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This poem is an excerpt from an anthology titled "...But Here You Are." that will soon be published for free download as a PDF file by Authorpedia (WRR) towards April 1, 2019. When my brother felt the world
closing in his throat, you told him to pray. After my sister’s house was broken into by the branches of other men's bodies you told her to pray. When you wanted to take, you preached that it is good to give but when we needed, you told us to pray. If part or half or the whole of what I have written makes the blood of your belief scorch the net of your veins please kneel too and pray. God has heard people like us pray for strange things yours won't be the first.
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There is beauty in the universe that man has blown over, beauty blinded by the constant pain life throws at his heels, so I write with the hope that a heart other than mine finds solace in the purity that nature offers. Writing was no childhood dream, In fact I did everything in my power to avoid writing. In as much as I loved to read stories, I found writing a tedious chore with a constant fear of nobody showing interest in my work. I read whatever tale others wrote and had to tell, while hiding mine in the corners of my heart.
As a child, I was attached to nature in ways our people may see as extreme or funny. On days when I found a chore unbearable or had just gotten the beating of my life, I would sit on the concrete, absorbing the songs of birds; hoping they could give me the peace I needed and they never disappoint. My bedrock has always been wildly imaginative and I often get lost in my thoughts and fantasies, so much that I enjoy solitude. In my imaginations, I live many lives that I lose count. I never think to share my fantasies or realities, out of the fear of other people’s perceptions.  I.
Efe is sitting with Otamere under one of the ebelebo trees that is scattered like rubber seeds at the backyard of the house. It’s Monday, and they are on mid-term break from school. Efe asks his friend if he thinks captives can find any form of happiness. Otamere is smiling in his usual manner of chic ordinariness, the kind he wears when he’s about to recount one of his numerous fables. Efe will not admit this, but this is why he likes him, the relative easiness with which he calls on stories to answer questions — questions no child should be caught asking. Even more so, questions 12-year-olds should not find answers to. “Hmm, Efe,” Otamere answers in a voice dancing with adult pretentiousness. “Once upon a time, a little girl followed her mother to the zoo, she saw how the different animals seemed happy as though they didn’t mind the cage, as if they thought the cages were mere improvised furniture. Surprised, so she asked her mother the reason for the animals’ unfound cheerfulness. Her mother said it must be because they are animals and they are dumb; she said this with a glaring lack of interest. Still dissatisfied, she asked the zoo guide”. Otamere is looking up at the sky like one who can see what Efe is missing. “The guide looked on the little girl and answered,” he continues as he picks a deciduous branch from the ground, “Lass, they are cheerful because they chose to be.” Otamere stands and throws the branch into the poto poto in front of them. “You see Efe, you see, it depends.” Efe wants to tell him that he is in a cage too, but he’s not finding any cheer. He wants to say to him that Uncle, his stepmother’s younger brother that lives with them is asking him to do things to him that the blonde girl was doing to the big black guy’s thing in the blue magazine that Rilwan slipped into school at the beginning of the term, things that make his throat sore. He wants to tell him that his tongue still remembers the slimy remains that make it tastes like sin, the kind Pastor Toritse talks about every Tuesday on the assembly ground. He wants to say many things to him, but he remembers the thick, taut vein that was on Uncle’s forehead as he threatened to kill him and anyone he mentions those black nights to. He thinks of calling his bluff, but he knows Uncle has a reputation for making good his threat. Efe does not say anything to Otamere. Instead, he smiles and says in bini, “Let me go home now and read for tomorrow’s test.”  Book Title: Gospels of Depression
