Current Read: Coconut

Kopano Matlwa’s debut novel about black people (women in this case) growing up in white suburbia, the book not only tackles racial issues, but also issues of identity and youth.

For the longest time after this book was first published back in 2007 it was on every avid reader’s lips. I carried the excitement, in part, because here was a young black woman doing something I aspired to and am still working at doing (penning a successful novel). I did not however read the book back then. I walked into my favourite Exclusive Books a while back and there sat one copy - as though placed there just for me. Needless to say, I am now reading and so far loving the book. 

Narrative Text: Redi

Fleeting voices ran rampant as she walked into the room. A forgettable, dime a dozen body; tall, bony and straight up and down. Yet her story was contained within her eyes, deep and dark and perfectly rounded pupils swimming about in pools of clear white. Slouching profoundly into her other wise regularly plain looking face, these were her calling card, speaking volumes, telling life, her life. I watched her take great gulps of orange juice from a plastic container she had earlier pulled out of her oversized name brand hand bag and it was only after she pulled out a magazine with the words “Rouge” printed in bold red letters across its cover followed by a stylish green jacket that I wondered what else she was carrying around with her. Was her soul bulging out as hard as her bag? Its contents overflowing…

The room was brightly lit and stuffy with sparse and inconsistent furniture that looked old and lacked cohesion there were plastic flower arrangements and old, outdated magazines placed on the three coffee tables that sat in the centre of the room with two rows of chairs on either side of them. A large credenza with a sign reading receptionist above it sat at one end of the room. As Redi stood and stepped toward the plumpy, light skinned woman seated behind the reception desk my attention fell to her outfit. She wore tight black jeans, an oversized white shirt with its sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a very high pair of tangerine coloured stilettos. She walked meekly, gaze focused firmly the ground avoiding the many eyes that were crawling all over her, dissecting and inspecting every little thing. The tongues wagged with each step she took, making in blatant judgement statements about her clothing, her hair, the way she walked, the reason she was at this clinic and everything in between. Yet with a firm determination she ignored this obvious attempt to belittle her. Reaching the receptionist she spoke, feeble and soft. The lady at the reception desk asked with a thunderous and slightly aggravated tone for her to remake her statement only louder and so she spoke again, a little firmer. Tugging at the sides of her shirt, she listened and responded accordingly whilst the prying eyes and pointing ears in the room also watched and listened attentively it was a however difficult for them to hear what she was saying.

Her cellphone rang and she placed with little care the form she had been filling out onto the empty chair beside her and pulled from her jacket, which she now had on, her phone and plonked it in a nonchalant manner onto her ear and spoke. Again her voice was low and restrained, but my overly intrigued ear was now within hearing distance.

“Yes.”

She listened then spoke again.

“I’m at the clinic, what time are you getting here?”

She listened.

“You aren’t…”

The voice on the other side of the phone interrupts her and she listened then spoke again.

“But everyone is here with someone and I’m sitting here all by myself.” There is now a slight aggravation and desperation contained within her voice. “you said you would be here with me.”

She takes a deep breath, listens again and once more she speaks.

“Ok, I’ll see you later then.”

I glance at the form on her chair and on it sits her name, her surname, her ID number and under the question reason for visit reads in carefully written block capital letters the words TERMINATION OF PREGNANCY.

“I love you too.” She says before hanging up the phone.

She glares lifelessly at her form, picks her juice bottle and magazine of the ground and throws them into her bag then tosses that bag over her shoulder and walks nonchalantly out the clinic door.

Hughes Corner: 50-50

Since the death of the Angelou Corner, I’ve struggled to find a poet I like enough to have as a permanent monthly fixture on this blog. I through many a name, I tried to pick based on gender then race, age then relevance and no one struck me hard enough to leave a lasting impression. I finally decided to combine my selection criteria and ended up with Langston Hughes; a black poet and author born in 1902 and died in 1967.

Hope you guys will enjoy him as much as I am right now.  

I’m all alone in this world, she said
Ain’t got nobody to share my bed
Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand—
The truth of the matter’s
I ain’t got no man.

Big Boy opened his mouth and said
Trouble with you is
You ain’t got no head!
If you had a head and used your mind
You could have me with you
All the time.

She answered, Babe, what must I do?

He said, Share your bed—
And your money, too.

Current Read: The Thing Around Your Neck

A collection of stories by Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, the thing around your neck published in 2009 and highly revered. The book features a collection of 12 stories ranging in topic from love, violence to faith and the human spirit. With this in mind, I hope to fall head over heels with not just the book but, it’s author as well.  

