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Gold from the Stone
New and Selected Poems
Lemn Sissay
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eBook - ePub
Gold from the Stone
New and Selected Poems
Lemn Sissay
Angaben zum Buch
Buchvorschau
Inhaltsverzeichnis
Quellenangaben
Ăber dieses Buch
Lemn Sissay was seventeen when he wrote his first poetry book, which he hand-sold to the miners and millworkers of Wigan. Since then his poems have become landmarks, sculpted in granite and built from concrete, recorded on era-defining albums and declaimed in over thirty countries.He has performed to thousands of football fans at the FA Cup Final, to hundreds of thousands as the poet of the London Olympics, and to millions across our TV screens and the airwaves of BBC Radio. He has become one of the nation's best-loved voices.
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Information
Thema
LetteraturaThema
PoesiaTENDER FINGERS IN A CLENCHED FIST
African Metaphor
You canât sweep dust under the rug any more.
You canât keep hiding bodies under the boards of the floor.
You canât sanction the hearts of an African race.
You canât hide a man from his very own face.
You can never be a king if you elect yourself the crown.
You cannot perceive the suffering if youâve never been down.
Youâre on the great white colonial ego trip,
But soon you will be penned into your own township.
Your tables of justice will be turned until they fall upon your knees.
Our cries of injustice will drown your pathetic pleas.
You canât remember the Sharpeville massacre.
Do you remember the exploitation of Namibia?
You canât remember Mangaliso Sobukwe.
Do you remember the name Azania?
You canât sweep dust under the rug any more.
You canât keep hiding bodies under the boards of the floor.
You canât hear the trickle of blood that will stick your lips together.
You can close the curtains but you canât hide the weather.
You cannot smell the smoke while it is twisting in the air.
You canât feel the fire though it is singeing your hair.
You canât arrest the soul of an African revolutionary.
You canât meter the reaction of a reactionary.
You cannot hold an African metaphor.
You canât sweep dust under the rug any more.
You canât keep hiding bodies under the boards of the floor.
Your graves . . . your graves are already being dug by the gardeners of my country.
Your coffins are cut to measure by my sisters of carpentry.
If you cannot feel the illness then youâll never find the cure,
And youâll never be prepared for the African metaphor.
When mother delved the kitchen knife into the heart of the white beast
She closed her eyes tightly in the ecstasy of release.
You will feel the flames of vengeance in the deep heat of the night,
And the stench of scorching flesh will make you wish youâd seen the light.
You will hear the warrior cry, bang fiercely on your door.
You will see the horrifying death-defying anger of the African metaphor.
You canât sweep dust under the rug any more.
You canât keep hiding bodies under the boards of the floor.
Listening
Listening, and weâre listening
To the ones who scream,
Hidden by the pounding sounds of the traffic.
Weâre listening
To the Blackness in the dream,
Hidden by the screams of this nightmare.
And itâs getting louder.
People, weâre getting louder.
People, weâre turning round,
Crumbling the buildings to the very ground.
And weâre feeling
The unsteady feel,
The breaking of the seal of unconsciousness.
Listening.
And weâre breaking the dawn,
For this morning thereâs a different sound.
Keeping our ears to the well-trodden ground,
Weâre angry with the pain we hear.
Thereâs an insecure feel in the air.
Because weâre listening,
Like wolves in the dark,
Eagles in the sky.
Driven like cattle,
Ears to the ground.
We can hear the water.
We need water.
We need to quench our thirst.
But weâre listening first.
Cautious as cats,
Punished as dogs,
We can hear the water.
The priest chants.
The congregation turn their heads.
The politician rants.
The people turn their heads.
Muffled screams and whispers,
Pointing fingers,
While the silence crawls from the inner city towns
And holds them in the fist of suspense,
And holds them
waiting
waiting
waiting
For the gutters to run with blood
And the sweet taste of victory in the mouths of the downtrodden.
And if you donât keep listening
Youâll be caught unawares.
Weâre listening.
Weâre listening.
Weâre listening.
Nursery Rhyme
Humpty Dum...
Inhaltsverzeichnis
- Cover
- Title page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Contents
- Introduction
- From Perceptions of the Pen (1985)
- From Tender Fingers in a Clenched Fist (1988)
- From Rebel without Applause (1992)
- From Morning Breaks in the Elevator (1999)
- From Listener (2008)
- New Poems
- Endnotes
- Index of Titles
- Index of First Lines
Zitierstile fĂŒr Gold from the Stone
APA 6 Citation
Sissay, L. (2016). Gold from the Stone ([edition unavailable]). Canongate Books. Retrieved from https://www.perlego.com/book/1457395/gold-from-the-stone-new-and-selected-poems-pdf (Original work published 2016)
Chicago Citation
Sissay, Lemn. (2016) 2016. Gold from the Stone. [Edition unavailable]. Canongate Books. https://www.perlego.com/book/1457395/gold-from-the-stone-new-and-selected-poems-pdf.
Harvard Citation
Sissay, L. (2016) Gold from the Stone. [edition unavailable]. Canongate Books. Available at: https://www.perlego.com/book/1457395/gold-from-the-stone-new-and-selected-poems-pdf (Accessed: 14 October 2022).
MLA 7 Citation
Sissay, Lemn. Gold from the Stone. [edition unavailable]. Canongate Books, 2016. Web. 14 Oct. 2022.