ktravula – a travelogue!

This Step, This Spot – A Poem

For January

And this is life, even as tomorrow crawls in with bright winks

or grim wings across an uncertain sky. Yes, this is the life

for which fore-runners spoke, a day for which mothers’ backs

broke with sweat, and strained in odd old colds of irksome strife…

It is now that beats the heart, with two eyes across a dawning day,

and a flesh hung in space, with rasping sound of black restless keys.

Here it is where hope resides, not afar in the boxed, fuddled past

of rain on concrete cracks. It is not in the exile of many journeys.

This plinth of time must serve as a totem rank to lighten pathways

When the moon falls behind the yellow hills, with a dry Western snore.

This step is new, but like aeons of dreams and returning memories

Is old in the breadth of its pace, much more than just a random chore.

I could ponder hope in blunt alien lands. Still, I will not look behind

But inwards. In its charged spot are the loose ends of moving thoughts,

with each breath a treasury of lore, new paths bearing known marks:

I shall live in a ball of charms which dreams and hopes have wrought.

Rima VII

In the dark corner of the hall,

perhaps forgotten by her mistress,

silent and dusty,

laid the harp.

So many notes slept in her strings,

as the songbird sleeps in the branches,

waiting for the snowy hand

that knows how to awake them!

Alas! – I thought – how often does genius

likewise sleep in the deepest of the heart,

and a voice, like Lazarus, awaits

to be told “Rise and walk!

Poem by Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

and Clarissa, my Amigo Secreto.

NOTE: The game ended yesterday.

Sisters – Heaviness and Tenderness – You Look The Same

Wasps and bees both suck the heavy rose.

Man dies, and the hot sand cools again.

Carried off on a black stretcher, yesterday’s sun goes.

Oh, honeycombs’heaviness, nets’ tenderness,

It’s easier to lift a stone than to say your name!

I have one purpose left, a golden purpose,

how, from time’s weight, to free myself again.

I drink the turbid air like a dark water.

The rose was earth; time, ploughed from underneath.

Woven, the heavy, tender roses, in slow vortex,

the roses, heaviness and tenderness, in a double-wreath.

Poem by Osip Mandelshtam, left on my door by my secret friend.

Note: I should perhaps tell you now that s/he has now left me three poems and about five gifts. There was the photo frame, then the class notebook, candy, then some pink scented beans (which first worried me because it felt like a feminine gift 🙁 :D), and a bottle of peach scented candles. Now I’m totally confused, not necessarily in a bad way. The game ends tomorrow when I should discover who my Amigo Secreto is, and finally make myself known to my own subject. It should be fun. It is taking place at a dinner somewhere in town, organized by the department of foreign languages.

Rememberance

A poem by Reiner Maria Rilke, seen on my office door today, from my Geheimnisvoller Freund (secret friend).

And you wait, keep waiting for that one thing

which would indefinitely enrich your life:

the powerful, uniquely uncommon,

the awakening of dormant stones,

depths that would reveal you to yourself.

In the dusk you notice the book shelves

with their volumes in gold and in brown;

and you think of far lands you journeyed,

of pictures and of shimmering gowns

worn by women you conquered and lost.

And it comes to you all of a sudden:

That was it! And you arise, for you are

aware of a year in your distant past

with its fears and events and prayers.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

Thursday’s Random Thoughts

Hi Blog Readers,

Today is Thursday, and again I’m feeling pretty useless with myself. On top of that, it is cold, and I can’t think much.

Yesterday I received a mail from a blog reader who said she’d been reading the blog for a while without leaving comments. Here’s what else she said: “You write beautifully I have to say…”. I’m assuming that she’s female because the first name sounded female. It’s a Nigerian name which is also sometimes given to males, but my instincts on this one is that she’s female though I could be wrong… But to the sender, I say a big thank you for being there.

It was World Aids Day on the 1st of December, which was memorable for me because it reminded me of the first time I had to take an HIV test. It was just a year ago, in Nigeria, while preparing for this travel experience. Somehow, even though it was not a mandatory test, I took it, and it resulted in this short story that I wrote for an upcoming anthology. Meanwhile, another blogger, Bumight, has made a post about her recent test experience. Find it here and, if you can, take the time to vote on her blog poll. Since that last time, I have not been tested again, not because of fear, but because of time. When next I find myself in the hospital, I will do it again, and let you know how it goes.

Still talking about HIV/AIDs, I received a pack of… listen to it… extra large condoms in the university as part of the HIV/AIDS awareness campaign on campus. The real reason why this is memorable to me is that I had no idea that there were extra-large sizes here, even though I knew in my head that there definitely must be. There was a time in the history of this travelogue where I had wanted to blog about my amazement, and disappointment, at the smallness of American condoms, and what I think it could or could not mean. I’ve since found out that it could have had to do with a particular brand, and thankfully, Chris from my linguistics class found my narration of the discovery and experience very very funny. That time has passed, however and thankfully I didn’t have to blog about it, and offend anyone. So, the first question obviously had to be: why do we have “extra-large” condoms when rubber is already known to be elastic? I cannot answer it here without exceeding my PG-13 self-censoring limit ;). But YOU can! My reckoning is that it has something to do with grip. Apparently, as I now know, all condoms too are not created equal!

I have two assignments to do before Monday comes. One is a term paper that I must submit before I travel to Washington DC to see my close pal Mr. Barack (stop the snickering). The second is a class assignment with the same deadline. I know why I have not been motivated enough to start them, so the problem is only half solved. Let’s see what I can do as soon as I am done with this post.

Meanwhile, I have now pulled out one of the old jokes from my inbox. It’s a poem that is both funny and stimulating. You may have to read it out loud to get the total idea. It’s titled “Eye Halve a Spelling Chequer.” I hope you enjoy it.

Eye Halve a Spelling Chequer

Eye halve a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.

Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.

As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite
Its rarely ever wrong.

Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect in it’s weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.

— Sauce unknown

Note:

I didn’t write the poem.

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