taken-for-granted situations”
For you Amatoritsero Ede,
the generous facilitator,
hopefully,
there’s many a Swedish Poetry Festival ahead
Cornelius Hamelberg
