portrait of a lotto prophet as savior of the people - Prince Mensah

Yesterday –

he gave the oldest woman
a necklace of jasper,
treated the old men
to bottles of whiskey -
every time you saw the man,
he held a newspaper -
the young women said
he was funny and frisky

he spoke about numbers
as keys to our success,
he sold us the idea of chance
as the answer to circumstance -
under the Odum he lectured us
in mysteries of randomness -
under the sky he made us see
how easy it was to become rich

Today –

the day is young as old roosters chase
plump hens in between hourly crows -
there is a line of women walking
to and from the well with pots of water,
whispering to themselves as they pass him,
turning to steal glances at him -
they say these words among themselves:

he is like a god with numbers
his mind is so good that chance is his mistress,
good fortune is his concubine -
there is nothing under the sun
that he can desire and not have

the men need a way out of the disgrace
of nothingness and it seems that man knows
his stuff as he faces the crowd, talking
about magic numbers and how better
he could make the lives of men who listened to him -
promising fortunes with his master plan -
they say these words among themselves:

he is like a god with numbers
his mind is so good that chance is his mistress,
good fortune is his concubine -
there is nothing under the sun
that he can desire and not have

fathers want their daughters to marry him
sons wish he was their father
wives wish he was their husband
villagers wish he was their chief
the chief is afraid he could
stake a claim to his throne

it seems number-shuffling can replace
hard work and offer comfort from blows
of an existence that keeps stalking
our peace of mind and makes us bitter -
we gather money and give it to him
as investment in his miracle-plan -
we say these words among ourselves:

he is like a god with numbers
his mind is so good that chance is his mistress,
good fortune is his concubine -
there is nothing under the sun
that he can desire and not have

fathers want their daughters to marry him
sons wish he was their father
wives wish he was their husband
villagers wish he was their chief
the chief is afraid he could
stake a claim to his throne

Tomorrow –

the day came when he was supposed
to return but he did not -
some say he might have been a god
sent to test our love of money,
others say something bad might have
happened to him on his way back,
the rest still look forward, each new day,
to his return with our fortunes –

Author Profile - Prince Mensah

Biography:

Prince Kwasi Mensah is the Founder and Managing Editor of Mensa Press, a small book publishing company that focuses on African-centered and globally-enlightening literature. He is also a member of the Academy of American Poets and the Wineglass Court Poets of Columbia, MD. His poetry has been published in the UNESCO’s Other Voices Project, the Sun and Snow Anthology and the Little Patuxent Review. He has written sixty books of poetry.

Prince is an Associate Editor for One Ghana, One Voice.

Five questions with Prince Mensah:

1. This poem deals with scam artists and the people who fall for them. This kind of thing happens in small villages and towns around the world, and has also been happening on a global scale during the financial meltdown, in which some got very rich while the rest of us were left to pay the bill. Pulling the lens back even further, many would argue that such a scam has been perpetrated by the West on Africa for generations. Likewise, by the leaders of Africa to the people. All four of these levels could be seen as inspiration for your poem. Which, if any, originally drew you to write this poem? One? All four? None of the above?

"portrait of a lotto prophet as savior of the people" started as a poem that poked fun at certain people's confidence in lotto prophets (or speculators). The more I thought about it, the more I realized how it paralleled the four levels you mentioned. At that point, I chose to minimize the comic angle, in order to focus on the main message.

There is a strand of humanity out there that chooses to profit from people in the misfortune of ignorance. I am repulsed by their behavior. You were right to point out that there is a scam in most social relationships. People who should know (and do know) better bilk money and dignity from those who depend on them for guidance. The financial and political worlds are macrocosms of this human problem. It is usually the poor and simple who end up being victims of the 'lotto prophets' among us.


2. Have you ever been scammed, or witnessed friends or family being scammed? If so, what effect did this have on you, on your sense of community, and your ability to trust others?

I have been scammed before. It was by someone who came into my life as a friend. That was when I lived in Ghana. That person presented himself as someone with an answer to a certain pressing need in my life. In the end, he was not who he said he was. Although I was not scammed out of millions, it was an abuse of trust and time. It made me leery of everybody around me, especially those with similarities to that person.

The Akan have a proverb that goes, batakari hye bebrebe amma y'ahunu kramo papa, to wit, "too many counterfeits make it difficult to identify the real thing". The deficit of trust in our global village is a direct consequence of a culture of scamming, regardless of what form it took.

Another thing I realized among victims of a scam was the nature of their reactions. They responded with either superstition, supposition or sanguineness, an undercurrent of self-blame (in the victim) that continues long after the scammer is gone with the loot.


3. You use a refrain quite effectively in this poem. Is this something new for you? What drew you to this technique?

I have been experimenting with refrains as a device of emphasis. I am presently working on a spoken word project tentatively titled, My Turn To Speak. That process has taught me the importance of repeated words to the human ear and, by extension, the human mind. I have become more sensitive to that essence in my newer poems.


4. The title of this poem is interesting, as it begs the question "Who is painting this false "portrait""? The scam artist? The villagers? The poet? The reader? It adds a depth of meaning to the poem and leads me to thinking about how you come up with your titles. When in the creation process do you write the titles: before you start the poems, or after you are finished, or somewhere in the middle, or perhaps does it change from poem to poem? What are your main goals when choosing a title?

The picture is being painted by the scammer and the scammed as they co-exist with each other. It is also a perception formed by poet and reader, who have the 'outside, looking in' advantage, because they can smell the scam from the get-go. The intention is the interplay of reality versus fantasy. Who wins? Who loses?

My process of titling differs from poem to poem. In this particular case, I had the title before I wrote the poem. What inspired me to start working on this poem was the phenomenon of lotto prophets in Accra's busy streets. I don't know if they are still allowed to ply their trade any more in Accra but, back in the day, they were part of the palette of the urban experience. Those prophets had 'magic numbers and formulas' that they sold to gullible people who, maybe out of the desperation of poverty, chose to put their widows' mites in any venture with the promise of profit.


5. It's been over a year since we last featured a new poem of yours on the site. What have you been up to in that time? Any new writing?

There has been a flurry of adjustments; one of them was welcoming a beautiful daughter in April and facing the wonderful challenges of fatherhood. That being said, I am trying feverishly to get copies of the five Mensa Press anthologies to each contributor. I have learned a lot of valuable lessons from the entire process. I realize that time lines can be difficult to keep when budgets keep fluctuating. I want to use this medium to apologize to all contributors for the delay. You shall receive your three contributor copies per anthology, as promised, by the end of this year (or earlier)

Two books of my poetry were released this week: the first one is titled Twinglish: A Poetic Merger of Twi and English. It is experimental in the use of language, because I fused Twi words and phrases with English. The second book is One Hundred Miles of Nile which, coincidentally, features "portrait of a lotto prophet as savior of the people". I am looking for people to review both books.

I started my writing life as a short story writer and playwright. However, it has been awhile since I wrote prose and drama. I intend to start working on several short story/playwriting ideas. I am praying that a year by now I would have something different for the literary world.

