THE EASTAFRICANPOET

This classical black poetry piece is one of the foundations of SPOKEN WORD POETRY, the revolution that failed to be televised but was always bubbling under. This is a masterpiece with its origins in the south of the USA. I hope ‘Shine’ touches a special part of you as he has done mine It was 1912 when the awful news got around That the great Titanic was sinking down. Shine came running upon deck, told the captain, ‘Please, The water in the boiler room is up to my knees.’ Captain said; ‘Take your black self on back down there! I got a hundred and fifty pumps to keep the boiler room clear.’ Shine went back in the whole, started shoveling coal, Singing, ‘Lord have mercy, Lord, on my soul!’ Just then half the ocean jumped across the boiler room deck. Shine yelled to the captain, ‘The water’s around my neck!’ Captain said, ‘Go back! Neither fear nor doubt! I got a hundred more pumps to keep the water out.’ ‘Your words sound happy and your words sound true, But this one time Cap, your words ...

This classic piece is one that you read and go like; ’enough said’ no word ought to be ejected or added to this masterpiece. I hope you enjoy it. Psalms 23 part II The state is my shepherd, I shall not want; it makes me to Lie down in a subsidized house It leads me to political tranquility; it restores my faith in a lucrative future. It leads me into paths of loans and pensions, For its international reputation’s sake. Yea, even though the valley of the shadow Of Kivvulu I will fear no Kondos; For the state is with me, its tanks and guns comfort me. It preserves for me a bank account, in the presence of devaluation; It fills my pockets with allowances, my salary overflows. Surely increments and promotion follow me all the days of my life; And I shall dwell in senior staff quarters forever.

This sort of poetry is the type that just puts a smile on your face, its well written and so raw that you get addicted to it… read and see what really happens in a brother’s mind when he is rejected.This poem is from the THONGA tribe in the southern tip of our lovely continent of Africa. 1.very well girl: All right then, girl, refuse me. The grains of maize from which you eat in your village Are human eyes! The tumblers from which you eat Are human skulls! The cassava roots you eat Are human leg bones! The sweet potatoes Are human fingers! Very well then girl, refuse me

Its a Friday and yours truly is on a bodaboda snaking through a traffic jam in the thick Kintante road.Im making my way to Lugogo showground where I think Afriart gallery is hosting an open-mic night which I was humbly told is going to ’happen’. .and happen it truly did, only at another venue. I get to U M A showground and my Swahili is in; I ask the askari if there is anything happening at the gallery and he tells me nothing, and true to his word I can see the place isn’t lit up. I insist on seeing for myself and at the front I meet a couple of other poetry lovers who have ‘bounced’ like me. A few phone calls later truly confirm that the event would not take place. ‘So what should we do?’ the ladies ask, and one says the rugby club is always jumping on Fridays; of course I know, my blood is saturated with that thing that we go hungrily there for..It’s just that I’m trying so badly to quit... I had been pumping this little frame of mine with bitter since 4 pm and I thought I had had e...

An eastafricanpoet’s go at him: The first time I was lucky enough to witness this poetry addict performing was at his premier performance at the British council, I loved the piece he did on originality and an African having a definition even before the painting was repainted using white hues, if you know what I mean. Mwaura’s poetry is strong; any witness will attest to this and his flow is so liquid, he drowns you into it without much fuss... But on his debut performance at WAPI that Sep 2007,I think stage fright or just plain excitement got the best of him and he was like,’Damn;I’ve forgotten my lines…can I have the rough copy?’ well he did not fall back to the rough copy, he just dismissed the whole performance and left the podium with a 5 star applause all over the air around him. The next time I see him, we are at a symposium run by Imani and in attendance are poetry geniuses like Njeri Wangare.but Mwaura looked so cool unlike the fine poetry maestro that he is... Next time I hear...