The Word: Gangle

Dictionary definition: To move awkwardly or ungracefully

Origins: 1965–70;  back formation from gangling

Use in a sentence: I gangle through the room hoping no one will notice me

Current Read: The Man Who Turned Into Himself

This is not the sort of thing I would normally pick up but, I was looking through my book shelf the other day and there this book sat beckoning tediously for me to pick it up and I fought myself for the a little bit but I started reading anyway and honestly, it isn't all that bad so far.

I’ll let ya’ll know how the rest of the book pans out once I've finished reading it. 

Angelou Corner: I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

I can proudly say i've saved the best for last with this one. 
This will be my last Angelou Corner post and i could not have picked a better one to end of with. I take from the from this piece the want of a being to be without any knowledge of the how and a willingness to grow with an inability to begin the process. the bird does not sit in it's cage dwindling away doing nothing but, it sings in hopes of a better tomorrow. Do the right thing, regardless of your circumstance. 

Please let me know if there are any other poets you would like a feature on. 

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom. 

Maya Angelou till the death!!!

Poetic Text: My Business

My business is complex
long winding stealth
crevassed in places untold
gorged and crannied
you would never fully understand

My business is intricate
multipart and composite
it walks and breaths airs of mystery
deep and sordid
lies telling life
that’s my business

My business is convoluted
in tiny pockets, adventure aplenty
Between the thighs of a joyous fate
lives the many myriads of my trade
within my whims and fancies
I am more than a one dimensional being

My business is mine
a secret so close to my bosom
the only way in lives in…
cracks, clefts, holes, splits and hollows
that promise never to allow no one
not even you inside it
you would never fully grasp the sophistication of my business
so mind yours and I’ll do the same 

The Word: Redamancy

Dictionary definition: The act of loving in return.

Use in a sentence: Despite his lack of redamancy her passion for him was unabated for several years.

Don’t you love when you find a word that lifts your spirits? I had a long chat with a “friend” last night and things have been sitting shaky for a while but, after this convo I felt I understood things better and this morning I heard a song that encapsulated my entire state of being then stumbled upon this word, now I have no idea where its origins lie or anything like that and some dictionaries don’t even list this word but I instantly fell in love with it.
I love words and this one word has managed to cement that for me.

Thank you to the creators of the English language!

Angelou Corner: Refusal

Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that
I do adore.
What surety is there
That we will meet again,
On other worlds some
Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise
Of one more sweet encounter
I will not deign to die. 

Current Read

I went out during lunch with the intention of buying a pair of shoes, that mission was quickly abandoned when I walked past the Exclusive Books. I bought myself Maya Angelou’s I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings and I could hardly contain myself as I started reading it at Steers whilst waiting for my burger and chips.
This is going to be one of those that I can hardly pull myself from; I can feel it in my fingers.  

The Word: Gaiety

Dictionary definition: the state of being gay or cheerful; gay spirits.

Origins: 1625–35;  < French gaieté,  equivalent to gai gay + -té -ty

Use in a sentence: The gaieties of the New Year season.

Synonyms:  merriment, mirth, glee, jollity, joyousness

Narrative Text: The Loft

On a mildly warm autumn morning, the sun shone through the large bare wood panelled windows that wrapped themselves immodestly around two of the four walls that made up his large open plan loft apartment. The white walls wore black and white framed pictures of different sizes which portrayed New York skylines, Johannesburg streets, Spanish matadors, Kenyan Masai and a host of other things I didn’t know much about. A few dramatically abstract canvass paintings sat loud and proud on the floor and leaned nonchalantly against the windows. I threw a glance at the expansive ceilings that had three big medieval light fixtures stuck onto them, drew two deep breaths and decided to get up. I lifted myself off of the bed and the cold grey concrete floor jumped up to meet my feet. Standing up, I walked about the space taking in the furnishings that adorned the place. Sporadic and clean and white with tiny throws of colour in the form of cushions, vases, pashminas tossed casually on the sofa and of cause the paintings on the floor. Just off the entrance lay the kitchen area, all stainless steel appliances, lacquered white cupboards, black painted wooden open shelving which carried on it teal, orange and white mismatched bowls and cups and plates and canisters and other things required for the functionality of a kitchen. Just off the kitchen was the only door inside this big room, I concluded that beyond it lay the bathroom and decided not to go through it.