Contact Prince:

Email: pryncemensah(at)yahoo.com
Website: http://www.freewebs.com/pryncemensah/

From the Archives: "Accra" by Prince Mensah

My heavy baggage is carried
by a teen kayayo, [i]
aged by her adventures in big city,
severed from family,
lost in a vortex,
spurned by simple economics.
She carries my possession like a cross on her back,
smiling for finding funds to survive.

My contemplation is tainted by a worried
mother yelling for lost child,
pushing through crowd and din,
oblivious to complaints.

Pickpockets lookout for Johnny-Just-Comes,
naïve business folk from the hinterland.
The streets are mean with survival dressed
as con men and lotto prophets.

Frustrated market women rain
insults, vulgar and plenty,
as smells of fried fish and kenkey [ii]
soothe nostalgic nostrils.

My ears are jarred by honks of tro-tro vans, [iii]
impatient drivers in charge.
Their egotistical mates collecting
fares from exhausted passengers.
Man and vehicle combat for space
in this Tetris game.

The sun shines with intense fury
on sweaty brows and faded hope.
Beauty hides behind hard labor,
confidence is lost with missing teeth.
Dreams are what we really own -
we expect them to come true.

I pause to sip iced kenkey drink
with some bofrot. [iv]
Some kid watches me, wishing he was me.
His hungry eyes analyze the motions
of my happy mouth.
His predicament steals my appetite -
I share my lunch with him.

I walk the beach by Independence Square,
wondering about our dependence
on those from whom we gained freedom
during our struggles in the fifties.
I stand before Nkrumah's mausoleum,
venue of the old Polo grounds.
His old words are drowned in the new cries
of a deceived continent.

I walk this Accra breeze from grey sea
with waves of tears that fall
on the shores of our motherland
duped by the greed of her children.
We are rich by all standards, by nature,
wisdom, intelligence and people.

Flashy buildings house expatriate firms
which overlook native commerce
conducted by gutter and lungu-lungu, [v]
the halitosis of corruption.
But conditions do not coerce attitude.

Smiles are easy to form on weary faces -
Fama Nyame, Fama Nyame, Fama Nyame! [vi]
We shrug away our troubles and move on.

[i] A porter
[ii] Corn meal
[iii] Local transportation, normally dilapidated vans
[iv] Local version of an American doughnut
[v] Hausa word for alleys
[vi] "Give it to God, Give it to God, Give it to God!"


Old poems at OGOV don't die, but live on in our archives! Every once in a while we will dust one off for our newer readers to enjoy. "Accra" was orginally published on OGOV on May 17th, 2008.

Author Profile - Prince Mensah

Biography:

Born in Ghana, Prince Mensah has twenty-five stage plays to his credit. Some of them have been acted at the Accra Arts Center and at several locations in Accra. His articles and stories have been published in the STEP magazine, P & P, Ghanadot.com and The Free Press. His poetry has been published in the Munyori Journal, UNESCO's Other Voices International Project, The Muse Literary Magazine and the Dublin Writer's Workshop.

Prince is head of North American promotions for One Ghana, One Voice.

Five questions with Prince Mensah:

1. Were the events described in "Accra" experienced in one day or visit, or were they a compilation of years of experiences?

“Accra” was written in bits and pieces, using various circumstances and time frames. I tried to play time-traveler in the poem, commuting back and forth through future, present and past. I deliberately chose not to rhyme because I sought to illustrate the level of catharsis I experience when writing about such issues. Everyone has a love affair with their country. Most experiences are bitter-sweet. I picked Accra, because as the capital city, it is the mosaic of experiences endured by every Ghanaian.


2. You often use words that non-Ghanaian readers might not understand. That being said, you often take great care to include translations of the key Akan, Ewe, and now Hausa, words that you use in your poems. In this sense, you seem to be balancing the needs and interests of both Ghanaian "insiders" and "outsiders" in your work. Do you have an intended reader in mind for your poems? If so, are you considerate of them while you are writing, or do such considerations come to you after the poem is complete?

According to a report on languages, an indigenous language dies every fortnight. Check the Scoop Magazine and National Geographic. I shudder at the fact that in a few years, the languages I spoke frequently would lose their means of expression, because no one knows how to write them, read them or publish them. I remember my school days in Ghana when English Language was the official language (still is) and the indigenous languages were labeled as ‘vernacular’. That allowed the smothering of any attempt to literalize native language into lingua franca, usable in international settings. I was not pleased with the marginalization of our native tongues. To me, that was a string of colonialism. But let’s not digress.

Like the way French, Greek, Spanish and Latin words have made their way into English, I intend to make several words in my native language familiar with my readers. I want my reader to read the word as it is spoken in its original setting. I am also writing to the Ghanaian, using local words they are all too familiar with. Apart from reading the poem, I want my reader to immerse him/herself in the culture I write about. People are eager to learn new things, new words and new realities. I have always believed there is a poetic essence of African life, left untapped by its literary children.

Writers like Achebe gave their readers an unadulterated taste of life as an African. I think we dilute our writing with too much pandering to what we think our reader wants. The truth is our readers want us to be original, to push them to new thoughts. I think African poets, ethnic poets for that matter, are being irresponsible with an overdependence on English. We must encourage the poets to write whole poems in their native languages, alongside English translations. Remember, there is a huge market on grants for literary translations. It does not hurt to be original.


3. The question "What would Nkrumah think of Ghana if he saw it now?" is an interesting one, one I'm sure many have asked themselves over the years. You teased at an answer in the poem - would you care to elaborate on your opinion here?

Kwame Nkrumah has always been presented as a radical. He had, as Martin Luther King said, ‘the fierce urgency of now’. He was misunderstood by his people and his frustrations drove him to undertake measures that aided his downfall. In hindsight, Nkrumah’s thesis was that we had to own what was ours, warts and all. I personally think the marriage of African independence with socialism was the biggest mistake of our founding fathers.

In his article in the East African Journal (July, 1965), "Problems facing our Socialism", Barack Obama’s father wrote that “the applicability of planning within the embryo of African Socialism, while essentially an economic matter, cannot be divorced from the politico-socio-cultural context in which we find ourselves and as such we should not ignore these factors.” African countries are set up differently from western countries. We already have a certain level of socialism in the communal nature of our societies. The viable solution is to introduce a certain strain of capitalism that works in concert with the existing social structure.

I think Nkrumah would not be pleased with the lethargy of our progress as a country. He would demand an overhaul of basic social infrastructures such as school systems, hospitals and businesses.


4. You seem to share the blame for Ghana's struggles amongst both the politicians and the people, especially on the "Fa ma Nyame syndrome" that cripples the country. In what ways can we break this negative cycle?

To be blunt, the Fa Ma Nyame syndrome is the reason why Ghana is not in a civil war. We have all the ingredients for chaos but the average Ghanaian prefers his/her peace of mind above everything else.

In this regard, the question is whether our politicians are taking us for granted or that we are all lost in a socio-economic wilderness. I am also to blame. Every Ghanaian is. Blame is an equal opportunity employer. Our politicians have not been truthful with the people, as it is everywhere. But in Africa, it reaches critical mass, when the army (a totally undesired alternative) interrupts national politics.

