African Idea by Wayne Visser

Just back from Lagos - my fifth trip to Nigeria in the past 12 months. Got me thinking about how Africa is as much a product of perception and imagination as fact and reality.

AFRICAN IDEA

By Wayne Visser

Africa wakes –

It boils and bubbles

It stews and steams

Swathed and swaddled

In wisps of melting mists

And the feathered blue skies

Of my inner eyes

This Africa –

Drenched in sun and sorrow

Stretched in time and place

Bridging north and south

Cleaving tribe from tribe

Birthing a prodigal progeny –

Alive in my mind

Africa moves –

It spawns and spews

It morphs and multiplies

Enhanced and entangled

In human chains of need greed

And white lightning webs

Of synapses firing

This Africa –

Shadowed in war and want

Bursting with light and longing

Dancing dust clouds around fires

Beating drum songs of desires

Endlessly en-route –

On my famished road

Africa sleeps –

It drifts and disperses

It seeds and suckles

Soothed and silent

In fields of ripening toil

And the wandering blotch-herds

Of scattered thoughts

This Africa –

Whispered in myths and mysteries

Cradling its loves and losses

Chanting with hope and defiance

Hawking praise and prophecy

Woven in patchwork tales –

Echoed in my prose

But is Africa real?

This Africa of mind and magic

This Africa of dreams and dust

This luminous continent

Glowing in the dark interior

Of my gold-threaded caves –

This Africa of my psyche

Is Africa fact?

This Africa of books and bards

This Africa of fables and fiction

This luscious land mass

Teeming with the wild life

Of my untamed frontiers –

This Africa of my stories

Is Africa true?

This Africa of tongue and touch

This Africa of nose and noise

This muddled melting pot

Spicing the pallid palette

Of my doldrum days –

This Africa of my senses

Yes! Africa lives –

Africa breathes and beats and blooms

Africa strives and thrives and jives

Africa shakes and aches and breaks

Africa weeps and rises and leaps

Africa sings and soars on the wings

Of my imagination

This is Africa

This is my Africa

This is my Africa imagined

This is my imaginary Africa

This is my image of Africa

This is my idea of Africa

This is my African idea

Copyright 2012 Wayne Visser

In Memoriam: Karen Weinberg

In memory of my dearest friend, Karen, who died on 31 January 2012.

In Memoriam: Karen Weinberg

She made me laugh – let’s start with that

(The time she wore a witches’ hat)

Her cheeky banter full of fun

And, on my word, she loved to pun

Enthralled by British comedies

From Eddie Izzard to John Cleese

Held captive by Jane Austen’s tease

(Young Darcy jellified her knees)

And then there was that Stephen Fry

(She’d have proposed, but she was shy)

True, he is gay, but love is blind

And she was smitten with his mind

She lived for art and loved to sing

Such colours in her offering

The shadow of Matopos stones

The glow of rusty vineyard tones

Baryshnikov upon the wall

Unfettered horses in the hall

She saw the beauty, heard its tune

She caught the light, lassoed the moon

King Singers’ a capella hums

Or dusty stomps of tribal drums

Her world aloft on violin strains

Juluka flowing in her veins

Soprano voices in the air

Or Mama Mia’s songs of cheer

The concert halls, the silver screen

She soared the heights, she touched the dream

Her head was swirled with maths and stars

Her memories stitched with faded scars

She knew the dark, yet channelled light

She felt earthbound, yet reached for heights

She long ago left creed behind

And saw all faiths as intertwined

Her wisdom caught the ebb and flow

Of New Age waves and Oprah’s show

So deeply loved, and yet alone

She found her peace, her bay view home

Her friends and loved ones scattered wide

She was the rock, we were the tide

Just like a snowflake’s crystal maze

Her beauty sparkled through our days

And just as ice must melt and flow

Back to the source – we must let go

Our daughter, aunty, friend and sister

How we loved her, how we miss her

We will not let her vision fade

Now she is gone – I wish she’d stayed