I stopped for a moment and looked aimlessly around, when I noticed the balcony on the other side of one of the windows. I steadied myself towards it and on my way lost focus when I found a hand written note placed on a small study desk weighed down by a heavy pearl coloured rock which served as a paper weight, “make yourself at home,” it read “I’m just meeting a client, please don’t leave. I’ll bring some coffee back with me. Xoxo.” I sat on the chair beside of desk and took it all in and a smile grew slowly on my face. 

With the steady rise of the sun the balcony beckoned for my presence and I ran out onto it. Opening the wide glass doors that made up part of the windows, the noise of people and cars going about their business in the street below was a harsh invasion of the silence on the inside. Although I was some way away from the ground level, on the eighth floor to be exact, I heard people’s laughter and small bits of their conversations. There was a distant sound made by sort of heavy machinery, taxi’s hooting, loud kwaito music coming from the building that stood in front of me and on it, three men on scaffolding were putting black and grey stripes onto that building and although it would ordinarily have not been possible, the heavy wind that blew encouraged my nostrils to take in the paint fumes. These combined with the smell of the sun presented a unique sensation to my senses.

Having adequately absorbed the balcony and all it had to offer I walked back into the flat and for the first time since my arrival I saw his personal pictures in wooden frames placed in a cluster on a small coffee table just of the door that took me out onto the veranda. These were pictures of himself with others, himself with two young girls, a dog, a woman with the two young girls, the woman on her own, two other women, a man with an older lady and a few others. My mind got to thinking about who these people could be, I gave them names and provided them each with a role they played in his life then resolved to pay it no further mind. I was getting bored and mind restless so I walked back to the bed and lay back down when all of a sudden I heard a key turn in the door, I got up and stared impatiently to see who it would be. The key was yanked out the key hole and the door knob turned slowly and then the door flung open and there he was in all his awkward, sophisticated self. He smiled and I smiled back.     

Angelou Corner: The Detached

It's amazing how closely I can relate to this woman and her body of work. Every month, through this blog I expose myself to a piece of her poetry and every month I see bits of me and the struggles i'm currently enduring through it. 

I know that soon i'm going to have gone through to large a chunk of Maya's work to continue the Angelou Corner and at that point i'm going to have to focus my attention onto a different poet, but till then i hope both you and I can find refuge in this great writer's words. 

We die, 
Welcoming Bluebeards to our darkening closets, 
Stranglers to our outstretched necks, 
Stranglers, who neither care nor
care to know that
DEATH IS INTERNAL.

We pray, 
Savoring sweet the teethed lies, 
Bellying the grounds before alien gods, 
Gods, who neither know nor
wish to know that
HELL IS INTERNAL.

We love, 
Rubbing the nakednesses with gloved hands, 
Inverting our mouths in tongued kisses, 
Kisses that neither touch nor
care to touch if
LOVE IS INTERNAL. 

Fave Five: Lana Da Poet!

OK, I know I’m utterly obsessed with Lana Del Rey and her music and I’ve always from the first time I heard it considered it to be poetic. I have recently come to love her intros and outros to songs. I only get to hear these when watching the music videos as a large chunk of them are not encompassed on her albums, they delight me and get me thinking about the reinvention of poetry.

When I was younger, every Tom Dick and Harry street-smart enough to rock a bandanna used to praise the poetic qualities contained within Tu-Pac’s music. To this day I still fail to see this poetic genius.  I for one think when equated to the Franks, Janelles and Lanas of today, Pac fails to compare (queue the average black person hurling insults at my tastes). In all honesty though, lyrics such as “More than an adversary I'm very quick, I'm ready to hit 'em with this gift, I'm equipped to kick” come second when placed against Lana’s lyrics from songs such as ‘Carmen’ and ‘This is What Makes Us Girls’ to name but a few.

Any who, this post was not intended to diminish Pac’s body of work, or any other artist for that matter… I just wanted those of you who have never been privy to Del Rey’s work to experience first-hand its wonder.
Here is a list of my Fave three snippets from Lana Del Rey intros and outros. I felt it would be a tad disingenuous to list five intros and outros as I honestly am obsessed with just these three, so you’ll excuse this month’s fave five…

Hope you like it either way!

3.            Outro from National Anthem

“And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was the only one for me. We both knew it, right away. And as the years went on, things got more difficult - we were faced with more challenges. I begged him to stay. Try to remember what we had at the beginning.