A new kind of politics has to be introduced where accountability and probity are independent institutions that audit officials. Most of our leaders were trained in great Western institutions but the failure to apply lessons learnt makes the people wonder. Education must be a priority. Employment must be another priority. Social justice must also be reinforced as a national concept. The endemic nonchalance has to be replaced by a spirited involvement in national politics.


5. You recently joined the OGOV team, and are helping to lead our promotions in the USA. A large portion of our readership is US based - what help could you use from interested American readers?

Please tell us what issues you need and want to hear about. I think this is not only a poetry site, but a place to start a lot of soul-searching. We can only start as poets, but knowledge must be spread through other means. I believe many of the poets featured on this site will be pleased to answer questions about culture and history. Push us on, readers. We want to do better. [Editor's note: This is an archived interview - Prince has been our associate editor and U.S. promoter for three years now. He could certainly still use your input, though!]

Contact Prince:

Email: pryncemensah(at)yahoo.com
Website: http://www.freewebs.com/pryncemensah/

OGOV Roundtable Discussion #6 - About the Participants

Prince Mensah:

Born in Ghana, Prince Mensah has twenty-five stage plays to his credit. Some of them have been acted at the Accra Arts Center and at several locations in Accra. His articles and stories have been published in the STEP magazine, P & P, Ghanadot.com and The Free Press. His poetry has been published in the Munyori Journal, UNESCO's Other Voices International Project, The Muse Literary Magazine and the Dublin Writer's Workshop.

Prince is head of North American promotions for One Ghana, One Voice, and moderated this roundtable discussion

Michelle Labossiere Brandt:

Michelle is a mother, poet, and nurse and co-founder (president) of Rhythm International Foundation of Edmonton and Ghana. Her shared vision of humanity has helped create the mission and objectives of Rhythm International Foundation but she recognizes that this organization and it's projects have been given life because of the all the dedicated people who have given of their time, talent and abundance.

Martin Egblewogbe:

Martin Egblewogbe is the co-founder of the Writers Project of Ghana. He also edits the "Ghanaian Book Review" and has a keen interest in literature. He mainly writes short stories and poetry.

Martin is currently studying at Clemson University, South Carolina.

Ivor Hartmann:

Ivor W. Hartmann is a Zimbabwean writer, editor, publisher and visual artist, currently based in Johannesburg, South Africa. He is the author of Mr. Goop (Vivlia, 2010), and was nominated for the UMA Award (2009), and awarded The Golden Baobab Prize (2009).

He is the editor/publisher of StoryTime, co-editor/publisher of African Roar, consulting editor African Writing Magazine, and serves on the advisory board of Writers International Network Zimbabwe.

His writing has appeared in StoryTime, African Writing Magazine, Wordsetc, Munyori Literary Journal, Something Wicked, Paulo Coelho's Blog, Sentinel Literary Quartley, African Writer, Kubatana, and the anthology African Roar (StoryTime Publishing, 2010).

Nii Ayikwei Parkes:

Nii Ayikwei Parkes is a writer, editor, socio-cultural commentator and performance poet. A 2007 recipient of Ghana's national ACRAG award for poetry and literary advocacy, his début novel Tail of the Blue Bird has been translated into Dutch and German and was shortlisted for the 2010 Commonwealth Prize. Nii's latest books of poetry are the Michael Marks Award-shortlisted pamphlet, ballast: a remix (2009), described in the Guardian as, “An astonishing, powerful remix of history and language” and The Makings of You (Peepal Tree Press).

Emmanuel Sigauke:

Emmanuel Sigauke was born in Zimbabwe, where he started writing at the age of thirteen. After graduating from the University of Zimbabwe with a BA in English, he moved to California, where he completed graduate studies. He teaches English at Cosumnes River College in Sacramento, where he is an editor for the Cosumnes River Journal. He is the founder and editor of Munyori Poetry Journal.

OGOV Roundtable Discussion #6 - About the Participants

Prince Mensah:

Born in Ghana, Prince Mensah has twenty-five stage plays to his credit. Some of them have been acted at the Accra Arts Center and at several locations in Accra. His articles and stories have been published in the STEP magazine, P & P, Ghanadot.com and The Free Press. His poetry has been published in the Munyori Journal, UNESCO's Other Voices International Project, The Muse Literary Magazine and the Dublin Writer's Workshop.

Prince is head of North American promotions for One Ghana, One Voice, and moderated this roundtable discussion

Michelle Labossiere Brandt:

Michelle is a mother, poet, and nurse and co-founder (president) of Rhythm International Foundation of Edmonton and Ghana. Her shared vision of humanity has helped create the mission and objectives of Rhythm International Foundation but she recognizes that this organization and it's projects have been given life because of the all the dedicated people who have given of their time, talent and abundance.

Martin Egblewogbe:

Martin Egblewogbe is the co-founder of the Writers Project of Ghana. He also edits the "Ghanaian Book Review" and has a keen interest in literature. He mainly writes short stories and poetry.

Martin is currently studying at Clemson University, South Carolina.

Ivor Hartmann:

Ivor W. Hartmann is a Zimbabwean writer, editor, publisher and visual artist, currently based in Johannesburg, South Africa. He is the author of Mr. Goop (Vivlia, 2010), and was nominated for the UMA Award (2009), and awarded The Golden Baobab Prize (2009).

He is the editor/publisher of StoryTime, co-editor/publisher of African Roar, consulting editor African Writing Magazine, and serves on the advisory board of Writers International Network Zimbabwe.

His writing has appeared in StoryTime, African Writing Magazine, Wordsetc, Munyori Literary Journal, Something Wicked, Paulo Coelho's Blog, Sentinel Literary Quartley, African Writer, Kubatana, and the anthology African Roar (StoryTime Publishing, 2010).

Nii Ayikwei Parkes:

Nii Ayikwei Parkes is a writer, editor, socio-cultural commentator and performance poet. A 2007 recipient of Ghana's national ACRAG award for poetry and literary advocacy, his début novel Tail of the Blue Bird has been translated into Dutch and German and was shortlisted for the 2010 Commonwealth Prize. Nii's latest books of poetry are the Michael Marks Award-shortlisted pamphlet, ballast: a remix (2009), described in the Guardian as, “An astonishing, powerful remix of history and language” and The Makings of You (Peepal Tree Press).

Emmanuel Sigauke:

Emmanuel Sigauke was born in Zimbabwe, where he started writing at the age of thirteen. After graduating from the University of Zimbabwe with a BA in English, he moved to California, where he completed graduate studies. He teaches English at Cosumnes River College in Sacramento, where he is an editor for the Cosumnes River Journal. He is the founder and editor of Munyori Poetry Journal.

How Poems Work #3 - Prince Mensah on Darko Antwi's "The Burial of Saint Domeabra"

The following is the third installment in our "How Poems Work" series. This series aims to give OGOV readers and poets an opportunity to talk about some of their favourite poems previously featured on the site. Darko Antwi's "The Burial of Saint Domeabra" initially appeared on our site on September 11th, 2010, and can be read in full here.


