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Elliot Ziwira
At the Bookstore
As SADC converges on Harare for the 44th Ordinary Summit of Heads of State and Government today, it is pertinent to reflect on the transformative power of poetry in capturing the continent’s history of struggle, resilience, and triumph.
Running under the theme “Promoting Innovation to Unlock Opportunities for Sustained Economic Growth and Development towards an Industrialised SADC,” this summit is a historic occasion for Zimbabweans to take centre stage on the global arena, showcasing their rich cultural heritage and commitment to regional development.
Held at the majestic New Parliament Building in Mount Hampden, the summit comes at a time when Sadc nations are celebrating the beauty of freedom and cooperation under heightened efforts to put spanners in the wheel by agents of imperialism.
Significantly, President Mnangagwa assumes the chairmanship of the regional bloc at this momentous occasion.
African poets, such as Lusophone poets Agostinho Neto, Noemia de Sousa, and Marcelino dos Santos, have played a pivotal role in articulating the cultural mores and values that shape our societies.
Their poetry demonstrates the struggles of the African people, from the transatlantic slave trade to colonialism, and the quest for liberation. Through their work, they have proved that poetry is not just an art form, but a powerful tool for social change, too.
The emotive and combative nature of Lusophone poetry testifies to the power of art in capturing the essence of struggle.
Zimbabwean poets, such as Thomas Sukutai Bvuma and Dambudzo Marechera, have also shown that our history of subjugation cannot be articulated through contrived formalism, but rather through a genuine appeal to the history, toils, and struggles of black people.
Interestingly, almost all the poets referred to were revolutionary leaders and freedom fighters.
Their poetry is a call to action, a reminder of the sacrifices made by our forebears, and an inspiration for a brighter future.
As posited by Franz Fanon in “The Wretched of the Earth” (1967), the African poet invariably plays the role of a philosopher and a town-crier. The African artist, the philosopher maintains, cannot entirely abandon the contradictions of colonial education inculcated in him or purport to, but he should go beyond it to instil a sense of combat in his people.
Slavery, colonialism or segregation are evils that the African poet cannot wish away, or pretend they never happened.
Therefore, he cannot avoid expressing “a degree of objective realism” through “an appeal to the history, sufferings and struggles of the people” (Ngara, 1990: 108).
The poignant and belligerent nature of Lusophone poetry, goes beyond ideological theorising, finding favour in Bvuma and Marechera.
In “The Real Poetry” in “Every Stone that Turns” (1997), Bvuma notes:
“The real poetry
Was carved across centuries
Of chains and whips
It was written in the red streams
Resisting the violence of ‘Effective Occupation’. . .
Its beat was bones in Bissau
Its metaphors massacres in Mozambique
Its alliteration agony in Angola
Its form and zenith
Fighting in Zimbabwe.”
Indeed, “the pain and pleasure/Of a people in struggle” cannot be expressed through the eyes of Formalists like Fish, Robert Frost (1930) and Jacobson (1916).
To Marechera, in the poem, “In Jail the only Telephone is the Washbasin Hole: Blow and we Will Hear”, such serious issues are beyond “classroom lectures”, or “the rhyme & reason of England/Nor the Israeli chant that stutters bullets against Palestinians.”
The poetry of Agostinho Neto, Antonio Jacinto, Marcelino dos Santos, and Noemia de Sousa, reflects the history of resistance in Angola spearheaded by the People’s Movement for the liberation of Angola (MPLA), in Guinea Bissau and Cape Verde under Party for Guinea Bissau and Cape Verde (PAIGC), and Mozambique led by Front for the Liberation of Mozambique (FRELIMO).
Notwithstanding his earlier poems, particularly “The Blood and the Seed”, given to intellectual framing, and bordering on unassailable revolutionary rhetoric, Neto combatively shifts with the combative tide in “February”, “Contract workers”, and “Hoisting the flag”.
Following Fanon’s train of thought, Neto’s poetry can be put into context, not merely as liberation poetry, but as a record of prevailing events. Theory precedes action, which makes the poem, “The Blood and Seed”, evocative and thought-provoking.
The poem strikes chords with David Diop’s “Africa” and Noemia de Sousa’s “Black Blood”, not in their obtrusive way per se, as Ngara (1990) puts it. It puts into context the reasons for combat, without necessarily being overt, since the colonial censorship machinery was ever-oiled.
Imagery and symbolism become a rallying point as Neto makes effective use of “cries”, “voices”, “drums”, and “hymns” in “The Blood and the Seed”.
