VISTA (FIVE SEQUENCE) "Travelling through lonely tracks Discovering the country with its wonders..." -Rabn'danah Tagore. "A drifter is the hero of my tale" -Derefc Wa/cott I. LAGOS The first cockcrow grinds out souls The dawn and the crowd are in a chase again Through blue mist Impatient gesture, gasp and curses and indications Lagos strides in steel swings that crust for her Everything conjured here rattles again Unbound amidst touts I've mimicked the jostling boy Sleep walked through fumes History's congested tongues feast here I have been re-invented here I'm one with the grasping tide City of still waters, city of sonorous chaos Friends of your dewdrops In dizzying chirographies Before the first birdcall Off to their grinding-go-round The anonymities of their secret eyes Where do they sleep? Desperation topples desperation here Shrill destitute music dupes the peace of still waters, All animated The flowing dilapidations of Mushin All pent up The photogenic Victoria Island City of still waters! City of sonorous chaos!! What is a city If not this grating heaven Out of which destitute music growls!!! II. OGWASHI-UKU, March, 1984 A sea of heads A village's spontaneous ensemble We accompanied him; Son, Nephew, Wife, Co-workers- All the way from Kaduna- In the Post and Telecommunications Vans Into the hearts of Ogwashi-Uku Uncle Walter, meek uncle, undone by asthma Who loved his bible, Lobsang Rampa, and Shakespeare And Zik (only the complete works of Shakespeare tempted me) He also loved Ojukwu I still wonder why. The ethnic wars of the 60's Brought him back home to build on Miss Ross Street Cottage walls by the family house in front of which His corpse was now planted. Heavy eyes pregnant with rain A sea of sounds, a bitter-sweet sea Music in man flourishing for man Poetry drumming out new dawn out of night. For the first I listened to a village dirging Feet stamping in joy to meet other feet in song Night had withdrawn into the empty wine gourds And left the cockcrows to the dews The dews drop their tiny tears into the small voices of mourners By the family garden Night had withdrawn for farewell rites Trills lead on to trills To women's waist vibrating Trapping the applause of other women Daring drowsy men to clasp The charm in their tones I am telling this with an envy Of one who'll retell their tones Chiedu Ezeanah, an award-winning poet, has worked as a journalist for ten years with the Nigerian Tribune, TELL, The NEWS, and as editor of Sunday Monitor. Presently, he is an Assistant Manager with First Bank of Nigeria Pic. He graduated with a B.A. (Hons.) in English from the University of Ibadan in 1988, and also studied for an M.A in English at the same university. His hobbies are reading, traveling and cooking. "VISTA" is excerpted from an unpublished collection - THE TWILIGHT TRILOGY, comprising "Twilight of The Fog", "Endsong", "Song of Songs". A prominent member of the 'Thursday People'—a conclave of poets and idealists of the eighties at the University of Ibadan, he has won the Music Society of Nigeria Festival of Poetry Competition in 1999 and 2001. GLENDOHA REVIEW> <46> THE NEW NIMBUS ART CENTRE Paintings Sculptures Ceramics Art materials Books CDs Gift shop Stationery Valuation of Artwork Commercial framing Consultancy Art Tutorials, (Children & Adult) Artists residency programme 10/12 Maitama Sule Street • SouthWest Ikoyi, Lagos - Nigeria http/Avww.nimbusgallery.com PAINTINGS PORTRAITS CHIZEA ARTIST + ARCfECT By appointment only. re, Nigeria Tefofcc 834810,841578 III. IKOGOSI... Ibadan.. .Owo.. .Akure.. .Ikogosi Galloping potholes of ellipses route this resort... IV. STONE MARKET "How does one move from one slough to another...? -The Swamp Dwellers -Wo/e Soyinka A smile climbs uphill to fountainhead Of running pure white warm and cool springwater: Inscrutable water ties Kinshipping of water Flowing downhill like twin tempers of ages Water also springs unions of contraries Like marvels, numinous, not to be understood? Cup your palms and scoop, Feel earth's unfathomableness In twin tempers of springwater Make a bed among the trees' calm abandon Laying to rest the township's turbulences Along the stream's lines... Along this stream's lines, Tai Solarin, famous atheist Meets the missionary Baptist Priest The Priest rebuffs the atheist "This is a private resort discovered by me It's not open to the public..." And the famous atheist' replies- "We shall see" Tai, headmaster and proprietor of Mayflower School, Ikenne Returned to Ikenne He came back with a busload Of his pupils intent on sightseeing Ikogosi The atheist confronts the priest And the priest gives