
ZADIE


JOSEPHINE AT THE PANTHEON
she danced funny
went bananas
sang so sweetly
every
trill a thrill
(full
chanson)
danced across
Europe and North Africa
all
around the Gestapo
and so
when they needed someone
to put the PAN
back into pantheon
rub
shoulders with
dirty old Voltaire
this daughter of
Africa
queen of diaspora
maiden
of humanity
was a natural choice
DEMOLITION JOB
My Mother’s voice
am overhearing
telling someone eager
to listen
they knew what
this place was like
they knew what they
were coming to
did they not know
what to expect
front page
back page
centrefold spread
Greek chorus
gossip horror
the shock
the shame
character assassination
and they
or rather he the husband
having Army training
explosives, sabotage
blowing up
things behind Nazi lines
now
out there consorting
with the men of shadow, figures
in the night
feared
shape – shifters
blowing up pylons
disrupted the sacred electricity supply
and me
that night all night
hearing the Indian Ocean waves roaring in to
crash on the shores of False Bay
so much Sun here, Sun
Sun
Sun for everybody
this man and his
accomplices
attempting to take
this Sun
away
****
sixty years
and we have crossed them
in a heartbeat
so much of that time
faintly remembered
not even
taught in schools
(sad that
somehow we
have so relegated history)
but now
a different narrative,
a whole different narrative
a whole different way
of thinking of ourselves, this place
and how
we came here
stifled, imprisoned,
imposed our colonial mindsets
stuck our future in tiny cells
on an island in Table Bay
for long
bitter decades fearing
no hope of solution, no path
to a liberation
that migh
allow redemption
a moment of memory
viewed
with
a self-
forgiveness
graced by the acceptance
of the perspective of great change
****
and here we are
my dear, absurdly conversing
in the light of all those years
democracy waiting
in the wings, or rather
on an inhospitable island
time
become its true essence
as pure
duration
imprisoned consciouness
until
it was not
you born
in the year of its ending
of the release
salvation
far
from its memory, vague
on its history
of the swirling eddies and currents that
despite every counter-
possibility produced
a dawn, a new
day
and now
history has done
a demolition, removed
those back-then voices
that spoke with such
blind conviction,
presumed authority
as
it slowly, inexorably
whittled me away
but across
land and ocean
the old monster
has
found lease of life, more
hideous incarnation
the drive to inflict the worst
of which we are possible
on fellows
of our species
as they, we
did back then
would have done to you
(and now this voice
those voices
who do
they belong to, what
are they saying?)
FORECAST
scry
me a river
the forecaast
was fairy tale
and real sunny
but barely
an hour after
the holocaust
the debt
collectors
were up
and about
rat-cockroach hybrids
still actively mutating
they used all their
rapidly evolving
extra
sensory perceptions
to scurry across
every size and shape
of radioactive
landscape
tracking down each
debt defaulting flash or firestorm
strike survivor
remind them
of their every financial
transgression
reinstating every
legal redline
ON YOUR BIRTHDAY
come to me
on your birthday
Gemini girl
I shall make you
my eternal celebrity
teach you the meaning
of the word “celebration”
make sure you
feel every vowel
every consonant
in your heart
and
every other part
doing your native sign
of the twin me Castor
you Pollux
from dawn on the day
to dawn the next morning
CORDOBA
I was in medieval Cordoba
at the height of its power
and its prestige,
when I found myself, perhaps
having blinked too hard,
in Paris May ’68 and
then in
Times Square New York
sometime yesterday
or maybe tomorrow
watching an Empire slowly
grind itself down to powder
whilst somewhere in these
crowds a Holy prophet and
Christ incarnation
is quietly, deliberately,
avoiding the vanity that
feasts upon
supreme spectacle
(Naomi’s false idol)
searching for what was
lost, destroyed,
that it be found, healed,
restored,
re-established in
single searing moment
of absolute connection
meanwhile
in a playhouse in the centre
of Philadelphia, an outraged
Dionysus plots
King Pentheus’s demise
his worshippers find themselves
swept up by a force
beyond the power
of resistance
awake to the reality
of a primal, divine
revenge
soaked in the blood of
their rapture,
egged on by the god to cross
the presumed defining linit
of humanity itself m.
Signs and wonders:
we so desperate that they
submit
to our systems
not rupture the fabric
of meaning itself
DEAR
Ah, my demented dear,
the spot where your
venom entered me
feels like it has
been struck by
a burning coal
of white phosphorus
our pain is our own ultimately
our pleasure too
but the force that created you
whether it is my channeling of it
or it has burrowed,
somehow
connived its way
into my system
is one with the spirit of all
that this fimds itself expressed as
every manufacture
it now does open itself to
our bodies shape-shifting
at points
together
in some kind of deeply odd
resonance rather
than harmony
no, not harmony
my dear, my demon, my
demented dear
LESSON TO US ALL
my parents
stuck me
in box
to protecr me
from the world
also
one of their core principles
children should be
neither seen
nor heard
and loved sparingly,
as seldom
and as
little as possible
ezpecially if
sweeter and smarter
than they could
ever hope to be
stayed in the box God
knows how long
until Myers Briggs came along
told me
I was no ways such
an introvert, but a rampant
ENFP king cobra
extrovert
waiting for my moment
to burst through the lid
proclaim
my truth, announce
myself to the world
unbundle myself of all
the reams and reams of
relentless (if much
misguided) insistent creativity
emulating
my good friend, sometime
Muse, and fellow
box resident, Ms Sagittarius
Emily
whose cut-throat poetry, razor
images, a
divine lesson to us all
WHY?
why beat the shit
out of them?
surely
with your massive
military industrial complex
your have
more refined, tech-
savvy solutions
or because
since universities began
in medieval Arabia
and Europe must
you go dark
ages on them
besiege these encampments
like you are Temujin’s
horde
ransacking for forage
throwing defenders
down the battlements
all to
show and
tell lesson them
how Plato’s children
and great grandchildren
should scholastically behave
SUSQUEHANNA 2
there are ghosts
in your country
I saw them dancing
in the mist all
along the Susquehanna
one cold January morning
just after 9/11
a couple of miles upstream
from Three Mile Island
and we were talking Civil War mlilitary,
myself and this kindly
African American
Professor of Sociology from
Harrisburg Penn State
him detailing how the Federals and Confederates
were criss-
crossing this territory
playing this cat and
mouse game
only to crash headlong into
each other at a
place called Gettysburg
of course neither of us
back in 2002 could have imagined
twenty so years on this
land would
find itself of the brink of
such a division
where the spectre of such
horror looming again
and those precious
twenty or so days
my sole experience
of America
of breathing the air of
its liberty, if
such is your belief
something the ghosts
trying to tell me, their
cold touch
alerting me
a new world and
forever graveyard
tension
in the spirit world
it seems far-fetched to bridge
the river
with its
Native American name
flowing with the forever
waters of such secrets
leaving
the old lies, the old lies
to spread, make
good trade,
do good business
what ripples outward here I fear
ultimately chain
in its reaction