Haibun on the Bonny River (1966) - V2

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FranktheFrank
Posts: 1983
Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Location: Between the mountains and the sea

Haibun on the Bonny River (1966) - V2

#1 Post by FranktheFrank » 20 Sep 2019, 00:48

I write home to ‘s-Hertogenbosch on blue airmail paper
a finger print of Old Spice. The river flows in flood,
dismembered bodies float by;
I can’t include that in my love letter.

Grey river flowing
Tarnished with the pall of death
Tribal enmity


Her cotton dresses hang in the wardrobe; I take one out,
her scent remains. It would be easy to give up now
and leave Iguocha.

Her fragrance hovers
Eve-in-the garden flowers
Petal white peonies


The radio crackles into life; General Ironsi has been found
face down in a ditch, murdered by rebel soldiers.
This doesn’t auger well.

My derrick-man, Zuru (my God is complete), is joining up.
I ask if he know what war entails: The colour of a man’s intestines,
blue black in corruption, the terror in a prisoners eyes, puking
on his captor’s shoes, walking in his own shit calling out
for a mercy that is absent.

A warrior prince
Zuru light tanned skin - the best
Of men seeks death


I can’t dissuade him, he is my best man, but will I be here much longer,
I am tired of sand fly fever, cockroaches – insect and human, would that
I were lying in her arms, her breath on my face, a cooling rain.

Black clouds of strife loom
If the land is one people
Why then do they war


She writes the most fascinating letters of Vader’s garden,
Moeder’s cooking and which of her friends has married.

Innocence in love
She speaks of her hopes in white
a house with a garden


There is a furore outside, the police are rounding up Hausas, they use
bronze tipped batons on the teenage girls, they cry plaintively.
I want to remonstrate, but whites no longer hold the moral
imperative, a word whispers “Sit quietly.”
Like the Jews of Rotterdam; they cannot be saved.

They do their duty
Batons flailing - black hatred
No mercy in those blows


Personnel have called me in for a Monday meet, before the river launch
takes me out to the Delta. There’s an offer on the table, but I’ll not
be returning; I have a wedding planned and I won’t be late.

To be together
In the summer of our life
what bliss awaits us







*****





I write home to ‘s-Hertogenbosch on blue airmail paper
touch to seal with a finger-print of Old Spice. The river
in flood carries dismembered bodies, but I can’t
include that in a love letter.

Her tropical dresses hang in the wardrobe, I take one
out, her scent remains like a garden of flowers, pretty
flowers, innocent Eve-in-the-garden flowers.
The radio crackles into life, General Ironsi is dead,
his body found in a ditch; killed by rebel Hausas,
this could soon enough happen to us all;
war approaches.

My derrickman, Zuru (my God is complete), tells me he is joining
up. I ask of him does he know what war entails, the suffering,
death, possible mutilation. He sees only the glory
of the regiment marching on parade, the banner flying, honour
and glory.

I can’t dissuade him, he is my best man, but will I be here
in five months, I doubt it. I have had enough of sand flies,
a bunk bed that harbours cockroaches, blow-outs of pure
petroleum spirit, collapsed wells and I miss my darling.

The pay is good, I have saved enough in one year to buy
a house, we have our nest-egg put by. She writes the most
fascinating letters, all about the garden of her Papa,
mother’s cooking and which of her friends has married.

There is a furore outside, the police are rounding up
Hausas, they are not gentle, they use their batons
on the teenage girls, I want to intervene, but common
sense tells me to sit quietly; it is not my war;
like the Jews of Rotterdam, they cannot be saved.

Personnel have called me in for Monday before
the river launch takes me out to the Delta. They’ll want
a commitment for next year. They have offered a salary
increase of four-fold, they suspect I won’t be coming back,
but I have a wedding planned and I won’t be late.

Rivers running blood
Red - suffering people bled
Oh my Africa!

SivaRamanathan
Posts: 1168
Joined: 14 May 2011, 20:30

Re: Iguocha on the Bonny River (1966)

#2 Post by SivaRamanathan » 20 Sep 2019, 05:15

F
What do you call this type of poetry? Ending with a Haiku like verse?
S

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