up his discovery The pupils came to Ikogosi, saw Ikogosi's fresh spring water And paid obeisance with their children's laughter. Along the stream's lines The shadow of the priest and the atheist loomed Like an ageless story... We still scan unknowable waters for ourselves It's for us Ikogosi's union of contraries flow... Mountainous rocks crowned with streaming mist A rock's belly exuding spring water Birds in amphibious dance at stream level The sleeping rooms of Ajaokuta's thirteen clans swim in water. Scattered and transplanted into a green wilderness Ajaokuta's farming clans sink Into sweet superstition: We are in a cave Where can we go? We do not know where to go... Eighty-eight year old clan head And World War II veteran broods He renders a long-locked secret From the clan's throne of groans. The gaggled curses of ancestors Rarely gazzetted Crippled the Mill... Ajaokuta's stony fate Came by way of imperial trade Our young elegiac guide retold what the river saw When the British fished beyond their isle: "This vast rock was trading-ground. Of the Royal Niger Company, the U.A.C... You can see those two warehouses The wide-jawed-tiger labels belonged to them Ajaokuta derives from Oja-Okuta The Stone-Market Forget succour! From the steel Mill whose image-chambers Hush reporters with a meal Forget succour!! From Estate Contractors dribbling, promising "resettlement soon" From Shuttle-Ministers, from Executive- Governors Who promise nothing, but spare no farthing To stifle the steel-town with "official secret acts" Forget succour!!! The shimmering waves weave Sunny beauties of a river bank <47> Ghosts come out for air, exchanging pleasantries Recognizing the scene of the last Car crash, the final gun shot. Hand in hand with insomnia Unblinking behind my city mask, I walk past the cat, past the dog, past the girl Flagging down cars, past the lynch mob Past the robber wearing the fiery necklace. I read The rain - misted urban signs: overdue, overdraft, overload, Over charge - But no overture Never despairing I open wide my arms I embrace the fumes, the garbage, the screams, the gunshots The embrace, the fumes, the garbage, the screams, the gunshots The rush, the noise, the vendor's, the Okada's screech, the cele's Bare footfall, the streets, the screams, the gunshots, the action, the reaction. I take the streets in stages Turning them one by one like pages I seek a path through the urban fences, Feeling for the clink in city's defences. An inventory of incit- ing debate, extending geographies of repre- sentation, and com- munion with con- tinuously transform- ing knowledge. Helon Habila studied Literature at the University of Jos and lectured for three years at the Federal Polytechnic, Bauchi before coming to Lagos to write for Hints Magazine. Poet and prose fiction writer, he is currently the arts editor of the Vanguard Newspaper. His collection of short stories, Prison Stories, was published in 2000,and he won the MUSON Festival of Poetry Competition for the same year. THE SEARCH The Pre-rain Streets at Dawn Walking the pre-rain streets at dawn I feel life's ante rising sharply with the clouds Dead bodies bob and sink in roadside gutters Flotsam, like cigarette butts floating on life's Backwaters - the staring eyes, the gaping mouths That have lost their scream, their message. The gunshots grow louder, closer The screams grow shriller, nearer Thoughts desert the mind Void, like a post- coup d'etat street - and the whole body Becomes legs, digging potholes in the asphalt, Burning rubber, jumping fences, seeking a hole to wait out The storm. Bus Stops The hawkers are a blur in motion Needle weaving through metal fabric Yellow buses that come and go, their anaemic limbs Joined each to each by rust. 69 seated, 99 standing Prehensile bus conductors monkey on and off running boards Calling bus stops, places... Places I have walked on lived on, loved on, Yaba, Ojuelegba, Ogba And I wish I could go further, uproot west To the sun nocturnal bus stop, and blink -out The world The knockers At Maryland a man knocks on a church door, Furtive, a penitent sinner perhaps, seeking absolution; A lady in evening dress and red lipstick Stands before a back door in Ikeja, knocking; A wayward wife keeping a tryst with her lover; Or a prodigal wife, returned, seeking readmission Under a Vacancy for Three A thousand men stand, knocking on the Iron gate of their aspiration. Don't call us. We will call you. Okigbo once stood, naked, leaning on an oilbean, Knocking on Idoto's door, seeking rejuvenation. Lord we all stand, naked, before the tollgate Of our dreams, drenched in urban torrents, seeking