Thursday, 13 October 2011

Ghazal #1 : Desert Muse


I now turn to explore another form of poetry known as ghazal. I gather from my reading that they consist of couplets, ranging from 5-15. The second line of every couplet closes with a refrain. The last couplet will contain the penname of the poet. In my case, I chose Lorot.

These are not poetry class notes and they don’t pretend to be such. You see, sometimes echoes disappear. Trapping them here inside caves helps a great deal. But pilgrimage is all about keeping your ears open to trap your own echoes.

That’s all.

Now, off to the first ghazal in Echoes of the Hills.

 Ps. Note to Self: Structured poetry is like an unruly child. When it fails to co-operate, you feel like to smack it. What a tenacity it requires!


Desert Muse


Photo supplied by Poets United




Nature has a playful part in a sultry desert
Exhibited by the little animals in a flattery desert.

The fingers of want tickle the cerebrum
To pick traces of life in a paltry desert.

Like the squirrel sipping from a Coke bottle
Hope transcended from dust to slurry desert

Amazing to watch the poise and intellect
Emboldened against the worry desert

Lorot, though unlearned of the deserts, says
Be still, the squirrel kept cool in the paltry desert








Shared with Poets United  The Thursday Think Tank #70 - Hunger

Tuesday, 11 October 2011

Pantoum # 1 : My Heart is Shaped As A Quill



As I had hinted to earlier this month, this month of October marks one year anniversary since Echoes of the Hills first echoed. Over the past one year, the echoes have been mostly in Free Verse. Pilgrims to the hills have had very few choices as you can tell. 

Last month, Echoes of the Hills echoed haiku in the Heights of Haiku Challenge (This is one of the mountains where the hills can replenish their echoes). Yesterday, Echoes of the Hills (perhaps in one of the unprecedented moves in the whole of ‘hilldom’) echoed the first etheree. And there is more from the caves where that came from.

In the spirit of growing from a first year old to a second year old, Echoes of the Hills intends to explore various forms of poetry as never witnessed before. There will be a break to the Free Verse to explore such diverse poetry forms such as pantoums, sestina, limerick,  epigram, ghazal and so on. The list will be as random as the hills will choose to.

The hills ( And O, that is not a personification, the hills can do some of these things) have been studying various forms of poetry and you can only sit by and wait to listen to the secrets of the hills.

As a start, let us try a pantoum. This poetic form from Malaysia, one can tell, has the following structure:

1 2 3 4- Lines in first quatrain

2 5 4 6- Lines in second quatrain

5 7 6 8- Lines in third quatrain

7 9 8 10- Lines in fourth quatrain

9 3 10 1- Lines in fifth and final quatrain

However, there are complex structures which combine a rhyme scheme and repetition. For example,
Assuming the following poem below is a quatrain, then it will appear as follows:

 First stanza                            1                  
2
3
4

Second stanza                        2
                                                5
                                                4
                                                6


Third stanza                           5
                                                7
                                                6
                                                8

Fourth stanza                         7
                                                3
                                                8
                                                1

Please note that the numbers above designate the lines and not the syllables. You will note that it is not like the normal pantoum which has the second stanza and subsequent ones have the second line starting out in the subsequent stanza. In addition to that, the second form of pantoum has the last line of the first stanza being repeated in the third line of the quatrain.

This is what The Echoes of the Hills can discern so far of the quatrain. Still learning about its intricacies.
So, here we go.



Pantoum: My Heart is Shaped As A Quill




Link


My heart is shaped as a quill (1)
A smudged ink of what events write (2)
Like a hermit, keen to listen to the hill (3)
We are such, blotted characters in fright (4)

A smudged ink of what events write (2)
Forming the rich tapestry of life (5)
We are such, blotted characters in fright (4)
Oft times, we tone anger when things are rife (6)

Forming the rich tapestry of life (5)
We worry not of mankind’s cold gaze(7)
Oft times, we tone anger when things are rife (6)
On mankind’s conscience, we run the maze (8)

We worry not of mankind’s cold gaze (7)
We write what we feel, we feel what we write (8)
On mankind’s conscience, we run the maze (8)
My heart is shaped as a quill. (1)




Monday, 10 October 2011

Etheree: Secrets of the Hills



Echoes of the Hills is all about listening to various echoes and discerning their truths. It is a place where pilgrims set foot to the hills and explore. In this spirit, therefore, a poetic form that I stumbled upon in ShonEjai's Picture Speak  It is called an etheree.

This is what he writes of an etheree: 
A 10-lined non rhyming poem. Line 1 has 1 syllable, line 2 has 2 syllables, line 3 has 3, and so on until the 10th line with contains 10 syllables. 

And now, after my one week hiatus (Yours truly had been bogged down my school work. These things happen, Pilgrim), let us give an etheree a shot.



