{"id":448,"date":"2009-08-09T18:33:25","date_gmt":"2009-08-09T18:33:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/nucleus-import\/?p=448"},"modified":"2009-08-09T18:33:25","modified_gmt":"2009-08-09T18:33:25","slug":"lebogang-mashile","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/lebogang-mashile\/","title":{"rendered":"Lebogang Mashile"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/div>\n

\nI wore you
\nI wore you today
\nLike a raggedy coat
\nFor the feel of how warm it used be
\n….
\nMashile won the 2006 Noma Award for her poetry collection, In a Ribbon of Rhythm.
\n
\n…
\nLebogang Mashile<\/p>\n

Mashile won the 2006 Noma Award for her poetry collection, In a Ribbon of Rhythm. She is a visual verbalist, and an icon of modern South African poetry. In addition to these given titles Lebo Mashile has been forging her own creative identity since she emerged on the Johannesburg arts scene almost seven years past. Lebo Mashile’s tireless work ethic has earned her creative titles including published author, executive producer, actress, poet, independent record producer, corporate and independent event MC, life skills facilitator\/speaker and television series presenter. In all her creative roles, it is Mashile’s sharp intellect, questioning mind and fierce sense of social exploration that drive her passion for creativity.<\/p>\n

Photo credit: Ogilvy Dawn; Voice Out<\/p>\n

\t Poems \t\t\t\t<\/p>\n

\n\t\tABCs<\/p>\n

It takes just 26 letters to create a universe
\nThe world is dismantled and then reassembled
\nThrough the lens of a pen and verse
\nI have lost myself in books
\nAnd then found myself in words
\nLiving in a world without imagination
\nI can think of no fate that is worse<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve walked through the lives of individuals
\nWhose eyes I\u2019ve never known
\nI\u2019ve been to cities and villages and country sides
\nWhose skies, to me, have never been shown
\nIt was in this solitary cell
\nThat my greatest strength was honed
\nI saw that my mind was just a shell
\nAnd it\u2019s abyss simply a hole
\nAnd the hell of a heaving heavy heart
\nIs still my friend
\nEvery story has its place
\nAnd history never ends<\/p>\n

The writer is an architect God child at play
\nOn a canvass of memories
\nShe lies naked between the covers
\nHer own lover
\nHer own worst enemy
\nNavigating between extremes
\nShe is both the judge and the judged
\nThe vile despised and attacked
\nThe unashamedly beloved
\nThe unassuming friend who\u2019ll tell your business
\nWhen you\u2019re not in sight
\nShe pulls commotion out of stillness
\nIn the cavern of the night<\/p>\n

And South Africa is a fractured mirror
\nA paradox of schizophrenic selves
\nWho don\u2019t talk to one another
\nWho fear each other
\nWho revere each other
\nWho loathe
\nAnd pretend
\nAnd try to blend in
\nWith each other<\/p>\n

And this is the time when you can become
\nThe greatest substance of your dreams
\nUnless you live in a shack
\nAnd don\u2019t speak English
\nAnd don\u2019t know what this poem means
\nTell me how it\u2019s possible for people
\nWho walk on gold to not know how to read
\nTell me how publishers who\u2019ll never taste their tongues
\nCan comprehend the words that these people need
\nBecause they\u2019ve never been scared of stories
\nThe ones who uttered the very first
\nThe ones who\u2019ll hand them to their children
\nCalling out the rivers of their self worth
\nThe ones who\u2019ll write a narrative in the ear
\nBut who won\u2019t call the ear a page
\nThe ones who\u2019ll rhyme without pens
\nAnd perform without a stage<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t have all the answers
\nI\u2019m just a colonized African
\nWho breaks down the Queen\u2019s English
\nUntil Sesotho understands it
\nStill I\u2019m compelled by those
\nWho may never inhabit my language
\nI wonder if trials and translations
\nCould help them to traverse my landscape<\/p>\n