---

O Saint Domeabra… that Friday dawn
that dawn when you died at AbrepƆ,
your kinsmen dragged your body –
through the long woody quiet path
that goes to your primal village.

One could barely hear the singing birds.

Darko Antwi opens “The Burial of Saint Domeabra” by calling Domeabra a “Saint”. He does this without letting us know what Domeabra had done in life to merit being so called. It is interesting, then, that even though Domeabra is said to be a Saint, his "kinsmen dragged" his body, instead of carrying it, as is customarily done, "through the long woody quiet path/that goes to your primal village." From the words in the first stanza, it can be deduced that St. Domeabra’s death occurred before morning. This makes the news of his death the first thing that people heard about that day. His body is hurriedly "dragged" from AbrepƆ to his "primal village". I wonder why there is a rush to bury him. If he was of importance to his kinsmen, they neither would have dragged his body nor would they have rushed to bury him. However, the tragedy sinks deep in the heart of nature, so that "one could barely hear the singing birds". It is believed in Ghana (and other parts of Africa) that the skies turn dark when great men die. Even though the kinsmen do not accord St. Domeabra’s body any respect, nature becomes silent because of him.

It was so quiet – a whisper could explode.
No maid had been out to the wells
and the boys who run helter skelter at noon
were still on their bamboo mats,
dreaming snail-hunt and rattraps.

In the second stanza, the silence has become infectious. There is no activity; no work by the maid, no play by the boys. Everyone is "still on their bamboo mats/dreaming snail-hunt and rattraps." Once again, the question rises: why are they not meditating on the life and times of St. Domeabra? Was it only a routine courtesy to be paid or a sincere pause to mourn a friend?

Domeabra, that day of your death,
your people cried – but not unto your soul.
For they delight in bodies more than life.
Yet, no sooner had they worn red and black
than their pestles and mortar put aside.

The third stanza answers the why in the preceding stanzas. People cried upon hearing about Domeabra’s death but it was not to mourn his soul's passing. It was just another funeral; another life wasted by death. This is where Antwi begins his subtle dig against cultural addictions to the performances of rites superseding the importance of the people in them – For they delight in bodies more than in life. Domeabra was more worthy to his people dead than alive. At least, they could raise money through nsuwa (monetary contributions by friends to the family of the deceased). They could wear red and black (colours of mourning) in the same breath as "their pestles and mortars" were put aside.

At the graveyard, I eavesdropped,
they were telling a thousand tales about your life:
the lemons, the salt, the god and the demons in you.
Yehowah! each person knows what or who killed you,
all too compelling – but none trustworthy.

In the fourth stanza, the poet listens to testimonies about the deceased; he hears "a thousand tales" about Domeabra. He hears bizarre stories that border on the absurd and the mystical. The stories about Domeabra are "all too compelling – but none trustworthy." The area gossips "know what or who killed" Domeabra but it seem no one was able to pre-empt his death. Antwi mocks the myths and legends that tend to be told after people die. All of a sudden, everybody seems to know some powerful secret about the deceased; everyone wants to be seen as an expert on the deceased's life (and death).

If I should say: you were without fault,
I will be defying Romans and Corinthians.
None of your accusers is righteous though
– amongst them are many two-leftfooters
who can guess the skeletons in their cupboards?

In the fifth stanza, the poet does something that Domeabra’s people should have done all along: he mourns the dead man. The poem becomes a dirge. He sees the Saint as a flawed man, a man no less than his self-righteous accusers. This stanza reminds me of Mark Anthony’s words in Act III, Scene II of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar:

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;

In the poet’s eyes, it is not Domeabra who is on trial. It is his people and their attitudes about his passing. It is not about Domeabra’s character; it is about his people’s callousness. Antwi uses biblical allusion in the line "If I should say: you were without fault,/I will be defying Romans and Corinthians." In the Bible, the Book of Romans talks about the fact that all have sinned and have fallen short of the glory of God. The Book of Corinthians covers the subject of life after death.

The use of Biblical allusion in this stanza betrays the subtle dance between tradition and Christian beliefs promoted by the society Antwi is writing about: St. Domeabra’s soul is consoled with scriptural themes. This is key to understanding the context of Domeabra’s "sainthood". At this point in the poem, the dead man’s memory, though dishonoured by his own people, is immortalized through the use of Christian concepts. It is important to note that Domeabra was not given a native appellation at death, he was given a Christian designation. This raises a few questions about his society: Do they give credit to their own as much as strangers praise them? Is this a validation of Christ’s saying in John 4:44 that “a prophet has no honour in his own country”? What has the practice of culture done to the way we treat ourselves?

Domeabra, when you were buried,
that day, that very day, I bathed with palmwine
And ripped my heart into shreds of reed
(I ripped it bleeding with hands of gorilla)
But, sorry, I couldn’t have joined you in the grave.

In the sixth stanza, we do not hear about Domeabra’s kinsfolk at all. This is because the poet has taken over the role of chief mourner as he "bathed with palmwine/And ripped [his] heart into shreds of reed." The poet does everything that is humanly possible to mourn the dead but sets a limit to what he can do – he cannot "join [him] in the grave." At this point the poet stops mourning and begins searching for meaning. He scans through images at the funeral and finds none that satisfy his search. Because of this, the poet starts seeking beyond the physical depiction of things.

The sixth stanza is poignant in its description of alcoholic binges at funerals. The usual Ghanaian village funeral scene is a mixture of cold palm wine and hot tears. Antwi refutes the half-hearted me ne wo be ko'ooo (I shall go with you) funeral chant in the last line of the sixth stanza - "But, sorry, I couldn’t have joined you in the grave."

Domeabra, look, when you die again,
let them bury you where you would die
because no piece of land repels a corpse.
Humans may fail or pretend therefore
but earth is a kind keeper of us all.

The seventh stanza carries hints of rejuvenation and/or reincarnation where the poet speaks to Domeabra’s soul: "Domeabra, look, when you die again,/let them bury you where you would die"

The poet chooses not to speak to others about St. Domeabra; he speaks directly to the “Saint” himself. He sets a defiant tone against every ingredient of this tragedy: it is directed at death, the community and its customs. The poet subtly digs at the cultural insistence that a man be buried where he was born, "because no piece of land repels a corpse." The poet finds it in his heart to be forgiving of how Domeabra’s kinsfolk handled his final rites. The final words of the poem reassure the restless spirits of the disrespected dead to understand that "Humans may fail or pretend therefore/but earth is a kind keeper of us all", for nature does not fail where humans falter.

The seventh stanza resonates with people who live in a land faraway from the land of their birth. There is this tendency by culturally obsessed Ghanaians, who live in Diaspora, to insist on being taken back to Ghana after they die. Instead of being buried in the "foreign land", their corpses are flown back to Ghana as special cargo. This incurs a heap of expenses for their family members, forcing them to use funds that could go into enhancing the education and/or sustenance of a living person. It is a belief held among Ghanaian tribes that if a person is not buried in their land of birth, their soul will be restless.