He was charismatic, magnetic, electric and everybody knew it. When he walked in every woman’s head turned, everyone stood up to talk to him. He was like this hybrid, this mix of a man who couldn’t contain himself. I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him. And in that way, I understood him and I loved him.

I loved him, I loved him, I loved him.

And I still love him. I love him.”

2.            Outro from Ride
Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people, and finally I did on the open road.
We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore, except to make our lives into a work of art.
Live fast. Die young. Be wild. And have fun.
I believe in the country America used to be.
I believe in the person I want to become.
I believe in the freedom of the open road.
And my motto is the same as ever:
"I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself I ride, I just ride."
Who are you?
Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?
Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?
I have. I am fucking crazy.
But I am free.

               

1.            Intro from Ride
“I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer.
At night I fell asleep with visions of myself, dancing and laughing and crying with them.
Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour, and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times.
I was a singer - not a very popular one,
I once had a dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events some of those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn't really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I'd been living, they asked me why - but there's no use in talking to people who have home.
They have no idea what it's like to seek safety in other people - for home to be wherever you lay your head.
I was always an unusual girl.
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean...
And if I said I didn't plan for it to turn out this way I'd be lying...
Because I was born to be the other woman.
I belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.
Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn't even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.”

If this isn't poetry, I clearly have no concept of what poetry is…

The Word: Stupendous

Dictionary definition: Extremely impressive

Origins: 1965–70;  < Latin stupendus,  gerund of stupēre  to be stunned

Use in a sentence: That was a stupendous display of strength

Synonyms:  wonderful, amazing, astounding 

Artist of the Month: Zakes Mda

I went through a phase of thorough obsession with this man, going out of my way to read any and everything he ever wrote, provided I could get my hands on it.

Born Zanemvula Kizito Gatyeni, this talented award winning novelist, poet and playwright adopted the pen name Zakes Mda. Mda first rose to prominence in 1978 when he received the Amstel Merit Award which he received for having penned the play ‘We Shall Sing for the Fatherland’ Many other awards followed with his first two novels, ‘She plays With the Darkness’ and ‘Ways of Dying’ both released in 1995 receiving awards.
Since then, Mda has gone on to write numerous other books that have held special places in my heart, books such as ‘The Madonna of Excelsior’, ‘The Whale Caller’ and ‘Cion’ to name but a few.

In 2012 his biography ‘Sometimes There is a Void’ was published and African Book club used the following words to describe the book “His biography is at once riveting and daring – almost bordering on reckless. Mda goes totally against the grain of what many readers have come to expect from most biographical accounts. He lays his life bare for all to see – triumphs, warts and all.”  This is in my opinion is a stellar review. If a writer can make his audience feel his feelings all while gaining insight into his life then half the battle is won and it is evident through the above snippet that Mda has managed this. 

Poetic Text: Conflict and Peace

I hope this piece makes sense. It’s written as two different texts but, functions as one and is used to illustrate one central idea.

Conflict

Find comfort in the solace of disdain

Speak of the heart’s sweet contempt

The battle lines are drawn, surrender or wage war

Let the mind sing joy

And the limbs climb the walls of desolate jubilation

Peace

We struggle

Pull at the ugly face of bitter feeling

Grind hard the devastation acquired from desperation

Pound, strike, clobber another man’s elation  

All for the sake of a peaceful aggravation

Angelou Corner: Remembrance

Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees
hived in my hair, your smile at the
slope of my cheek. On the
occasion, you press
above me, glowing, spouting
readiness, mystery rapes
my reason

When you have withdrawn
your self and the magic, when
only the smell of your
love lingers between
my breasts, then, only
then, can I greedily consume
your presence.

The Word: Nuque

Dictionary definition: Back of the neck

Origins: 1570–80;  < French;  see nucha

Use in a sentence: On hot summer days sweat drips vehemently down to my nuque 

Current Read: The God of Small Things

Winner of the Booker Prize in 1997, The God of Small things is author  Arundhati Roy’s debut book and promises to be a great read as it contains all the aspects to make a book mention worthy in my eye; 1. It is an award winning piece of literature, 2. It deals with human issues and speaks to human experiences, and 3. It has been dubbed by some as a tad bit controversial.

Here’s to a few night cuddled up in bed sipping slowly on a cup of tea and delving head first into another (hopefully) good read. 

Rant & Rave: Vintage Lifestyle Loving

So, I’m so proud of myself I can hardly contain it.