South Africa is an old fashioned mutt
\nWho knows how to sing
\nAnd knows even better how to cuss
\nWho knows how to piece together prayers
\nWhen she\u2019s about to run out of luck
\nWho knows how to laugh real hard
\nWhen the tears have run her into a rut
\nWho knows that race is a farce
\nBecause when the light\u2019s are off
\nEvery body\u2019s fucked
\nAnd when the welts and wounds
\nDemand healing salve
\nWords are just enough<\/p>\n

I wore you<\/p>\n

I wore you today
\nLike a raggedy coat
\nFor the feel of how warm it used be
\nI wore you
\nBeneath the tattered veil of night
\nFar from the glare of stars or eyes
\nI wore you
\nUntil touched reduced to the wetness
\nOf crumpled notes
\nLeft in my tiny hand
\nI wear your scent into day
\nBut I have never
\nTasted your kiss<\/p>\n

Joburg cocktail<\/p>\n

At night
\nThe air is rancid sweet
\nWith money
\nFear and
\nInspiration<\/p>\n

Moveable Map<\/p>\n

Go
\nSlow
\nInto
\nWorlds
\nWhere
\nWords
\nUnfold
\nMaps<\/p>\n

Find
\nHoles<\/p>\n

Make
\nWhole<\/p>\n

Steer
\nClear
\nOf
\nTraps<\/p>\n

See
\nGaps<\/p>\n

Steps
\nSteeped
\nIn
\nInsight<\/p>\n

Free
\nFlight
\n(fright)<\/p>\n

Break
\nForm<\/p>\n

Flow
\nFly
\nFall
\nCrawl
\nCreep
\nQuietly
\nFeel
\nFear<\/p>\n

Steal
\nHope
\nSlide
\nOut
\nTrip
\nUp
\nSlip
\nAway
\nSkip
\nOver
\nFlop
\nDown
\nFlip
\nThrough
\nHop
\nOn<\/p>\n

Bend
\nPretend
\nThe
\nMind
\nIs
\nA
\nFriend<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t
\nForget
\nTo
\nDismember
\nMemory
\nRemember
\nTo
\nWrite
\nWhat\u2019s
\nLeft<\/p>\n

Know
\nThat
\nIt
\nBinds
\nYou
\nLike
\nWind
\nBlowing
\nFrom
\nInside<\/p>\n

\nEven
\nAir
\nHas
\nSongs
\nLike
\nYou
\nNever
\nStopping
\nThey
\nJust
\nKeep
\nMoving<\/p>\n

Reincarnation<\/p>\n

Bush bunny
\nJungle monkey
\nDarker than a vortex
\nBlack and funky
\nDisgusting
\nThe residue that\u2019s left
\nOn places we reject
\nIn the absence of gravity
\nEverything rises like steam
\nAnd yesterday\u2019s nightmare
\nBecomes today\u2019s dream
\nIt seems before there was race
\nColour was a fact
\nThe sum of all
\nIs rich
\nIs scorned
\nIs reborn
\nIs dirty
\nIs worthy
\nIs black<\/p>\n

Safe place<\/p>\n

I will keep you in a safe place
\nWhere the walls speak
\nAnd the doors don\u2019t have locks
\nWhere the roads intersect
\nAnd collisions are encouraged
\nWhere each throbbing tremor
\nIs listened to
\nAnd the children never grow old<\/p>\n

I will keep you in a safe place
\nWhere heaven is beneath your feet
\nAnd hell is in the sky
\nAnd the road you\u2019ve walked
\nIs your guide
\nThe sweat on your back
\nThe cracks on your heels
\nAre plastered to the walls<\/p>\n

The walls never shut up
\nThey speak you to yourself
\nThey will find you
\nBetween two covers
\nIn the words between the lines<\/p>\n

The lighter side of darkness<\/p>\n

The sun is a loyal lover
\nEven when the earth puts on
\nHer grey coat
\nAnd cries over nights
\nSpent alone
\nThe sun still shines for her
\nOn the other side
\nOf the clouds<\/p>\n

…
\nfrom: African Writing online<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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