Spinner of Dialectics
“If you want to know the sex of the lagoon
Jump, jump into it, and you will suffer
The swollen silence of rebirth...”
(The Poet Lied -
He spits virulent tirades against everything,
Because he must meet a vituperative need.
His supernal sense of human solidarity endures
In sundry fixations, and in his pet slogan-
Everything is political. The end justifies the meanness.
He dabbles in every discourse to sell his hit.
He spawns treatises even on the dialectics of silt.
Tons of dusty manuscripts celebrate his sagacity.
Like the undertaker, he
beats his chest in triumph
For dispatching an older poet to his “literary
He would gossip and meddle in another's young matrimony.
He would suck the bliss in every wench, but won't dare marry.
Blind to the funny image rambling in the mirror
He harasses the air in self-ballooning anger…
Song of a Post-card
(For Charles Ogu)
“Post-this, post-that, post-the other;
Yet in the end
Not past a thing not
Understanding or telling
Or forgiveness”- Seamus Heaney
Past somesaults of seed and sun
Past showers rousing the earth-
Words become toys, or, theories flicked
Past the grasp of promise and response-
Hidden in the corsets of texts, and nowhere else?
Time is over-run by assorted brands
Of legends of reading and resurrection
Of meaning and being, between posts:
And nowhere else?
For nothing exists beyond posts?
And who determines the posts?
The post-paranoid critic? Read my post-card:
Let's give the stale posts a break
Let's foment fresh textual kicks.
(Extracted from Song of Songs)