Visiting Zomba Plateau by Jack Mapanje

Visiting Zomba Plateau

Could I have come back to you to wince

Under the blur of your negatives,

To sit before braziers without the glow

Of charcoal, to cringe at your rivers

That without their hippos and crocs

Merely trickle gratingly down, to watch

Dragonflies that no longer fascinate and

Puff adders that have lost their puff?

Where is your charming hyena tail –

Praying mantis who cared for prayers once?

Where is the spirit that touched the hearts

Lightly – chameleon colours of home?

Where is your creation myth? Have I come

To witness the carving and jingling only of

Your bloated images and piddling mirrors?

Jack Mapanje

Jack Mapanje is a Malawian poet and currently a Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne. He is the author of 4 collections of poetry, the editor of several more, and the recipient of awards including the Rotterdam Poetry International Award and the African Literature Association (USA) Fonlon-Nichols Award.

Scrubbing the Furious Walls of Mikuyu by Jack Mapanje

"Of all the prison poems I've written I think this is my favourite little one. We were asked to scrub the walls of the prison to clean the place up and we saw on one wall graffiti and several prisoners refused to touch it, to scrub it out, because it was good. It was a rude statement about the country's politics, hence this poem."

Scrubbing The Furious Walk Of Mikuyu

Is this where they dump those rebels,

These haggard cells stinking of bucket

Shit and vomit and the acrid urine of

Yesteryears? Who would have thought I

Would be gazing at these dusty, cobweb

Ceilings of Mikuyu Prison, scrubbing

Briny walls and riddling out impetuous

Scratches of another dung-beetle locked

Up before me here? Violent human palms

Wounded these blood-bloated mosquitoes

And bugs (to survive), leaving these vicious

Red marks. Monstrous flying cockroaches

Crashed here. Up there the cobwebs trapped

Dead bumblebees. Where did black wasps

Get clay to build nests in this corner?

But here, scratches, insolent scratches!

I have marvelled at the rock paintings

Of Mphunzl Hills once but these grooves

And notches on the walls of Mikuyu Prison,

How furious, what barbarous squiggles!

How long did this anger languish without

Charge, without trial, without visit here, and

What justice committed? This is the moment

We dreaded: when we’d all descend into

The pit, alone, without a wife or a child –

Without mother; without paper or pencil

– Without a story (just three Bibles for

Ninety men), without charge without trial;

This is the moment I never needed to see.

Shall I scrub these brave squiggles out

Of human memory then or should I perhaps

Superimpose my own, less caustic; dare I

Overwrite this precious scrawl? Who’d

Have known I’d find another prey without

Charge, without trial (without bitterness)

In these otherwise blank walls of Mikuyu

Prison? No, I will throw my water and mop

Elsewhere. We have liquidated too many

Brave names out of the nation’s memory.

I will not rub out another nor inscribe

My own, more ignoble, to consummate this

Moment of truth I have always feared!

Jack Mapanje

Jack Mapanje is a Malawian poet and currently a Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne. He is the author of 4 collections of poetry, the editor of several more, and the recipient of awards including the Rotterdam Poetry International Award and the African Literature Association (USA) Fonlon-Nichols Award.

The Seashells of Bridlington North Beach by Jack Mapanje

"My family and I visited the seaside in the North of England, in Bridlington, and this comes out of that visit."

The Seashells Of Bridlington North Beach

(for Mercy Angela)

She hated anything caged, fish particularly,

Fish caged in glass boxes, ponds, whatever;

‘Reminds me of prisons and slavery,’ she said;

So, when first she caught the vast green view

Of Bridlington North Beach shimmering that

English summer day, she greeted the sight like

A Sahara girl on parched feet, cupping, cupping,

Cupping the water madly, laundering her palms,

Giggling and laughing. Then rubbing the hands

On her skin, she threw her bottom on the sandy

Beach and let the sea breathe in and out on her

As she relaxed her crossed legs – ‘Free at last!’

She announced to the beach crowds oblivious;

And as the seascape rallied and vanished at her

Feet, she mapped her world, ‘The Netherlands

We visited must be here: Norway, Sweden there;

Beyond that Russia!’ Then gathering more sea-

shells and selecting them one by one, she turned

To him, ‘Do you remember eating porridge from

Beach shells once?’ He nodded, smiling at another

Memory of the African lakes they were forced to

Abandon, ‘Someday, perhaps I’ll take that home

To celebrate!’ She said staring into the deep sea.

Today her egg-like pebbles, her pearls of seashells

Still sparkle at the windowsill; her wishes still ring,

‘Change regularly the water in the receptacles to

Keep the pebbles and seashells shining – you’ll

See, it’s a lot healthier than feeding caged fish!’

Jack Mapanje

Jack Mapanje is a Malawian poet and currently a Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne. He is the author of 4 collections of poetry, the editor of several more, and the recipient of awards including the Rotterdam Poetry International Award and the African Literature Association (USA) Fonlon-Nichols Award.

Songs of Chickens by Jack Mapanje

Song Of Chickens

Master, you talked with bows,

Arrows and catapults once

Your hands steaming with hawk blood

To protect your chicken.

Why do you talk with knives now,

Your hands teeming with eggshells

And hot blood from your own chicken?

Is it to impress your visitors?

Jack Mapanje

Jack Mapanje is a Malawian poet and currently a Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne. He is the author of 4 collections of poetry, the editor of several more, and the recipient of awards including the Rotterdam Poetry International Award and the African Literature Association (USA) Fonlon-Nichols Award.