I, upon the advice of a very dear friend, approached an online magazine and asked if I could contribute an article to their magazine and they agreed. The magazine’s editor Nicole Carr, was the loveliest person I’ve dealt with in a while, not only did she grant me (an unknown little aspirant) the opportunity to write for her magazine but she actually seemed to really like my writing, which by the way is always a shock to me because I think it has the tendency to come across as a tad formal and rigid.
So anyway, I wrote and submitted my article with a skeptic frame of mind. I wondered if she would like it, if it would fit the magazine and what they do and write about and to my surprise she emailed me telling me how good my article was. After this I had to wait for the publication to come out, still I was a bit doubtful of my abilities,  I thought that maybe by some chance my write-up would end up being put on the back burner, for lack of space or some other little thing, but it didn't  They published it and I know it may not seem like that big a deal to a lot of you, but it meant the world to me.

Thanks, to Lulu for the push, to Zizi for her input and to the Vintage Lifestyle Magazine team for considering me worthy. I hope the opportunity presents itself once more for me to once again work with them.

Here’s the link to the magazine, my article is on page 77; http://vintagelifestylemag.co.za/the-magazine/

Upward and onward!

The Word: Replete

Dictionary definition: abundantly supplied or provided; filled (usually followed by with  ): a speech replete with sentimentality.
Stuffed or gorged with food and drink.
Complete

Origins: 1350–1400; Middle English repleet  < Middle French replet  < Latin replētus  past participle of replēre  to fill up ( re- re- + plē ( re ) to fill, akin to plēnus full1  + -tus  past participle suffix)

Use in a sentence: a speech replete with sentimentality

Synonyms: complete, crowded, abundant

Angelou Corner: They Went Home

I like this piece; it's another one that i can totally relate to.

It's simple and concise yet clear and straight to the point. No lengthy explanations needed for this piece.

They went home and told their wives,
that never once in all their lives,
had they known a girl like me,
But… They went home.

They said my house was licking clean,
no word I spoke was ever mean,
I had an air of mystery,
But… They went home.

My praises were on all men’s lips,
they liked my smile, my wit, my hips,
they’d spend one night, or two or three.
but…

The Word: Madcap

Dictionary definition: wildly or heedlessly impulsive; reckless

Origins: from mad + cap (in the figurative sense: head

Use in a sentence: In his madcap youth, Teboho won notoriety for a series of vulgar pranks.

Synonyms: audacious, bold, wild, reckless, forward

Rant & Rave: RIP Prof Achebe

I posted this on the blog on Friday and was immediately told by a friend that the news of Chinua Achebe's passing was a farce (another twitter death) i therefore went on to delete the post as i thought it would be insensitive, but it was later confirmed that he had really passed on and thus the post is back up. 

Sad to learn of Chinua Achebe’s passing...

My first encounter with this prolific writer was during my early high school days when “Things Fall Apart” made up our prescribed reading list for English class. I think he’s work spoke very profoundly to me and he was one of the many African writers that planted the seed within me and ensured my love affair with literature would be an eternal bond.

May the greatness that was rest in peace and may we never forget him or the contributions he made to not only African but worldwide literature. 

RIP Chinua Achebe and thanks for the countless hours spent lost in worlds you wrote and our imaginations painted and breathed life into. 

The Word: Clement

Dictionary definition: (of a person) mild or merciful in disposition or character; lenient; compassionate
(of a weather) mild or temperate; pleasant.

Origins: late Middle English (< Old French ) < Latin clēment-,  stem of clēmēns  gentle, merciful

Use in a sentence: A clement judge reduced his sentence.

Synonyms: Clear, Fair, Temperate, Cloudless, Pleasant

Poetry: I asked God to Help Me Forget You (a reworked version)

Through the misfortune of the current goings on of my life, I finally managed to sit last night and rework this poem. I am still not 100% happy with it but, it speaks my current state of mind so clearly.
here it is, the reworked version of I asked God to Help Me Forget You.

Hope you like it!!!

I spoke to the creator about you
Validated your existence
for the love you gave spoke rapture
living love and running ferociously into forever

A brutal kind of tenderness
you lived between my hopes and wishes
Fuelled flames and prospects
abundantly joyous laughs aplenty
happy easy living in your arms

But, today I prayed
I asked God to help me forget you
The clouds luminous fray and boastful
can we speak to the bad times
insist on them
and term them defining moments

Inside my minds crawlspaces
I want you gone
cause you broke utopia
I want you gone
cause you ruptured arcadia
I want you gone

So I prayed and
I asked God to help me forget you.