"The Burial of Saint Domeabra" is a poem about wandering, about the nomadic in life, who seek closure by being brought home to rest. Darko Antwi questions why wanderers seek closure, why Domeabra chose his primal village to be his final resting place and not AbrepƆ. Or perhaps everything was decided for him once he was dead. He was not there to choose how his funeral was organized; he was not there to monitor how he was buried. He was not present to judge the fake tears that were shared for him. He was dead and gone; no disrespect of his body and memory could faze him any longer. At that instance, the poet becomes his voice, his means of expression in a world wherein he is silenced on all levels.

The title of the poem is splendid, from a linguistic point of view. Domeabra is a derivative word of the Akan phrase, Se wo do me a, bra which means "If you love me, come to me". Anyone who has attended a Ghanaian funeral would remember seeing multitudes of people. The fact remains that a huge part of the multitude never knew the deceased in personal terms. Some of them are distant relatives, others are old acquaintances (or friends of friends) and the rest are curious folk who want to be part of the funeral. They all attend the funeral because there is a thin line of love, a human solidarity with the dead person. It is assumed that people normally do not attend the funerals of people they dislike. Peter Tosh’s famously declined to attend Bob Marley's funeral, for instance. Hence, the crowd at a funeral is assumed to be present because they "love" the deceased. Everyone becomes a Saint when they die, because it is considered dishonourable to speak ill of the dead. Domeabra was a simple man, who made mistakes in life but, in death, he is canonized by villagers bound by customary practices.

"The Burial of Saint Domeabra" tackles our cultural obsession with funerals and, by extension, places of burial. With brutally honest humour, Antwi lays into deep seated cultural practices that adore corpses but do not attend to the needs of the living.

There is symbolism in Antwi's use of seven stanzas to convey the themes in this poem. In Akan funeral rites, seven horns called the Menson are blown to remember the dead. It is the same idea as the twenty-one gun salute for fallen soldiers. In many cultures and religions, seven means completion and for the poet, a practicing Seventh-Day Adventist, the seventh day is a day of rest (according to the order of creation). In the Akan language, God is known as Kwame, the name given to a male born on the seventh day. Antwi’s use of seven stanzas to commemorate the passing of Saint Domeabra satisfies a native ritual. The intertwining of cultural symbolism gives this poem refreshing distinctiveness. Antwi hopes that, after all the brouhaha in the village concerning his burial, Saint Domeabra will finally find rest in death. Antwi does exactly what poetry is meant to be: commenting on very deep issues in very few words.

His use of Twinglish (a linguistic mix of Twi and English) in the phrase, "Saint Domeabra," is one of the many powers that this poem uses to convey its themes. It is about time for us, writers of African descent, to be creative on multiple levels when it comes to language. Chinua Achebe and Ngugi wa Thiong’o were unapologetic with the use of native words in their prose. Poetry in Ghana, as a microcosm of African poetry, has been reluctant to give the rest of the world a taste of our beautiful languages. It is about time African poets and writers put their words where their hearts are. The use of a local word or phrase as the pivot of a poem urges the English speaker/reader to understand a word that is not native to his/her tongue. African writers can inject this instrument of linguistic reciprocity to achieve seven main objectives:

1. To forge new words made out of their own languages
2. To maintain the use of their native language in a world where other languages are dying or acquiescing themselves to English
3. To give their work authenticity and identity
4. To broaden the lexicon of the English language, which still lacks words that properly describe certain actions, activities and people
5. To keep the contextual integrity of their works
6. To open their world to the rest of the world, and
7. To make their poetry more accessible to the less-educated in their societies.

From the first to the seventh stanza, Darko Antwi creates a sad portrait about forms and intentions. The funeral is the form but is it to honour the dead or enrich the living? The world is the form but are we called "Saints" in zest or in jest? We cannot answer these questions thoroughly. Each person sees a different side of the prisms of life and death. We are thankful that poets like Darko Antwi never cease to remind us of the deep things in life.


---


Prince Mensah is an Associate Editor at OGOV. You can read more of his writing here.

The Soccer Fanatic - Prince Mensah

Goal!
That is the word we want to hear for here
In this sea of deafening cries
Our emotions reach their highest altitudes
Through good music, good people, good attitudes –
Our team must win, no way around that –
We need goals, goals, more goals:
We must prove that we did not come here to play,
We came to conquer, to seize the day,
To make victory our mainstay

Goal!
I love the sound of that four-letter word, the sod
On which our rollercoaster moods play -
Our affinity to spectacular goals,
The infinity of a good match,
The divinity of our soccer-love drive us
Into states of consciousness where each kick,
Each dribble, each foul, each whistle eat away
Away our patience but still our flags sway
Whether chances go green or gray

Goal!
The euphoria never abates, always lightening
The pensive mood, never failing the ears
As we expect a pass, a shot, a goal
Sudden like bright-afternoon thunder and lightning –
As flashes from a thousand cameras capture
When the ball crossed the line and kissed the net –
The players know that they carry our hopes in each kick,
They know their misses make us sick,
They know only winning will do the trick

Goal!
Love for this game propels the vane of our energies
We will not cease now, we will not sing in vain
As we scream on top of our lungs, veins drawn on our necks
Losing is not an option because too much
Has been invested in this, too much life and love -
If eleven men can send us to soccer-heaven,
We will give them our all, we will stand tall
As they kick the ball, as they rise and fall,
As they win in the long haul

"The Soccer Fanatic" is part one of our impromptu tribute series to the Black Stars. Though the Black Stars' run is now over, we will keep posting new poems until July 9th. If you would like to contribute a tribute poem, send it to oneghanaonevoice(at)gmail.com.

The photo is provided by Nana Kofi Acquah.

Kakalika Diaries - Prince Mensah

the kakalika[i] eats the calico
of old people with kaka[ii] and kookoo[iii]
and catastrophe catapults its trick
with man-versus-insect catalytic


cockroaches encroach our peace lurking
through abroach beer bottles
lying on bar floors by the drunken
listless to find their way home.

I see slimy grimy baby roaches
approaching dirty dishes with gusto
broaching our disgust when we find
them crouch near our open mouths

we reach for empty RAID cans cursing
ourselves for complacency
and our darkened rooms become the playgrounds
for rodents and Blattaria pests

sleep is shot by insects searching
through cupboards and kettles
no more silence as plastic cups turn
as a thousand critters roam

the room is filled with flying cockroaches
we smash them between recto and verso
but the night has made us all blind
we are victims in her blackouts

we beat ourselves in this confusion
roach-riddance is urgency
triggering mistakes as melee abounds
thanks to these cold-blooded insects

I guess the cockroach will inherit the earth
after the meek get fed up with being nice.
They run through the chamber and hall, coach and berth
indulging us all with creepy surprise


the kakalika eats the calico
of old people with kaka and kookoo
and catastrophe catapults its trick
with man-versus-insect catalytic

[i] The Ga word for ‘cockroach’
[ii] Twi word for toothache
[iii] Twi word for ‘a weak waist’, a sign of age and morbidity

Author Profile - Prince Mensah

Biography:

Born in Ghana, Prince Mensah has twenty-five stage plays to his credit. Some of them have been acted at the Accra Arts Center and at several locations in Accra. His articles and stories have been published in the STEP magazine, P & P, Ghanadot.com and The Free Press. His poetry has been published in the Munyori Journal, UNESCO's Other Voices International Project, The Muse Literary Magazine and the Dublin Writer's Workshop.

