insouciant poems

In Zimbabwe I lost touch with Marechera’s
bleeding heart;
Went to school
white and stiff
My father said;
“It is your fault that us white males lost the war;
because of your genitals and
your demeanour
and the colour of your voice
which reminds me of the feminine.

“His father died in primary school
His father rose again to run the factory”

--I’m sure my teacher read it to me
when I was in Form three –
an overlooked and unregarded writer
at that time.

I wonder.

and the school walls and the grass roots kept the ogre at bay
for some time

and we transferred and lost our feet
and ended up eight inches above the sand
In number 3 caravan park;

and it was sordid heat

and three years later, in Australia the sleeping ogre
finally yawned and shook;
the anger at his loss breaking through
the cold tin roof
of his narrow mind.

**************


2.

It was the matronly ladies that I somehow missed
the ones who knew right from wrong
Not black from white, necessarily
but their arse end from a hole in the ground (pardon the crude Australian expression)

They had the eyes of wisdom
that were not their husband’s eyes
but were borrowed
From some University of Life
Quite different from Australian eyes, which peer here and there
and then return with their fish-hooks
and nothing.

They had the eyes, their eyes
that captured images
and brought them home to Roast
In Open Ovens.

Looking into the smallness of the mind
of the Rhodesian white male
They knew right from wrong.
Their eyes said as much.
And I believed them.


3.

Cultural Destruction
meant that I was now
evil.

One doesn’t become evil by any action of one’s own;
but by being
left Alone.

whilst others are being brought up.

If I cross out my evil
with so many crosses –

Would that help?

------


4.

I WOULD TAKE THE DOGS FOR A WALK

Up hill and down dale, in in craggy foreshortened river beds
which elongated the closer I reached.

And they would tell me something
with their tails
their minds
were MY MIND
investigating under shrub
investigating in the reeds
tearing free from trails
that offered nothing
especially special.

I would take the dogs for a walk.
But in their minds
They would take me
And this environment would mean something
especially special;
when I’d read it through the mind of dogs.

-------------------------------------


5.

ZIMBABWE ISN’T
deckchair material
It is
Hardwork
Lounging around
Waiting for others to do it for you
isn’t the way.

I think the notion of
the right to passivity
That god in the sky would do it for you
even though you didn’t try
Was what undid
the whites.


6.

Feed your children with hostility enough
and you will grow
a little guerilla in your midst

I didn’t want to tell you this
but it is true
There’s no denying

How nature works
When history repeats itself
The first time, Tragedy
and then as Farce.


7.

Australian culture
wrung out my Zimbabwean soul
It had a lot of mud in it --
a lot of rich red Earth
from Borrowdale
So there’s a lot of wringing to do.

Mud sticks;
but with a little bit of rain
I might be clean again?

8.

I’m writing down a little letter in my book
to Deity:
“Thou don’t exist”
even though it was once nice
To fight a war on your behalf
Realise that
It was my father fighting
and not me:
I never knew Thee.

9.

Zimbabwe’s free
of all the pestilence that
isn’t death.
You’ve got me on that one.

Political Purity
is one thing
That’s
INDIFFERENT
to
a little death.

10.

I don’t think
my race
will win
this race
although it might
come second.