The word: Gregarious

Dictionary definition: (of a person) Fond of company; sociable.
(Of animals) Living in flocks or loosely organized communities.
(Of plants) growing together in clusters, but not matted.

Origins: From Latin gregarius (belonging to a flock), from greg- (stem of grex-). Ultimately from Indo-European root ger- (to gather) which is also the source of such words as aggregate, congregation, egregious, and segregate.

Use in a sentence: I'm a well-balanced woman, and fairly gregarious too.

Synonyms: social, genial, outgoing, convivial, companionable, friendly, extroverted.

Angelou Corner: Alone

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone. 

Fave Five: The Word is the Verb

This is where my blog attempts acrobatics… well my minutely anyway. I don’t know if you’ll still be with me after this but, here goes nothing.
I promised a blog about all things wordy and this post is as wordy as a post can get. This month’s Fave 5 is on words, my favourite words to be a little more precise. Yes, yes, I know you’re probably thinking how strange it’s going to be for me to0 use words to write about words but it’s all good…
here they are, my 5 favourite words.

5.            Agape
Dictionary definition: Love that is spiritual and not sexual in its nature, seen as a model for humanity.
This word speaks to the notion of unconditional love and that is by far always a lovely notion.

4.            Ensoul
Dictionary Definition: To place or cherish in the soul
is this not a great image? Taking something and endowing it with a soul. 10/10 for whoever thought this word up.

3.            Insurrection     
This is not a sweet whimsy filled, deeply spiritual, inspirational word in sound or meaning. The dictionary defines it as meaning an armed rebellion. I first heard the word on Rhythm City (through David Genaro ofcause), I looked it up and instantly fell in love. It sounds brutal, Raw, offensive almost and yes, that it part of its appeal.

2.            Lissome
Meaning limber, supple and/or having the ability to move with ease. Honestly, I just like the way it sounds, plain and simple, no stress, no fuss.

1.            Esoteric
This is my current favourite word in the whole wide world. It is defined as being beyond the understanding of an average mind, tough to understand. Intended to be understood by only a particular group or relating to that which is known by a restricted number of people, not publicly disclosed.
I think, if asked to describe myself in one word, this would be it. 

this post has inspired me to add a new feature onto the blog which i will call "the word". This feature will highlight a new word on a weekly basis in attempts to grow not just my own but, your vocabulary as well. 

Seven Tips From F. Scott Fitzgerald on How to Write Fiction

http://www.openculture.com/2013/02/seven_tips_from_f_scott_fitzgerald_on_how_to_write_fiction.html

Poetry

On the threshold of another life change, with hours to countdown, I found this poem online. I have no idea who the author is but it rang so true to me and my current situation. The journey is unknown and the path has never before been walked but, I pray to God that all goes well.

New Beginings

I see the field where life does grow
in patches green from down below
where now we walk thru seeds once sown
a time of new beginning

We look not back from whence we came
or where we go it's all the same
where life's within a picture frame
in times of new beginning

Hold not for what tomorrow brings
to change your life, so many things
the bell once tolled, no longer rings
for a time of new beginning

Give not to sadness, enjoy the smiles
In fields, once yielded to the plough
come lay with me for just a while
This time of new beginning

So look now deep into my eyes
enjoy this time for how it flies
of gentle moans and tender sighs
for us and new beginnings

Current Read

In what I like to call my “book depository” – which is basically a stacked pile of books in a corner in my bedroom – a book has sat in patient wait of the day when I would give it the attention it deserved for almost two years. I’ve partially read it, wrote assignments and even an exam on it but I never appreciated or even completed it. I then remembered, randomly last night whilst watching Parenthood and drinking coffee a line from the first few pages of the book that reads “Things have a life of their own, it’s simply a matter of waking up their souls” this beckoned for me to once again revisit the novel and that is precisely what I did.

Written by the author of acclaimed “Love in a Time of Cholera” Gabriel Garcia Marquez, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” is my current re-read and this time I promise to finish it.   

Angelou Corner - Weekend Glory

I love the weekends spent with my friends Zizi and Lulu. They make life great and situations that would otherwise be dire are fun, easy and carefree. They inspired this month’s Angelou Corner.

I love you girls, you make my life!

Some clichty folks
don’t know the facts,
posin’ and preenin’
and puttin’ on acts
strechin’ their backs.

They move into condos
up over the ranks,
pawn their souls
to the local banks
buying big cars
they can’t afford
riddin’ around town
actin’ bored.

If they want to learn how to live life right
they ought to study me on Saturday night.

