Horrorscope
we die twice:
when we are dead
and when we finally die!
Over the horizon…
Harbinger hoppers of damnable doom
Darken the sank-sun heavens
The green-earth shrivels into ashes
Fallow feast of fire
Embalms our grasshouse in teary wool
Explosions in our cooking pots
Our fireplace goes raining
And survivalist vultures swirl
In a satisfying dinner dance
Human hearts in scavenging jaws;
Death harvesters
With scrotum eyes
In rage’s mortal companionship
Define the shrine for our spice-sacrifice
The storms feast from our foundering boat
The mother-toad’s spawned eggs
Feed the hatching fishes;
One-third, one-half, one
All buried beneath a black earthen boil
To produce tasteless tubers—
Human humus post-humously honoured
In yield to kiss spectral lips
…those cowries
Two to keep our eyes open
Four for the barrel to shatter our hearts
…and our hearts are shattered
…and our eyes closed
Our hollow ribs blow death’s deep horn
Our horrible deaths dribble the soulless Horn.
(As seen through the Horrorscope)
by Nana Fredua-Agyeman
I've tried, I've tried really hard to understand Horrorscope. I see a life filled with death, famine and utter destruction. Probably the sum of all human ills and evils seen through an imaginary looking glass or crystal ball. The word play was beautiful by itself.
ReplyDeleteexactly NYA, nothing more nothing less...deathm famine and utter destruction, seen through an imaginary looking glass or a crystal ball. You have captured my thoughts perfectly. I am grateful...have been waiting for someone to tell me. I try to riddle my poems, yet bring in words and statements, proverbs and fables that would give the answer. If it rains in your fireplace, there is no food, no warmth and utter misery. isn't it. If vultures start swirling in a satisfying dinner dance it portends your imminent death.
ReplyDeleteThe picture of the Pulitzer winning photographer who did nothing whilst the vulture hovered around the dying child inspired this poem so many years ago. I told you then that I have seen the pix before. So I searched through my PC and found this.
... ...traigo
ReplyDeletesangre
de
la
tarde
herida
en
la
mano
y
una
vela
de
mi
corazon
para
invitarte
y
darte
este
alma
que
viene
para
compartir
contigo
tu
bello
blog
con
un
ramillete
de
oro
y
claveles
dentro...
desde mis
HORAS ROTAS
Y AULA DE PAZ
TE SIGO TU BLOG
IMAGENATIONS
CON saludos de la luna al
reflejarse en el mar de la
poesia ...
AFECTUOSAMENTE
NANA FREDUA-AGYEMAN
jose
ramon...
Jose...hmmm! I can't read this. hahahaha I am monolingual....sorry
ReplyDeleteIt’s from a blogger who also has some poetry in his blog, but in Spanish. He probably appreciate your poetry, or maybe it's an automatic answer because it doesn't make much sense to post a comment in Spanish in a blog that's completely in English. However:
ReplyDelete"I bring blood of the afternoon wound in the hand and a candle of my heart to invite you and give you this soul that comes to share with you your beautiful blog with a bunch of gold and clove inside…
From Mi Oras Rotas (My broken hours) y Aula de Paz (Classroom of Peace)
I follow your blog
IMAGENATIONS
With greetings from the moon
That mirrors itself on the sea of petry
With love
NANA FREDUA-AGYEMAN
jose
ramon..."
By the way, it's true that your poems are riddles. I couldn't come up with a sense until I read the comment of your friend on death, famine and destruction. I've seen that picture as well, Nana, and I hated it, it made me feel so sick. But you have composed a poem on it, you made something beautiful out of a disgusting thing. :-)
ReplyDeletethanks Stefania, first for the translation. I visited the blog and everything was in Spanish. Later I saw the same post on a blogger's blog. So I later (after I have asked you) realised that it was perhaps an automatic response generator.
ReplyDeleteSecondly, thanks for the comment. Yes, I feel that the reader should have the peace and the joy that comes from understanding what a writer wants to carry out. Breaking the surface to access the juice is the greatest joy of every reader.