Prince Mensah has published seventeen books of poetry. They are Memoirs of A Native Son, I Shall, I Will, I Can (Poetry Inspired by Barack Obama), Afrocentric, ecclesiastes, State of An Abstract Mind, The Griot Metropolitan, The Land of Broken Mirrors, Coronation, Enough is Enough, World War-Free, in praise of the calabash, Prophylaxis, Via Dolorosa, Tabula Rasa, Eclectic, Situational Hazard and Chronology.

Prince is a Consultant in Workplace Mediation, an HIV/AID Treatment Advocate and an Eligible Translator/Interpreter in Twi & Fante for the Judicial Consortium of 40 American States. He lives in the United States with his wife, Charisse.

Prince is the head of North American promotions for One Ghana, One Voice.

Five questions with Prince Mensah:

1. We all have a few entries in our own "kakalika diaries". Do you have any encounters with cockroaches that are particularly memorable to you?

Most people on earth have had encounters with cockroaches. I have not met a person yet who has a cockroach as a pet. They are pests. We hate them They are slimy, creepy and unwelcome in any decent home. As a child, what really freaked me out was the spectacle of flying cockroaches; that was always unpleasant. There is no particular incident that stands out; however, there were pieces of memory, here and there, that helped me in the construction of this poem.


2. This poem seems more interested in internal rhyme than your previous work. You state this clearly with the opening two words "cockroaches encroach" and carry on through the rest of the poem. Is this the style of your new poems, or something adopted for only this poem?

'Kakalika Diaries' was written, one evening, after I browsed through my personal experiences and decided to write about the unpleasant ones. The main objective was to realize order and meaning in things (or insects) we really do not want to think about. The other motive was to unearth human emotions, such as anger and humor, in our dealings with pests, such as the cockroach. Whether we like it or not, we have to share this world with these creatures. I guess the feeling is mutual, as animals don't seem to like us that much.

The internal rhyme was included to capture the sneakiness of the cockroach. You never find them in the open. They hate light. They love darkness but amidst the darkness, there is a method to their madness. This was a particular intent of this poem. As to style, I am nomadic. I love to explore and experiment.


3. In addition to your interest in using Ga and Twi words in your work, you also use technical terms and other pieces of "obscure" English (i.e. "blattaria"). What motivates you to do this? Are you aiming to expand the vocabulary of your readers? If so, are you concerned that readers might just stop reading instead of trying to figure out what the words mean?

The use of technical and obscure English is intentional, for three reasons. The first is to create a better level of understanding about this common insect. The second is to prompt the reader to research the words in order to reach a deeper meaning of the poem. The third is to explore language, not just to challenge the reader, but to do justice to the poem. Poetry is a genre where we try to make a lot of meaning out of few words; it makes it imperative to use 'loaded' words so that the reader can go back and do his/her research on what he/she just read. I think poetry should not only be for the right sounding sounds; it should be a place where people discover the uncommon in common things. In writing poetry, such as 'Kakalika Diaries', my intention is not to burden the reader - it is to engage him/her to read the poem over and over again until he/she reaches his/her own conclusions, based on his/her own realities. I am not really concerned about readers who might stop reading, because a reader of any kind of literature must possess, first of all, an inquiring attitude and a restless intellect. For our poetry to contend on the global scene, it must be unapologetic, authentic and thought-provoking. I come from that school of thought; that is why I mix languages because they are all spoken by one creature - man. There is a great truth in poetry being accessible, yet after being assessible, it has to be assertive in its own way.


4. It's been a while since we saw one of your poems accompanied by a YouTube video. Have you gone away from this practice? If so, why?

I have not done poetry video for a while because of several developments in my career, which have led me away from my beloved movie creating software. I promise my readers to get back into the mode very soon, because visualization is one of the communicative powers in our age. I think poetry, to sustain interest, must employ that medium.

EDITORIAL UPDATE: As you can see, Prince created a video for "Kakalika Diaries" after answering this question!


5. Can you give us an update on the status of Mensa Press?

Mensa Press' hands are really full this year: five outstanding anthologies, Foster Toppars's book of poetry and several collaborative projects. This will be a working summer because our editors are salivating over poems submitted by a host of splendid poets (many of whom have been featured on One Ghana, One Voice magazine) I can promise our loyal readers that what they are about to read in the following months would blow their minds. We all have One Ghana, One Voice magazine to thank for galvanizing us to take our literary destiny into our hands. The battle is not over but, rest assured, that the soldiers will not rest until victory is attained.

Contact Prince:

Email: pryncemensah(at)yahoo.com
Website: http://www.freewebs.com/pryncemensah/

A Harmattan Matter - Prince Mensah

The village was subdued by a sudden attack of abnormalities,
As the weather drove a wedge between sons of the same mother.
We wondered why it happened same time, every year as we browsed
Through concordances of our superstitions
Slapping blame on whatever peccadilloes we had committed
In complete disregard for the wages of our sins.
This was our state of mind until the old woman uttered words of wisdom,
Words to secure our freedom from naiveté and cluelessness
About this season of tortured skin and tempestuous tempers.
So we listened, we learned, we understood
This cantankerous saga between our hearts and the Harmattan:
We had dealt with what we could do nothing about and we lost.
But harm is harmless when arms are together and men would rather
Understand than undermine each other since the weather
Is no excuse for what we do to each other,
For seasons change but life goes on in the village.

"A Harmattan Matter" is the first of our series of poems on the Harmattan. New entries will be posted each week, and collected here.

Author Profile - Prince Mensah

Biography:

Born in Ghana, Prince Mensah has twenty-five stage plays to his credit. Some of them have been acted at the Accra Arts Center and at several locations in Accra. His articles and stories have been published in the STEP magazine, P & P, Ghanadot.com and The Free Press. His poetry has been published in the Munyori Journal, UNESCO's Other Voices International Project, The Muse Literary Magazine and the Dublin Writer's Workshop.

Prince Mensah has published seventeen books of poetry. They are Memoirs of A Native Son, I Shall, I Will, I Can (Poetry Inspired by Barack Obama), Afrocentric, ecclesiastes, State of An Abstract Mind, The Griot Metropolitan, The Land of Broken Mirrors, Coronation, Enough is Enough, World War-Free, in praise of the calabash, Prophylaxis, Via Dolorosa, Tabula Rasa, Eclectic, Situational Hazard and Chronology.

Prince is a Consultant in Workplace Mediation, an HIV/AID Treatment Advocate and an Eligible Translator/Interpreter in Twi & Fante for the Judicial Consortium of 40 American States. He lives in the United States with his wife, Charisse.