My job at the plant
ain’t the biggest bet,
but I pay my bills
and stay out of debt.
I get my hair done
for my own self’s sake
so I don’t have to pick
and I don’t have to rake.

Take the church money out
and head cross town
to my friend girl’s house
where we plan our round.
we meet our men and go to a joint
where the music is blue
and to the point.

Folks write about me.
They just can't see
how I work all week
at the factory.
Then get spruced up
and laugh and dance
And turn away from worry
with sassy glance.

They accuse me of livin'
from day to day,
but who are they kiddin'?
So are they.

My life ain't heaven
but it sure ain't hell.
I'm not on top
but I call it swell
if I'm able to work
and get paid right
and have the luck to be Black
on a Saturday night.

Narrative Writing - Mildred Makhona and I

Mine had a hard edge to it, rough and threadbare almost completely in ruins. It sat without care on the verge of utter devastation, held together only by my existence. My existence was a frailty all on its own; it was made up of empty hellos, pleasant conversations and sad goodbyes. Nothing worth remembering, nothing worth talking about and in all honesty it wasn’t anything at all.

I was born in the Free State on May 1986 to one Mildred Makhona, an alcoholic narcissist who would sooner sell her soul for a pretty outfit and a night out on the town with some random man than worry about the food in her children’s guts and the clothes on their backs. I recall very vividly when I was six years old, my mother seated on our family’s pink and brown floral sofa inside our inconsistently furnished two room apartment, smoking ferociously one cigarette after another, throwing back the cheap liquor all the while yelling insults at my sister and I and demanding we get on with preparing supper when she knew all too well that there was nothing to eat. My younger brother crawling around on a old wooden floor picking dusty bits of odds that were once mine or my sister’s favourite toys off of it. Amid all the terror of being a young child living within an unstable home there were good moments. When she was sober, mother would clean us up and take us to the park or the zoo or out to eat, but those moments where greatly sporadic. We would plead and beg with her to take us out alas to our great dismay when she picked up a bottle we knew to expect nothing pleasant. Romy who was three years old at the time, cried so hard on one particular day asking her to give him as well as my sister and I a little bit of money so we could go out and get some ice cream from the truck parked right outside out apartment block flooded by other neighbourhood kids who all walked away with cool ice lollies and creamy cream on sticks. She not only declined but cursed brutally and went off on a tangent telling us we were ungrateful.

 

Many years later an old looking Mildred sat on the verge of eternal destruction sat weathered and frail. I, a young adult newly affirmed, told her, I said “You were never around.”

The blank stare she shot me preceded her words, “Your farther left me after Romy’s birth, he left us. Who was I in between single handedly mothering three kids with no money in my pockets or joy in my heart?” she said with tears in her eyes and great solitude in her voice. “I tried to love you, but you saw fault in all my efforts. I tried to raise you and yes I know it wasn’t perfect, but you kids didn’t make it any easier.

I asked her about the drinking and the revolving door of men, explaining that these elements stole our mother and she said, “In the arms of those very frequent male callers you bashed so vehemently I found a little momentary sense of fulfilment. I’m not excusing some of the things that I did wrong, but I had to be a mother and a father and an individual person in my own right.” She declared a boundless devotion, relayed a tale drenched in sacrifice, claiming it was on her back that she managed to feed us. “A woman with no skills or education, three children and no man has no way of another chance in this world. Yes I drank, but you try prostituting and tell me how it feels.”

This response left me feeling deflated because once again the focus was on her she told me she had done all she could have and she provided her best. A terrible statement I thought, when her “best” saw her children raising themselves. She went on to paint a picture far removed from my reality, telling of picnics and personal conversations, carefree moments of dancing and singing in the kitchen, visits to theme parks and long whimsical walks.

“I can count all these things you speak so proudly about on one hand!” I screamed thinking in the confines of my sweetest dreams life with my mother was pleasurable thing.

Fave Five: Talk of the Cinema

I watch a lot, but a lot, of movies. Sometimes through the exercise of pure boredom I find myself within the realms of great love stories and on journeys to far of lands I know very little about. Never the less, I love movies, be they hard core action, drama, romcoms, musicals or whatever else, a good storyline combined with great acting and directing always manages to elate me to the point of wanting to leap to my feet and offer grand applause.
It would be hard to try and list all the movies in the world that hold a place in my heart so I have decided to list just five and tell you why I love them as much as I do.