This is to you on the safe harbor I have set my sail high and up And the wind has impregnated her already; She is full and ready. And we’re now in the middle of the murky blue sea, All we see is a relentless blue. My fellow seamen are weary The captain has dozed by the wheel And the rest have slumped on the deck It’s tough Made even tougher by the hopelessness I’ve dropped this into the sea in a bottle I hope the ebbing waves find you And deliver this to your pretty fingers. I’ll be there too If the sea favors me... I’d love to know how you fair If it’s truly peaceful there But it must be, After the rough sea The harbor is always peaceful My ship will rest on the tide’s back If it takes us bad, then worst it will be If it takes good, then best it will be. But I will arrive Then kickback and rest; just rest… This is from me out in the sea.

It’s a lazy afternoon and I’m chilling at the Uganda-famous beach (lake shore) called Lido thinking hard about issues...I also catch up with the poetic-me and jot down a few poems. These poems were inspired by the lake, the people and the music around me. I hope they get to please you. Enjoy… 1.An afternoon by the lake: I sit by the waters and watch I can see misty hills in the horizon And dark gray waters go as far my humble eyes Closer by the shore Big muscled boys show young girls How to bodily navigate the waters Around me hairy-legged men in shorts Fidget with expensive mobile phones As the ladies with them munch easy on chips and fresh lake fish The afternoon wears lazily on Amid windy sunshine, mirandas and R n B I’m just another person by the lake in jeans and sneakers A wrinkling sun burned pink man Tags along two ladies having long horse hair He needs a swim but they are not eager Birds fly easy over placid waters Picking fishes of the waters like fingers pick fries Some shoo...

Why do you stare And pretend it was only a glance? Why do you come here And pretend to be just passing by? Why do you look into my eyes When you know mine cannot do so? Why do you offer me a smile And yet you know I don’t want but need it? Why do you kill me Then let me go? Why do you offer solutions Yet you're the issue? Why do I yearn and starve When I've had so much?

This misty collection is traditional Kikuyu in nature and heavily inspired by real life happenings. It’s about a lady that can only go down hills and cannot climb; how it all ends even I don’t have a clue. Enjoy. Kui I cannot help it: My lady Kui I sincerely don’t understand you, Not anymore Kindly tell me what is wrong. You don’t even care to cut my nails anymore You no longer let my leg lie on your thigh... Or it is because my heels are now cracked? And I can no longer afford muratina. You told me you will always be with me Is this truly forever? See you cannot even look at me, I’m I not worthy of your eyes? You don’t even eat this food. It’s ours not mine Its not meat, your favorite But it’s better than nothing. Kui I cannot help it When we went to Baba You promised me and all my people That it will be for better or for worse. Kui I cannot help it. Life isn’t like the flat Naivasha It gets steep like Nyaga’s abode But you seem not to understand Poverty the wise old Guka says Should ...

THE PHOTOS SPEAK FOR THEMSELVES,I ADORE THIS EXAMPLE AND VISION OF A LADY.THE BEST MUSIC IS THE FINEST MUSIC,SHE SAID..

Im sitting inside a lecture hall and my tutor is going on and on about managers and how management is about getting things done in collaboration with other people, and Im thinking management is towering over people with a mean face and getting things done. To tell it truly in black and white. Out of my lecture and rewind to about three hours ago earlier in the day; I stepped into the AFRIART GALLERY inside U.M.A showground where I might a lovely lady who offers me all the help she can about the upcoming OPEN-MIC night. Apparently it happens every last Friday of the month and it was born only in June. About performances and registration of the same, she tells me all I need is to give her my phone number and name, plus I get to drop a comment into their comment book (even though it was first time around). About the gallery now; a couple of great art pieces caught my eye but the prices are sky high. The hand painted t-shirts look OK and the gallery is really spacious so I'm surprised...

A word from the publishers This collection of poems was put together with the intention that readers enjoy it immensely. The blend of poetry with art gives it a unique quality that will guide the readers' imagination into the everyday life of love, motherhood, relationships, politics, war, hope, religion and even death that each poem explores. This collection has assembled works of both established writes like OKOT P'BITEK, TIMOTHY WANGUSA and HENRY BARLOW and new interesting voices that will certainly inspire the readers. The artists who have worked on the poems have encased immense talent in the poems. Hurray to them! The combination of poetry and painting is aimed at promoting the unity of the arts and it should inspire a new trend of cooperation. This project is an infant of the FEMRITE Readers Writers Club, a discussion group that meets at FEMRITE every Monday evening. In our call for poems, to be published in this unique anthology, emphasis was put on originality, clarity...