Prince is the head of North American promotions for One Ghana, One Voice.

Five questions with Prince Mensah:

1. As a child, what was your reaction to the coming of the Harmattan? Has that changed now that you are an adult?

As a child, I dreaded the Harmattan because it made my life miserable. I had itchy skin and could not play soccer, because I was running out of breath every time. Day time in Harmattan was always a period of respiratory torture. However, night time was splendid because the wind was cool and calming. This gave Harmattan a ying-yang effect to it.

As an adult, I have come to understand the Harmattan and how it affects mood and skin. I have now grasped the nature of this interesting West African season because of the marriage of good and bad elements – the cruelty of the wind at day and its calming effects at night. I see that the lessons to life are hidden in nature.


2. Living in the U.S. now, do you miss the Harmattan season at all? And how does it compare to an American winter?

Yes, I miss Harmattan nights – those nights of soothing, playful breeze that gave me the comfort to sleep well. You know, people usually stay up late during the Harmattan season because it occurs around major religious festivities for Muslims and Christians. Eid-al-Fitr and Christmas are both celebrated during Harmattan.

As compared to American winters, like the one we just experienced in the Maryland/DC/Virginia area, Harmattan feels like summer. At least, homeless people can sleep in Harmattan but you do not want to be caught outside in a snow blizzard.


3. Is there any way you can compare Harmattan to life?

Harmattan is life. Life has good and bad sides. Yet we love life and try to do the best we can with it. Harmattan creates angry folks at day but inspires lovers at night. Same season, differing results. There is something to be learned from that.


4. As a poet, what do you think is the best way to get people in Ghana more interested in talking and writing about the nuances of living in Ghana?

Ghanaians love a good show. However, poetry and prose have been neglected because of an artistic and social over-dependence on drama. In Ghana, poetry is not the most lucrative artistic venture and you write poetry because your mind keeps getting flooded with beautiful descriptions of simple things. Prose can be difficult because you have a thousand editors trying to tell you what to do. Writing drama has more potential than the first two because it has the chance to be performed or adapted into a screenplay. The balance is wanting because the three arms of literature work hand in hand. This situation is most unfortunate.

I hope the high schools and universities will find a way to enable students to become original scribes of their own experiences through poetry and prose. I have always held the belief that after 50 years of independence, our beloved country should be able to market her literature to the world. Not only through movies. Not only through music. But through written accounts by the sons and daughters of the motherland.


5. How is life going these days, and how is Mensa Press doing?

Life is interesting, like the Harmattan. Sometimes, it sucks the moisture of hope from one’s existence. Sometimes, it soothes the deepest ache. All these make us all the wiser.

Mensa Press is looking forward to a big year, in terms of promoting Ghanaian and global poetry. We have Foster Toppar’s "By The Rivers of Our Dreams" in the works. We have received spectacular entries of our five soon-to-be published anthologies – "Defiled Sacredness," "The War Against War," "Visions of the Motherland," "We Come From One Place" and "Whispers in the Whirlwind."

We are still asking for more entries because we have not reached the minimum yet. If you have a poet friend, please tell them about this opportunity to market their poetry to the world. I can promise that the poetry we have received so far oozes with originality and we cannot wait to publish the books later on this year. Our website should be functional soon and we seek to become the outlet for original poetry and prose from Ghana.

Contact Prince:

Email: pryncemensah(at)yahoo.com
Website: http://www.freewebs.com/pryncemensah/

Tribute to Dennis Brutus

On December 26th of last year the great South African poet, activist and former political prisoner, Dennis Brutus, died. He was 85. We decided to dedicate a week to his memory. What follows is not a biography or obituary (that can be read here), but instead the personal responses of two of our regular contributors, Jabulani Mzinyathi and Prince Mensah, to the news of Brutus' passing.


Jabulani Mzinyathi's Tribute:

in one of my poems, 'erasing my memories', i wrote as follows:

how can i forget dennis brutus
choose to forget ruth first
choose to forget umkhonto we sizwe
separate me from that struggle
that african struggle for freedom

i was trying to show that there are many heroes of the bigger african struggle. dennis brutus was one of them. i remember meeting him at the zimbabwe international book fair in harare way back in 1993. i had as usual attended the z.i.b.f in order to meet my kith and kin in the writing fraternity.

it was great to meet the grizzled poet. i did not unfortunately have an opportunity to sit down and talk at length with this hero! it was however quite inspiring to meet a great poet in person and hear him speak with a certain directness and simplicity. i detected a streak of humility in him.

i am the least qualified to sing praises to this anti-apartheid activist but let me share with the readers one of his poems which is in the book fair book in a day. this book was published on 6 august 1993 by the z.i.b.f trust.

the poem quoted in extenso reads:

See the garbage heaps of our time
are corpses:
the bodies will be buried
by bulldozers pushing mounds
of bank notes:
Greed pollutes our planet.
Corruption extirpates
our humanity.

if this does not sum up our general state of affairs in very simple terms then i do not know what will. in these few lines there really is the expression of profound thoughts by a poet with a prophetic vision. readers be the judges!

in closing, it is only befitting to send off a poet with a poem:

in the beginning was the word
in the end will be the word
for you used words to confront
confronting the truncheons
confronting the racist jack boots
for yous was righteous indignation

posterity will treasure the words
the struggle is not yet over
'greed pollutes our planet'
there are the old and new foes
your words will be our compass

did you leave poetic attacks on xenophobia
the reversal of the gains of struggle
you must have shed a tear or two
somewhere on the pages must be the tear drops
the activist in you did not die
the activist in you secured immortality

Prince Mensah's Tribute:

To Dennis Brutus


The one who stabbed caesars of apartheid
With words sharper than swords, is dead –
This prison could hold him no more –
No longer shall sorrow rule.

Yes! Yes, the minions of myopia tried
Filling us with death and dread
But we did not obey their crazy law –
They forced us to lose our cool!

We rose because we got sick and tired,
We faced the guns we once feared –
The anger was real, the poetry was raw,
It took the goons back to school –

Back to the college of common conscience,
To the fact that oppression cannot win
Where the love of justice is the ambiance
Of our heart and soul, of our will and being.

O’ Brutus! Not the one who killed Caesar
But the one who seized senseless
Institutionalized racism in
Our own land South Africa
By the horns and said, Enough!

O’ Dennis, we have called but no answer
Has come from your once-restless
Hands or the defiance that drove us to win,
To rise and heal the canker,
To prevail against the tough

Intransigence of the brute abuser –
Praises for you are endless,
Our gratitude is in the dance and din
You hear as winds speak waka
In the land of sacred stuff

Where you are now an honored citizen,
Where no one riles at you because of race
And the many things on the horizon
Are colors of a world we all embrace.

