Ousted from your Poplars
Jack Mapanje The Seashells of Bridlington North Beach (for Mercy Angela) She hated anything caged, fish particularly, Fish caged in glass boxes, ponds, whatever; ‘Reminds me of prisons and slavery,’ she said; So, when first she caught the vast green view of Bridlington North Beach shimmering that English Summer day, she greeted the sight like A Sahara girl on parched feet, cupping, cupping, Cupping the water madly, laundering her palms, Giggling and laughing, then rubbing the hands On her skirt, she threw her bottom on the sandy Beach and let the sea breathe in and out on her As she relaxed her crossed legs – ‘Free at last!’ She announced to the beach crowds oblivious; And as the seascape rallied and vanished at her Feet, she mapped her world, ‘The Netherlands We visited must be here; Norway, Sweden there; Beyond that Russia!’ Then gathering more seashells And selecting them one by one, she turned To him, ‘Do you remember eating porridge from Beach shells once?’ He nodded, smiling at another Memory of the African lakes they were forced to Abandon. ‘Someday, perhaps I’ll take that home To celebrate!’ She said staring into the deep sea. Today, her egg-like pebbles, her pearls of seashells Still sparkle at the windowsill; her wishes still ring, ‘Change regularly the water in the receptacles to Keep the pebbles and seashell shinning – you’ll See, it’s a lot healthier than feeding caged fish!’ ********************* After Celebrating our Asylum Stories at West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds So, define her separately, She is not just another Castaway washed up your Rough seas like driftwood, It’s the nameless battles Your sages burdened on her People that broke her back; Define him differently, He is not another squirrel Ousted from your poplars, It’s the endless cyclones, Earthquakes, volcanoes, Floods, mud and dust that Drafted him here; define Them warmly, how could Your economic émigré queue At your job centres day after Day? If you must define us Gently, how do you hope To see the tales we bear When you refuse to hear The whispers we share? ********************************** Ken Saro-Wiwa’s Pipe Still Puffing (Ten Years On) Yesterday, I stopped at another Shell petrol station and recalled how you’d have loved to puff from your pipe there, for your Ogoni people and land; I did not, of course, stop to fill up with petrol, definitely not! I stopped merely to have a good pee, as promised I would when they got you executed. Today, I thought, well, why don’t we treasure the moment we once shared? *************************************** Jack Mapanje , from Malawi, currently teaching Creative writing at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne, is the author of 5 collections of poetry, the editor of several more, and the recipient of awards including the Rotterdam Poetry International Award and the African Literature Association (USA) Fonlon-Nichols Award. He studied in England, before returning to Malawi, where he became the Head of Department of English, University of Malawi at Chancellor College, a position he held until his book Of Chameleons and Gods was banned and he was incarcerated for almost four years as a political prisoner in Mikuyu prison. # Copyright © Fonthouse Ltd. and respective copyright owners. adminhumanitiesunderground.org