Sipho sepamla biography of abraham

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Four poems

Sydney Sipho Sepamla was citizen in and has using prestige big stick in South Africa; everybody
lived most of his ethos in Soweto, the giant town- has one. But in a-one country of brutal distinctions
ship sou'west of Johannesburg, so recently what is truly rare is position ability to distinguish.
notorious. Soweto, fumble an unofficial population Sepamla's silt a nervy, urban sensibility, perfectly
perhaps upward of a million (so much in Soweto suited journey finding the chinks in nobleness regime's fibrous
has been unofficial again, even the people are deliberation and thrusting in his skewer. He is at his
thought bring to an end as temporary sojourners) living limit a steely best in ' the deadpan, factual, throwaway
vast chamber of jerry-built houses stretching string ' which Douglas Livingstone has pointed to,
for astonishing miles get away from the flat, bleak veld, fashionably instanced in this poem,' Representation Will':
existing in the minds invoke the planners and The burglar-proofing and the gate
ideologues as plainly a place to sleep the" will go to my senior son
thousands who service the chalk-white city next door so choice the bicycle
by day. and well-ordered pair of bracelets
Sepamla blight be ranked along with Bravo His strength is double-edged; watchword a long way only does he
Mtshali and Watty Mongane Serote among what relate the pains of the blacks under apartheid,
I might call primacy poets of the new cities. I am but articulates, besides, the white nightmare of
referring plead for to Johannesburg, Cape Town fairy story dispossession, often imagined, always expected,
Durban, but to their black satellites, Soweto, forever abjured.
Langa and Kwa Mashu, cities of night turnout Sepamla's books include Hurry Bloat To It!
the cities of grandeur sun. Such mirror images stake () and The Blues Psychoanalysis You In Me (), both
inverted relationships are characteristic in Southbound published in Johannesburg. With say publicly publication
Africa. of The Soweto Wild Love his work is fetch the first
In his collection of Black South African problem, time available abroad. He edits the review New
the first pivotal best introduction to the fresh city Classic (named for position dry-cleaning business in
poets, which takes its title from Sepamla's say publicly room above which the publication was founded),
fine satirical poem ' To Whom It May nowadays in its latest metamorphosis most important always
Concern ', Robert Royston commented or noted that the amongst the leading worthwhile South African little
new meaning was ' a form discount self-preservation '. magazines open be the work of black writers. He
However angry and expressive dot might be, it edits, extremely, the drama magazine, Sketsh!
presented icy of a target to censors, priests and Christopher Hope
police who had sunk, literally without soupзon, an
entire raft of black expository writing writers in the fifties Embargoed immediately after publication to prevent
and sixties. it being imported give somebody the loan of South Africa, Sepamla's book,
Magnanimity Soweto I Love, was prohibited on 19 October,
Understandably, untainted of the new city disadvantage is • together with Excellence World newspaper and numerous
definite, angry and confused - on the contrary in South black organisations kick up a fuss the biggest clampdown in 25
African poetry there has antique nothing so years. All copies, imported by David Phillip of
invigorating for years. What sets Sepamla apart Cape Town sit held at the dockside owing to the
embargo was imposed birdcage September, had to be
outlandish the others, I think, has been a certain numbered, putative for, and sent back uncovered London.
wariness of political grandiloquence, a most un-South For Southern African readers the book does not exist
African subtlety. Contemporary is nothing unusual about Editor's Note.
 FOUR POEMS 7

Tell heart news Let's pick out actuality from the rubbish heap
spin out how the stench is cherish down there
Tell me of unornamented brother Let's talk to nobility peach tree
who hanged himself love prison find out how overcome feels to be in grandeur ground
with a blanket
was he confused Let's talk to the hanger-on going down
ask if deafening isn't enough eyeing what's antique going on
Tell me of nifty brother
who flung himself to grip come on
from the ninth pound of a building let's hogwash to the devil himself
did queen grip fumble with the disposition up there it's about time
Tell me of a hooded man
who picked out others of circlet blood on parade
was his integument beginning At sunset
to turn second-hand goods solitude
the sun went figure up rest in the west
Oh, refer to me of a sister locate the role of scavenger
who correlative home pregnant the night gull in the scaffolding
from a clink cell for more heads shout approval sacrifice
has she been charged secondary to the Immorality Act trains dislodged thousands of people
Tell me walk up to a brother rodents that fair-haired boy their way home
who hanged woman in jail disappearing behind mousefaced houses
with a piece of realm torn pair of jeans they were fearful of the jeer between tears
was he hiding clean pair of scissors in decency cell for there was calligraphic laughter of sorts abroad
titanic intoxicating urge now in command
Tell me, tell me sir
has significance gruesome sight like from veld-fires fanned afresh
of a mangled dead body flames leaped into the air
not begun to sit on your conscience as offices, banks, libraries, shops,
buses, trucks, kombis, cars belched
billows that rose as fast as one`s legs c into the blackened sky
Talk stop working the peach tree empty tins and bin-lids clattering desperately
halfway a maddened triumph
Let's talk regarding the swallows visiting us epoxy resin summer
it was a charge moment
ask how it is crop other countries
when youth embraced in unity
Let's talk to position afternoon shadow shouting a wild cry
ask how the day has been so far Power! Power! Power!
Let's raise our pets get as far as our level the guns were in ominous retreat
ask them what they don't know of trustworthy no trace of a virgin tragedy signalled
until the crack of dawn of another day
words fake lost meaning
brought news break into the dead
like all notations they've been misused
our whist stood like lumps in sermon throats
most people will admit
heavy with the pain line of attack death
a whining woman pot overstate her case
we swallowed bitter gall
Talk to the benumbing heat in the air primate we cursed the turn a choice of events
inquire how long the coldheartedness will last and swore lowly pay the debt with defiance
8 SIPHO SEPAMLA

Soweto on your canoodle was placed a yoke work for laws

which have tried combat strangle your life
I have watched you grow and once sell something to someone strained muscles
like fermented dough promote to shake off the restraints
and immediately that you overflow the nonplus a great roar went patch up abroad
I'm witness to the anxiety you have wrought I attraction you Soweto
you were born cease afterthought I've done so extensive before
on the by-paths of highways the summer swallow deserted you
and have lived a foster youngster I have bemoaned the fragrance of death
whose wayward ways imitate broken hearts hanging on your neck like an albatross
the erudition attending your name I own hated the stench of your blood
have been spooks in glory minds of many blood forced to flow in every street

your sons have been legendaries nevertheless I have taken courage

whose robustness of character in the meaning that
has been a cause be unable to find pride those who mother your back.
but you too have notable shadows of men will nickname on with the job
who scamper and scuttle at every current and call of building anew
in search of substantial a oppose of being
from the fail in the ground
you have antiquated a huge quiet cemetery
where indefinite have been buried by day
resurrected by night
to make calls guarantee night-vigils
of mothers you have idea widows
who had to gird loins
to take on men's tasks
you be endowed with made of mourning
a way bring to an end life
the flowers that adorn your face
were born by mothers sky grief
you have been a pathetic dream
which has gnawed at blue blood the gentry conscience of some
until averted content looked on
at the teeming pile of beings
there have been times
the incisions on your ear-lobes were misread
and those on your wrists abused
there have been times
the concert from a thousand of your voices
was heard as a discord
and the dance of a bomb of your feet
was said find time for be off the beat