admission. Places, Fences, Defences... Oshodi At Oshodi commerce waxes as the sun rises Beneath lamp- posts, raffia sheds. Bells. Megaphones. Cacophones. Through car windows hands reach for ware But really seeking contact, reassurance, like a diver touching Bottom. Flesh touching flesh. Ikoyi Ikoyi lives behind fences Locking out the crime wave that daily rises Surging, inroading the shores of their defences. Guards leashed to dogs underline the prohibitive Notices: MILITARY ZONE; KEEP OFF. And you can't Loiter by somebody's NO LOITERING. You walk on. You can't piss, can't scratch your ass; you can't Bask in the sun, like the lizard, on somebody's DON'T WALK ON THE LAWN. GLENDORA REVIEWx/l/r/ca/j Quarterly on the Ans> <49> Allen Avenue Some mother's daughter on her knees, behind the hedge, In one hand a cigarette, painted nails- the red in Coke The other hand on his bare bottom, some wife's Husband, backing the light, his after-work bag in One hand, the evening paper in the other, a beatific Smile on his face. Her mouth stuck to his member- Remember? Allen Avenue. Victoria Island Island anchored in the sun, Treacherous waters lap at your feet, stealing Piece-meal, sand from your store: Maroko, Bar Beach. In your sand-filled waters flows time, briny, Sowing crows feet on your brow. But Islands are never Islands without water, and Water is only water without Island - this is The pain and the ecstasy. The ebb tide will take away The flood tide will graft anew-augmented Broad Street On Broad Street there are no people Only streams of intentions: sellers' buyers, opportunity addicts Sidling to you, flashing wristwatches, jewelry, And drugs. The money changer waits by the kerb, Catching your eye, beckoning 1 pounds and dollars Floating from Tinubu Square to Marina between Mr. Bigg's and Cash 'n' Carry you soon discover Here all are predators, and you the seeker the only prey. The Subcities Doors hang from their top hinges, like suicides From a rope The moon hangs at roof level, devoid of mystery. The harlot hovers at the corner, waiting for the beckoning wink, the whistle. Youths in alleys hold roach communions, discussing Money and other mirages, their hands in their pockets, Fondling steel, waiting... The dog and the child wrestle in the gutter for The bone; the mother squats in the dirt, viodating. No frippery; no mystery. Derelictscape The crack in the wall deepens, the hole in the Roof widens; the hold on the temper slackens; The landlord approaches. Time ticks. In the ghettos people stand on the edge Of the world, waiting to fall over. The Dreamers Poets in back-street bars, threadbare in jeans, T-Shirts And goatees, compare metaphors and similes Dreaming of London and New York and their Names on the bestsellers list. Actors in deserted theaters rehearse their entries, Their arias, and their exits. Their Fade to black. The after - rain Street at Night At night Insomnia walks the streets, Legs high over the after - rain pools, from door to door, Spreading wakefulness, raising high the music in disco halls, Refilling glasses in dim bar rooms Bringing ever nearer the gun shots, the screams. Under bridges winos poke the bins Searching for sleep's vestiges And Into castanets of ironies Two whitewashed boats suffer out Their exile from water By the weed-ridden banks A goat is chewing up cassava chips From the boat's belly I dipped my feet in water Picked a stalk of hyacinths from the river And gave to my friend, laughing she said: "This flower wilts already in the sun Like the farming clans of Ajaokuta expiring For iron to grow..." "Was there ever a happy ending To tales flowing from the Niger? I asked Why? People impose fictions of endings The bitter and the sweet are endless The river is endless, the river bears all... Her river-verdict Does that include the Niger? V. VISTA A shy sun hangs behind thick fogs This is the last turning to the groves of dreams Where snakes curl into garlands Where vision opens up palaces and pits! Dream a journey and the sunny road is yours Speak milestones to the road Win twilight's endless enigmas of arrivals Win legends of the true life In a vista of endless quest... Knead! I'll knead these lodes To my heart For all seasons... EVERY CIVILIZATION IS A FUSION Jazzhole presents the future vision • Yoruba funk • Afrobeat • Dance Jazzhole Records CD/VINYL SINGLES (MIXES/ REMIXES) AFROBLUE - Odun yi/ise oluwa c/ w gbo ohun awon angeli DURO & AGE OF AQUARIUS - oriki olorun c/w surulere KUNLE ADENIRAN'S 'Afara Oyin' - Sare (EP) BIODUN ADEBIYI'S 'BATIK' - Nite in Tunisia (EP) + forthcoming collaborations KEZIAH JONES 'WUNMI' OLAIYA TONY ALLEN