Genre: Poetry Author: Pamilerin Jacob Year of Publication: 2018 Number of Pages: 30 Number of Poems: 18 Reviewer: Uduak-Estelle Akpan Click here to download the book's PDF. Reading Pamilerin Jacob’s “Gospels of Depression” provoked a personal confession: of my many dreams, being a writer and an evangelist of my faith have been the most compelling. I’ve often sought ways of weaving the two, broad as they are into one fine yarn. The collection of poems, most of which are creatively named after biblical events gave me an added experience – that someone gets me, while causing me to rethink my stance and contribution on issues bordering on mental health. With a perfect blend of creativity and insightful writing, Gospels of depression is an essential read for our age; it is a timely read because judging from social media threads and the trend of conversations, it is apparent that public perception of mental health issues, its victims and survivors could use more than a little advocacy and education.  The answer is simple: to survive. As Lucille Clifton said in her poem won’t you celebrate with me: …every day, something has tried to kill me & has failed The good thing about a poem is that it owns the reader. Takes hold of reality & spreads itself onto the film of memory. This is why in reading this excerpt of Lucille’s poem, I see the self. A tiny dot of light, flickering in the face of all that has tried to kill me. Being mentally ill (diagnosed with clinical depression & others), the thing that tries to kill me most often is the self, & to survive, I had to learn to hold a pen instead of a knife. The logic of survival is finding salvation in language. To peel a verb open, & find warmth. To name the grief, & strip it of ambiguity. To fillip memory with adjectives. To make of sentences bullets, for the annihilation of a disease [or the embalming of the body]. It is in writing that we find that the light at the end of the tunnel is a mirror: we are all that shines. Words make us gleam. You measure a man’s happiness by his words.  Tomi Adesina is a screenwriter, author and fiction series blogger. In 2013 she won the Nigerian Blog Awards for her blog fiction series, and in 2015 her screenplay on cyberbullying (Feisty John) won the Homevida Prize. She also won the Nigerian Writers Award for Best Young Writer in 2015, and her short stories have been featured in magazines across Africa. Tomi was also an AMVCA nominee for best writer in 2018 and bagged the AMAA award for best screenplay for her contribution to Hakkunde. She lives in Lagos. Her other works can be found on her blog at tomiadesina.wordpress.com KNOWING THE WRITER
Why do you write? I write to live; literally. I am grateful to God because He has deposited the ability to write in me and with something as beautiful as the love for words, I cannot do any other thing aside writing. I have got so much inside my heart to say and writing is such a beautiful medium of expression. I also enjoy the process of creating, I think it’s fascinating, and writing gives me the ability to do that. So, it’s my thank you. What personal qualities do you possess that contributes to being an excellent writer and what qualities do you expect other excellent writers to possess? I am quite organized with my work. As boring as this might sound, I operate on a writing schedule. There is a time allotted to everything I do, and I try to stick to my regime. This helps with timely deliveries. What causes are you passionate about? If any. Cancer Research. Just for fun: Black or Blue Pen to write? Blue. Your writing is very distinguishable, however, do you care about distinguishing yourself with your writing and if yes, how are you choosing to do so? What about your writing do you think stands out the most? I don’t think I have ever worried about distinguishing myself. I think it boils down to the honesty in the words and this is what makes a case for me. What career field do you work in? I work as a screenwriter. Who are your favorite Nigerian writers? (Mention up to 5) Ayobami Adebayo, Tunde Leye What are your favorite Nigerian books? (Mention up to 5) Stay with Me, Golden Sands  BOOK REVIEW: “George’s Pieces of Me” by Tomi Adesina
TITLE: George’s Pieces of Me AUTHOR: Tomi Adesina GENRE: Poetry and short stories NUMBER OF PAGES: 75 PUBLISHER: Woworx Limited DATE OF PUBLICATION: August 8, 2017 ISBN: 978-9789601400 REVIEWER: Shoola Oyindamola Ever since I encountered Tolu Akinyemi’s books, especially You Father Works Like a Crab and Seun Lari William’s Garri for Breakfast, I have been intrigued by the use of poetry to tell stories. When people think of poetry, it is easy to only think of it as art that proposes an idea or a concept rather than tell stories. Relatively, I have many memories of my grandmother singing folk songs to my sister and I, when we sat at the staircase to the house entrance in the evenings. She would give us Egunje (meaning candy) and even when she told folk tales, or when my mother read from a Yoruba folklore textbook to us, in between, they voiced songs that said part of the stories. The poetry in Tomi Adesina’s George’s Pieces of Me took me home. Unlike in many anthologies with disconnected poems, using 19 pages of Book 1 in George’s Pieces of Me, Tomi tells the story of a lover right from birth, through loss and to death. |
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