Pilgrim 

Stand still 

Watch the eagles 

Eaglets on the hillcap 

Such is life’s tuition unfolded 

As chicken’s eyes dread the mongoose 

Upon the foothill lie dusts and leaves 

Choked by scornful gaze of man’s dim-lit visions 

Pilgrim, tread on the boulder, venture to the hillcap 

Here, we start out many, Pilgrim, yet bear the burden

 







Friday, 30 September 2011

Asiyesikia La Mkuu Huvunjika Guu*





The task was to write a poem inspired by the colour red


Link


Kinsman, there you lie
Split into two
By ilat, the god of thunder
Not a drop of blood
Not a struggle for life

Whatever lies of you, kinsman,
Is bad sight for my eyes
Choking our breaths
Confusing our minds

As you lie there
Your akala shoes strewn
Your snuff bottle by your neck
Your lukup by your side
Your ng’achar a step away
Beside your lifeless body
I find it hard to be a man

But, Kinsman, you had been warned
Of stirring the wrath of ilat
Who defied the gods and lived?
Who poked the eyes of ilat and lived?

As I was told
You were seen in a red shuka by the mukuyu
Who wore red, Kinsman?
But there you were
By the riverside, in a red shuka
Like a child throwing sand on a beehive
Ilat rumbled but you defied
Had you pictured what would be of you
You would have thrown that shuka
Ran and made peace with the gods
Second time there was no rumble
All people heard was a subdued scream
And then this—
Flesh severed into two
Head to toe
Jutting eyes
Lifeless.

You had been warned, Kinsman.




Notes:

Asiyesikia La Mkuu Huvunjika Guu*- This is a Kiswahili saying or 'methali' which warns people to listen to their elders failure to which they will 'break their legs'.

Ilat- The god of thunder among the Pokots.

Shuka- Swahili for bedsheet, night wrap. The Pokots wrap them around their bodies as their clothing.

Akala- Traditional shoes made of Michelin tyres worn by the Pokot nomads.

Ng'achar- Traditional stools worn by the Pokots.

Lukup- Traditional walking sticks used by the Pokots.

Mukuyu- A type of tree.


Haiku: Echo-ruminations



The hills never bow down
Else, Pilgrim, how could
They echo a haiku?




For Haiku-Heights, Haiku Heights Challenge






Echo Bonus:


When I took up this challenge by a wonderful haiku community, I had not written a haiku. 

Well, that might not be accurate. 

I could have written it without having known that it was a haiku. As the Challenge ends today, I feel glad to have taken up the challenge. My haiku are still nascent but with time I will perfect them. 

I feel good when I parade my failures. That way, I will have some evidence of where I came from. 

For those who had found time to read the pieces, "asante sana".


Sincerely,


Haiku: Rhythm


Link



Riziki dances to chakacha
A burning chungu
On her head

She gyrates her hips
As a boneless dancer
Satiating patrons’ eyes




For a prompt, Haiku Heights Challenge




Haiku: Charm


Link



Warm, inviting rays
Touching Kacheliba Hills
Coyly, ever tenderly

Peep through door hinges
Cowbells, hyraxes shriek
Morning’s seduction



For a prompt, Haiku Heights Challenge



Haiku: Poise




Link

Poisoned arrows balanced
Betwixt bottles reeking of yokozuna
Lazy heads finding sleep on them




For a prompt, Haiku Heights Challenge


Monday, 26 September 2011

Preamble to A Drafter’s Rejected Bill



Link


i can conjure situations
flip through endless possibilities
by the stroke of my pen
who be that sinister, evil psychopath
that i will devise?
what be the future 100 years
from now?

through the years
i spend my time
refining the skill
staring at empty shadows
deep into the nights
revising documents, reworking
sentences, 30 times, 50 times
painstakingly editing drafts

“you do it effortlessly”
“you are damn good”
so, we sit with policymakers
read through bills
“strike that”
“no, that’s not comprehensive”
what they propose
what they deem  important
is like confetti dipped in mud
but cheerfully, i ask them
how it will work
upon which they get a revelation
of their “ideas” and “policies”

but you cannot arm-twist me
into writing bad law
i am a prophet staring
into the future
with my pen poised
to the boundaries of
imagination
no surveyor delineates me!
i have tucked with me
the combined histories
of the world, their politics,
their fears, their hopes
their collective stature

yet, you who instruct me,
are you willing to respect my art?
are you ready to treat  me as a professional?
i will not lose my sleep, though,
mankind’s approbation or opprobrium
comes least
let me be, let my work be
its feet clamped into Now and Future
conjuring scenarios upon scenarios
if that be, that will be my crowning moment!


Premonition




Link


The cap of the hills bow
To the majesty of the winds;
Inside caves the drops of mercury
Trickle, tap tap tap
Treacherous slopes invite him
To the voices of men long dead
Echoes, false voices, real voices
He listens but discerns not
On the rocks are graffiti
Of displeased countenances
Scowl here, smirk there
But his eyes are blind

To his death, the false voices call him
Trotting long distances
Among the lush vegetation
He walks unaware
Of the tolling bell
Not even the dirges of the birds

He should have seen it coming
The premonition
As the beckoning stems of miraa
Invited, the whiff of death
Caught his nostrils
But he smelt of the fragrance
Of fresh leaves of khat
As the fumes rose to his bronchus
It was late
As he plunged, head-first
Onto the jagged edges of kadam rocks
Death is like a song
It can soothe but can sting









For a prompt of Carry on Tuesday





To use the words below in a poem
“He should have seen it coming” The opening words of Howard Jacobson’s novel ‘The Finkler Question’.


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