There may be an aspect of idealism, inclined towards Formalism, which appears to be divorced from concrete action, but combat is inferred through a revisit to the seas of slavery where the seed of remonstration is soaked in blood.
The “cries” merge with the “drums” of a yearning hope to erupt in “tumultuous voices” reflective of revolt, which in the end brings joy or “music” to “nations”. The revolutionary consciousness is inculcated through the cries that stir “desire” for nationhood, patriotism, historical awareness and hope.
This rather theoretical grounding for combat is also evident in Noemia de Sousa’s poem “Black Blood”, which has the trappings of Leopold Senghor’s “Black Woman”, only different in its effective use of irony.
The historical allusion drowns the ironic reference to “pagan” and “slave” through use of the words “great”, “sensual” and “charmed” to heighten hope and patriotism.
This sense of awareness and hope is emblazoned in the last stanza as the persona hankers: “Mother!
my mother Africa
of slave songs in the moonlight
I cannot, CANNOT deny
the black, the savage blood
you gave me
because deep in me
is strongest of all.”
As the seeds of combat are sown through adept use of imagery and symbolism, the next phase, as categorised by Fanon (1967), becomes the consciousness to reject individualistic intellectualism, through less contrived language, to appeal and directly address the people.
However, mere enunciation of the reasons for anguish is not enough. Hence, the poet should go beyond philosophising “for independence cannot be given on a platter; it calls for suffering, endurance and sacrifice” (Ngara,1990:104).
As form ceases to be of importance, the real struggle for liberation in Mozambique, Guinea Bissau and Angola, takes a simplistic stance towards aggression.
The silent songs in Neto’s “Contract workers”, who simply “sing” to hide their abhorrence and grief, find an outlet in “February”, Antonio Jacinto’s “The people went to War”, Helder Neto’s “We shall not Mourn the dead”, and dos Santos’ “To point a moral to a comrade”.
The pervading imagery in the poems is blood—symbolising sacrifice, belonging and regeneration.
Neto alludes to slavery and imperialism as the root of the African’s suffering in “February”, through reference to the Atlantic, which is both the source of trouble and hate, as well as a swathe of hope. It is on hate that revolutions are premised, “grave pure hate”, as Denis Brutus puts it.
The images of “crows” and “jackals” “with bestial hunger for battered flesh”, are metonymic of the predatory nature of colonialism.
Nevertheless, the allusion to “green”—the land, is symbolic of hope as the oppressed are “fired/now with blood, now with life, now with death”, to turn back the arms of the clock in their favour “even while facing death, in the course of time/in blood-stained waters.”
Such is the nature of sacrifice, and a quest for liberation, amplified through the collective voice in Marcelino dos Santos’ “To point a moral to a comrade”.
The individualist “I” or “You” is replaced by the collective “We”.
The revolutionary poet affirms:
“What matters is not what I want
or what YOU want
but what we want . . .
Each of us has a private wish
but what WE want
is not what I want or YOU want
but what WE want.”
The African poet, therefore, while not necessarily being blind to the entertainment aspect of poetry, should remain rooted in the history of his people, for it is through such that identity is fostered.
He surely cannot escape, for whatever words he chooses are steeped in the images and symbols that are symbiotic with his personal contact with toil, displacement and oppression under colonialism.
Whatever arrangement of lines he chooses are also not divorced from the traditional forms of his people’s poetry of hope, celebration and spirituality.
Surely, that is his idea of form, and therein lies the gist of entertainment, which inspires a people to rise above the seemingly obvious, through pain, reflection, hope, life and death.
Hence, African artists cannot completely escape from the subtle snare of colonialism, which makes them both philosophers and griots. They can also not depart from the poetic forms, acquired through exposure to Western education, or their people’s traditions.
Therefore, as we celebrate the 44th Ordinary Summit of Heads of State and Government, we should remember the role of poetry in shaping our collective destiny—drawing inspiration from the likes of Agostinho Neto, Antonio Jacinto, Thomas Sukutai Bvuma and Marcelino dos Santos, who combatively shifted their poetry to reflect the history of resistance in Southern Africa.
Spurred on by their educative, inspirational and combative craft, we must come together as a people, united in our quest for liberation—using poetry as a catalyst for our collective growth and development.
In this spirit, the celebration of the summit goes beyond just a political gathering, but a tribute to our shared humanity, cultural diversity, and collective aspirations in which everyone has the opportunity to thrive.
Online Reporter