5.            For Coloured girls
This is an obvious one, I suppose. For someone who appreciates poetry, I had a field day watching this movie and since first watching it, I have gone on to watch it several more times. I think for most women in existing in the world today, there were certain elements, plots and characters we found easy to identify with, what with the narrative’s broad storyline. My personal favourite characters where Nyla, played by Tessa Thompson and Juanitta played by Lorreta Divine, I found bits of my struggles engrained within their stories and I imagine that is what the movie intended to do, speak boldly of the plights of everyday 21^st century women.
The poetry was sensational, thought-provoking, emotive and sometimes even humorous. I count my favourites as the movie’s opening poem “For Coloured Girls”, this piece was a grand amalgamation of thoughts and feelings, aiding the feeling of unison amongst women. Other peoms I liked were; Nyla’s abortion poem, My Stuff, Macy Gray’s poem, and the dialogue between Thandie Newton’s character Tangie and her mother Alice played by Whoopie Goldberg.

 

4.            Chicago
I’m a sucker for a good musical and this, with its basic storyline and effortless acting takes the cake as one of the greatest musical films I have ever had the pleasure of watching. Like for Coloured Girls, Chicago is also a film adapted from a book. Starring Reene Zellweger, Queen Latifah, Taye Diggs and Lucy Lui to name but a few members of the star studded cast, the movie tells very whimsically the story of a young married woman  who is sent to jail for killing her lover. We have this knowledge in the back of our minds the whole time, but the music and theatrics take over and leave you wishing you also sat in County Cook Jail.
Songs such as “All That Jazz” and “Cell Block Tango” have since become classics seeing people that have never ever seen the movie or the Broadway production jazz-handsings and kicking their feet wildly in the air at the sounds of these tunes.

3.            The Gladiator
Ask anyone who truly knows me and they will tell you that this is my all-time favourite movie. Awesome in all its glory, the lead, Russel Crowe can do absolutely no wrong in his portrayal of General Maximus Decimus Meridius.
Set in 180AD this jam packed story tells accounts the adventures of a man out for revenge, I know what you are now thinking and no, this is not like any other out-for-blood movie you may have seen recently and the list of accolades held by this production are evidence of that. The movie won awards aplenty, raging from best picture and best actor at the Academy Awards, best film and best cinematography at the BAFTAS and a whole lot more.
If for some unknown bespoke reason you make up the sum of the five people who have not seen this film, I beg, do yourself the favour and ensure you see it soon. It will not disappoint, I promise

 

 

2.            On The Road
A fairly new film directed by Walter Salles who previously directed other great films such as Paris, je t'aime and Dark Water. Salles once again brings joy to film enthusiasts with this tale of boundless friendship between Sal Paradise a young writer whose life is irreparably changed when he meets and befriends Dean Moriarty and his new 16-year-old wife Marylou.
This film was received fairly poorly with critics dubbing it a well-made but otherwise empty film, criticising the story line and the emphasis place on the actual cinematography over the story and yes, to some extent I do agree, this film is a visual pleasure from beginning to end with long detailed and beautiful shots selling the both the American countryside and reckless urban lifestyle of the 1940’s. My disagreement come in that I saw the plot for what it was, the story of friendship, granted it isn’t a Good Will Hunting or The Words but, it doesn’t suck as badly as movies like 300 and the American Pie series.
I am yet to read the book from which the film was adapted but, based on the movie I will most def be doing that.  

 

1.            Les Misarables
I’ve seen a lot of good movies recently and never did I think this one would be included in my favourites.
When the movie began, I thought to myself that there was no way on earth I would finish it, most of the movie is sung and I thought that would most certainly work to the detriment of the plot, boy was I wrong. Once I got into it there was no convincing me that this was not an amazingly fantastic film. The film’s cast is large and boasts big names such as Russell Crowe, Hugh Jackman , Anne Hathaway, Sacha Baron Cohen and Amanda Seyfried to name but a few.
Les Misarables literally translates to the miserable one or the poor ones and that is precisely the subject matter contained within this film. Anne Hathaway convincingly the role of Fantine a mother and factory worker turned prostitute. This is, although small, by far her greatest role to date and I even love the pixie haircut that came as a result.
After watching this film, I was left feeling that the struggles we endure in life are not in vain and that all things are possible through what may seem like a tumultuous amount of hard persistence. My favourite scene in the movie is close to the last scene where Hugh Jackman’s character is ushered into heaven by Fantine and the “revolutionary students” as I have chosen to call them.
If you watch one thing in the near future, make it this