Favourite Poems of 2009

Readers' Picks:

Apology to Witches by Darko Antwi (Issue 3.41, October 10th - 16th, 2009)

Comments on Apology to Witches:

"I chose this poem because it holds a stock of lesson for every African to read. Many times we have lashed out at Europeans for being the sources of our woes. Though they can't be left out entirely, much havoc have caused by we ourselves and the writer explicitly reveals that. He pinpoints some instances where societies have come in to decide the fate of African and makes it quite satirical, compelling readers to reorganise their thoughts and assess themselves before the cast the first stone.

In a nut shell, I chose this poem because it's not meant for relaxation, but instead is meant to cause to people to change their ways in order to see the change that they long been looking for." - Adjei Agyei-Baah

"A critic and a constant on OGOV, Darko has almost single-handedly resurrected the power of analysis on OGOV. With this poem, he goes straight into the issue of projection, of blaming others for the consequences of our actions. Darko fearlessly presents the subject with the splendid couplet:

Nobody did us
We did ourselves" - Prince Mensah

Savannah Rain, West Africa by Daniela Elza (Issue 3.6, February 7th - 13th, 2009)

Comments on Savannah Rain, West Africa:

"Cinematic. Great pacing. Carries itself in 11 couplets, until the very last line. Harnesses the suddenness of a tropical storm, then slows it down so the reader can experience it as if through a stop-motion lens. It is about the Savannah's most precious and treasured element - water - and how its action shapes everything else." - L.S. Mensah

"Brilliant. Brilliant. And I want to say this again." - Martin Egblewogbe

For my Husband, an Educated Fool by Nana Yeboaa (Issue 3.23, June 6th - 12th, 2009)

Comments on For my Husband, an Educated Fool:

"Nana Yeboaa just said what so many women would like to say but can't... " - Mariska Taylor-Darko

"I like this poem because it channels the frustrations of women who are caught up in the constant redefinitions of love within and outside a race. It is about the travails in the exposure of familiarity to a terrain of new options. There is a theme akin to the central one in "Things Fall Apart" - the center cannot hold because a new reality has risen on horizons of heritage." - Prince Mensah

Zimbabwe by Prince Mensah (Issue 3.44, October 31st - November 6th, 2009)

Comments on Zimbabwe:

""Zimbabwe" is a beautifully crafted poem in which Prince explores the ideas of place-naming, identity, and boundaries. He does this with a melodic voice, carrying the reader through the politics of Zimbabwe with seeming effortlessness." - Marta Taylor

"The struggle continues, a bold moving poem Prince." - Ivor W. Hartmann

Staff Picks:

Why Birds Sing by L.S. Mensah (Issue 3.37, September 12 - 18th, 2009)

Comments on Why Birds Sing:

"L.S. is a treasure. She writes with such probing ability that just one read of her poem is an injustice to the love of poetry. She commands attention from her readers with her style and manages to present language in a bouquet of beautiful images - here's a prophecy: L S will become one of Ghana's top poets. Mark this on the wall." - Prince Mensah

""Why Birds Sing" is my favourite poem published on OGOV in 2009. L.S. Mensah's attention to form and to sound is admirable. Like Edith Faalong in 2008, L.S. has arrived in full form. We can only hope that 2010 will bring us new poets of similar talent - and of course more work from L.S.!" - Rob Taylor

Pantoum #4 by Van G. Garrett / Fui Koshi (Issue 3.35, September 1st - 4th, 2009)

Comment on Pantoum #4:

""Pantoum #4" is from Van's "Snaps of Ghana" series, which ran on OGOV throughout August and into early September. "Snaps of Ghana", featuring Van's photographs and poems from his travels throughout Ghana, was the first time we focused an entire month on the work of one poet, and was a great success. With or without the rest of the series for support, "Pantoum #4" is a strong poem, utilizing its form to reinforce its themes of relaxation and contemplation." - Rob Taylor

Interregnum by L.S. Mensah (Issue 3.45, November 7th - 13th, 2009)

Comment on Interregnum:

"What an apt poem! The beauty of being is on display in this poem. This is juxtaposed with the bleak sense of emptiness with laughter-morsels with Brother Silence. L.S. Mensah just gave Zimbabweans a gift, a still picture of existence, a reportage on reality. This poem showcases a poet who is observant of the past, present and future in a single passing moment." - Prince Mensah

Christmas in Egypt - Prince Mensah

O’ little town of Bethlehem where
Black and white and brown live -
Above is the star that draws best minds
From east, west, south and north –
They come to see the infant-king,
To bring him gifts and take back home
Stories of divine epiphany –

But I, on anachronistic plane, leave
Here to there, to witness, to receive
At first-hand, news from shepherds
Still dazed from seeing angels –
They run into town, like their herds,
Shouting loudly, ringing bells,
Announcing mysteries about a Messiah -

I see Black Madonna and
Ebony Jesus – not the Mary and Jesus
In overhyped Hollywood movies,
Not the Scofield-inspired baby
Or the Caucasianized infant –

This is a baby whose ancestresses were
Ruth from Moab and Rahab
Of Jericho – so in Jim Crow terms,
A drop of black blood makes
A person black before the law……

So Jesus was a black boy who grew into
Jesus the black man.

I see Him running through streets
Of Aswan, by burned-down libraries
Of Alexandria with black and brown
Friends from Ghanayem –
Living as Egyptian as he could be.

Wise beyond His years, Son of God, Son
Of Man, living under death threats
From kings, this Jesus knew how to live
In a classist, racist, schist world
Of man-made rules and regulations ….

He came to earth to turn it into
A place fit for a real man –

For reality is not what make-believe is -
Not Santa Claus or his green elves,
Not lights, light music and laughter –
But in the way each person receives
Another, the manner one serves
One’s purposes and the factor
That joy is not exclusive to a group of people –
Since the twenty-fifth is not the only purple
Day in cold December,
Remember -

If Jesus was not black, how could he blend in
With children of black Egypt?

Author Profile - Prince Mensah

Biography:

Born in Ghana, Prince Mensah has twenty-five stage plays to his credit. Some of them have been acted at the Accra Arts Center and at several locations in Accra. His articles and stories have been published in the STEP magazine, P & P, Ghanadot.com and The Free Press. His poetry has been published in the Munyori Journal, UNESCO's Other Voices International Project, The Muse Literary Magazine and the Dublin Writer's Workshop.

Prince Mensah has published seventeen books of poetry. They are Memoirs of A Native Son, I Shall, I Will, I Can (Poetry Inspired by Barack Obama), Afrocentric, ecclesiastes, State of An Abstract Mind, The Griot Metropolitan, The Land of Broken Mirrors, Coronation, Enough is Enough, World War-Free, in praise of the calabash, Prophylaxis, Via Dolorosa, Tabula Rasa, Eclectic, Situational Hazard and Chronology.

Prince is a Consultant in Workplace Mediation, an HIV/AID Treatment Advocate and an Eligible Translator/Interpreter in Twi & Fante for the Judicial Consortium of 40 American States. He lives in the United States with his wife, Charisse.

Prince is an Associate Editor for One Ghana, One Voice.

Contact Prince:

Email: pryncemensah(at)yahoo.com
Website: http://www.freewebs.com/pryncemensah/