Faiz A. Faiz, Gabriel Okara
in LOTUS 1-1968
[ziz and ink read out loud together]
For I have given a tongue to every link in my chain.
Faiz A. Faiz
and the elders in their insides turned the spoken words over and over, and looked to see the road to take to pass over this inside smelling thing.from Gabriel Okara: Okolo or The Voice
Know that you are a witch be.
You cannot thus speak to us in the old times.from Gabriel Okara: Okolo or The Voice
LOTUS: Afro-Asian Writings, issue no. 1, 1968
For I have given a tongue to every link in my chain.
Faiz A. Faiz
and the elders in their insides turned the spoken words over and over, and looked to see the road to take to pass over this inside smelling thing.from Gabriel Okara: Okolo or The Voice
Know that you are a witch be.
You cannot thus speak to us in the old times.from Gabriel Okara: Okolo or The Voice
LOTUS: Afro-Asian Writings, issue no. 1, 1968
i am ziz,
my heart inhabited the archives,
i am the cicada of the archives,
i listen to fairies,
and fly,
like a buraq,
i fly,
from the river to the sea,
purple harvests of timeless time,
bunches of Lotus,
poetry, songs and dances,
covers, letters and aromas,
spread into coming greeny fields
my heart inhabited the archives,
i am the cicada of the archives,
i listen to fairies,
and fly,
like a buraq,
i fly,
from the river to the sea,
purple harvests of timeless time,
bunches of Lotus,
poetry, songs and dances,
covers, letters and aromas,
spread into coming greeny fields
i am a socialist alchemy in yellowing pages
i am the ink in no: 59-1988 lotus
printed in the GDR, i will not yet tell you where
or how i was made
black like the coal dust from Schwarze Pumpe
entering every pore of life in my grandmother’s
Plattenbausiedlung
i reach into the paper, through the paper into your hands
your eyes that walk my shapes, into your nose and
all the tongues who speak and lick images and words
i am a material way of transforming language and visions
into signs and smells
so they travel
i am the ink in no: 59-1988 lotus
printed in the GDR, i will not yet tell you where
or how i was made
black like the coal dust from Schwarze Pumpe
entering every pore of life in my grandmother’s
Plattenbausiedlung
i reach into the paper, through the paper into your hands
your eyes that walk my shapes, into your nose and
all the tongues who speak and lick images and words
i am a material way of transforming language and visions
into signs and smells
so they travel