This is a collection unlike no other (that’s the best description for lack of a better one)…a blend of the new and the old inside the quite lukewarm poetry scene in Uganda. The small book-it’s a collection of only 20 fine poems-is a collaboration between FEMRITE and AFRIART GALLERY, how poetry and painting can marry almost to perfection makes this anthology a trendsetter in this field. I noticed a number of established, East African poetry heavyweights like OKOT P'BITEK (remember him from song of lawino), TIMOTHY WANGUSA (writer of the satirical Psalms 23 II) and HENRY BARLOW (who writes about building the nation as a permanent secretary's driver) New voices also come out strongly in this collection, most notably SOPHIE BAMWOYERAKI, whom I've witnessed performing a poem dedicated to her Papa which I found extremely touching. I however thought her poem in here FEAR, ended too abruptly. Another great piece was from a lady who handles her business like they're (ladies) sup...

SATURDAY 28TH SEPTEMBER 2008 There will be the WAPI famous SKILL FACTORY. One of the main events will be The craft in writing and performing poetry, with NEEMA NGWATILO. This session is designed to heighten awareness in poets of the words and ideas they weave together with a view to increasing effectiveness on the page and in performance. Close attention will be paid to particular texts, looking at the elements that make a piece effective and those which do not, and how to craft a performance or presentation. E-mail pieces that you want workshopped to mmawiyo@gmail.com Get to know more about NEEMA NGWATILO here.(CHECK THE SIDE BAR) Article courtesy of THE WAPI TIMES.

RESPECT OR FEAR. Wapi, wapi… wapi…what can really be said? The best thing after sliced bread or the best thing since East Africa attained independence. The K'LA WAPI runs from 2 pm to about 8:30 pm which is quite different from WAPI NAIROBI which ends at about 6 pm.True to K'LA parties the party races hard into the night through to 9 pm and its jumping even after I leave at about 9:15 pm. This is how it went down… Its 5 o'clock and my head is in a spin so ruthless that I feel like I could bite of the head of the inventor of the phenomenon called a traffic jam, but because patience is a virtue and I try to stay as virtuous as possible, I grit my teeth and watch other cars move slowly past... After what seems like eternity, I get to town and catch a boda b' quick, fast and in a hurry then soon enough I get to the fabulous HOTEL AFRICANA to its part that's ideally called the PEOPLE'S SPACE. The party is already jumping and there's a Tanzanian crew busting Swah...

She was just 5’ 2” Her skin weighed heavy on the light side And less in the dark side. Second year MAKERERE UNIVERSITY BUSINESS SCHOOL, HRM Straight A’s but she attended lectures in proxy I was wrong from the moment I felt it It was more inside my jeans And less inside my chest. But so wrong, so extremely and thoroughly wrong That it seemed right. She smiled so well, so easy and so naturally; She was the type that never took a taxi Her locomotion business was settled by BODA B’s and SPECIOS. Plus she looked great in skinny jeans And I thought any hairstyle looked ideal on her But I was wrong and double wrongs never became right She made me happy inside my jeans Sad in my wallet And infatuated inside my chest But it was so wrong that it seemed right, I sat down and thought A dead year wouldn’t hurt so much And I could always save or just inflate my fees, She thought it was a fine idea One that could apparently give us more time together She loved the BEACH and the GREEN TUSKER; A little...

In celebration of one of east Africa’s greatest literary minds; yours truly the esatafricanpoet will run a series of poems or songs as he fondly referred to them from the great OKOT P’BITEK. The best and most attractive aspect of a genuine P’BITEK classic is his raw simplicity and language so easy to understand that his ‘songs’ could be understood and enjoyed by virtually anyone who has love for poetry. But simplicity is complexity in its own way and the simplest of poems are usually the most complex; any poetry lover will attest to this, yours truly included. a friend of mine tells me that ,‘the simplest and the most easily understood of concepts took the greatest effort to put together’ This piece is the first of the OKOT P’BITEK series. enjoy. Song of lawino We sang the faith of the messengers Like parrots I did not understand it all! I thought about it In my own head But I could get nowhere, And there was nobody to turn to The padre and the nun are the same, They only quarrel They...

