no 7. 1998.
https://www.arts.uwa.edu.au/MotsPluriels/MP798foj.html
© Femi Ojo-Ade
| Poetry by Femi Ojo-Ade | ||
|---|---|---|
| I. pelourinho | II. mulata | III. tropicana |
| I. pelourinho |
- or
- dying
a bela e a feia
beauty & the beast
africa
la belle et la bête
beauty yet beast
africa
enia ati eranko
human & animal
we danced to the rhythm of the drums
among strangers we called brothers and sisters
with dançarinos afro more african than we could ever again be
pelourinho-paradise
made us forget the human merchandise
leading up to that moment of ecstasy
just as we discountenanced the illiteracy
preventing our people from progressing beyond that false paradise
pelourinho
you mesmerize me
you amaze me
you can't blame me (?)
for not fully comprehending
you
you
my conscience
you
my consciousness
you
my confusion
we
danced and danced and danced
then my fellow-traveler wondered aloud
why
- these
- people
- are
- still
- behaving
- like
| II. mulata |
blonde brown-skinned
blue-eyed chestnut-haired
straight-stub-nosed
curly-kinky hair
whatever whatever
they call you
mulata cheinha
brazil's one and only beauty
cynosure of all eyes at
carnaval
big bouncing boobs in a country
obsessed with small breasts
big bulging buttocks
in a culture crazy
for caucasian flat backside
america would call you black
with your droplets of afro blood
tho' you may pass for white
in a culture treating black with spite
africa wouldn't see you for what you are
with her color-blindness or carelessness
tho' she's got colonists' abandoned offspring
scattered all over her sad landscape
my
mulata
of others' dreams
my
soul-scorching
heart-rending
mulata
of our nightmares
my
off-white off-center
mulata
of their carnaval
I
see
you
for what you can
be
for what we all could
be
for what we all could share
but
for which nobody could care
less
| III. tropicana |
un paraiso bajo las estrellas
a paradise under the stars
neon-lights are shining over revolution boulevard
the sun of liberation's triumphing thru the night
my black brothers and sisters are dancing in the streets
they're driving their american cars straight out of the 40s & 50s
they're hailing castro's cuba their heaven on earth
they're hurling stones at batista & america
on revolution row
hospitals are meant for healing
they're neither execution centers nor cemeteries
doctors diagnose & treat diseases
factories function & produce
universities are towers of knowledge
professors teach & search for truth
the system's thriving to the dismay of the
imperialist desperate for another disaster
while watching african neo-colonies
decay
we've come from africa
observers from afar
we're watching and wondering
we're impressed yet depressed
blacks are working everywhere but managing nowhere
they're visible yet invisible
blacks are directed they're not directors
they're being led but not leading
blacks are most prominent as entertainers
they're the best runners & jumpers & dancers
and they're still dancing and dancing and dancing
tonight
bolero chachacha charanga
la musica afrocubana
they're leaping and laughing
they're singing soulful songs
to the delight of foreigners from america and africa and everywhere
dollar-paying fans in fidel's tropicana
that poor paradise under the sad stars
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