I woke up to the rich smell of talcum powder ‘Johnson’s and Johnson’, I knew it too well, I tried to revamp my memory But all I could remember was the smoking And the vodka that made me smile a lot. I was double-stoned and eagle high. Stoned from the smoke, High from the bitter shots And so thoroughly love stoned by those nails; I always had a thing for exquisite manicures And soft sensitive footsteps under a fragile gait. Now I smelled of love but reeked of self-disgust. What was her name? Her age? And how was she? None of them mattered.. All I could recollect was that I loved the flowers on the skirt And the stringy straps on the blouse Plus she smelled so good, Something like a wild flower bush. Plus her eyes bounced a lot And her skin was almost baby like.. But I could not remember her So I scratched my hair till the scalp itched Still I could not find her. She had smiled and drugged me with ease, Now she was gone, it wasn’t her debut act. But I knew she would be back Maybe after 5...

One of the best poetry pieces ever told on east African soil, this is by Ralph Bitamazire. Poetry cannot get gentler than this... I love you my gentle one: I love you my gentle one, My love is the fresh milk in the rubindi Which you drank on the wedding day; My love is the butter we were smeared with To seal fidelity in our hearts. You are the cattle bird’s egg, For those who saw you are wealthy. You are the papyrus reed of the lake That they pull with both hands And I sing for you with tears Because you posses my heart: I love you my gentle one.

I’m told a poem without a name is like a child who owns no name; it clearly shows that the parents do not care about him. Maybe I don’t care about this piece here, but all I know is that no name befits this here.. I heard them tell it raw And without a flaw That if he gorged your eye to the floor, You ought to do so too, or even more. But an eye for an eye Left us asking why? We couldn’t see again We now groped around blind And had to re-learn how to re-live Re-live life afresh without eyes.. Someone told us about Sisimonda, It wasn’t your every day African tale It was different, Beautifully and divinely different. That she gave her own blood To whoever was in a need so bad. And a motherly love glowed of her skin, But most of all she touched Those who suckled of her breast Those who fed of her experienced hands Those who got soothed by her hugs and love And those who got spoiled by her unselfishness. But she was evil to someone else One who didn’t see the beautiful soul And who knew he...

POETRY NIGHT. WEDNESDAY 24th September 2008 For all poetry lovers, the place to be is the AFRIART GALLERY located at the UMA (Uganda Manufacturers’ Association) showground located in LUGOGO. Poetry readings will take place and they will be spruced up by wine. From 6:00 pm to 8:00 pm. Art paintings and different local fashion designs will be on sale. So carry some cash. Entry is free. CONTACTS: DAUDI KARUNGI Daudi@afriartgallery.com +256-41-375455

Let’s talk theatre, theatre and some more theatre; I’m an arts fanatic and in a way I’m proud of it. Today with a little help from fellow fanatics I’ll tell all I can about the finest theatres in the lovely heart of the pearl of Africa. 1. THE NATIONAL THEATRE, DEWINTON ROAD. This is the most reliable arts headquarters in Kampala, and has been that way for the last 50 or so years. We don’t call it the National theatre for lack of no concrete reason; this fine place boasts of lots of rehearsal space, dance studios, a recording studio, professional theatre lighting and of course the trump doors. The place has something artistic happening almost every single day of the week, check this: Mondays host THE JAM SESSION at MUSICIANS’ CLUB ’89 and entry is free of charge. Tuesdays are best spent at the DANCE FLOOR where PERCUSSION DISCUSSION blesses the night. Entry is at sh.3,000 Thursday is all about hearty laughs; its COMEDY NIGHT and it all takes place in THE UPPER GARDENS and...