Collected Poems Read Free

guilt. For even
    in lynching a judge of sorts is needed—
    a winner. Just think if Hitler
    had gambled and won what chaos
    the world would have known. His
    implacable foe across the Channel
    would surely have died for
    war crimes. And as for H. Truman,
    the Hiroshima villain, well!
    Had Hitler won his war
    de Gaulle would have needed no
    further trial for was he not
    condemned already by Paris
    to die for his treason to France?… Had Hitler won,
    Vidkun Quisling would have kept
    his job as Prime Minister
    of Norway simply by
    Hitler winning.
Remembrance Day
    Your proclaimed mourning
    your flag at half-mast your
    solemn face yoursmart backward
    step and salute at the flowered
    foot of empty graves your
    glorious words—none, nothing
    will their spirit appease. Had they
    the choice they would gladly
    have worn for you the same
    stricken face gladly flown
    your droopéd flag spoken
    your tremulous eulogy—and
    been alive…. Admittedly you
    suffered too. You lived wretchedly
    on all manner of gross fare;
    you were tethered to the nervous
    precipice day and night; your
    groomed hair lost gloss, your
    smooth body roundedness. Truly
    you suffered much. But now
    you have the choice of a dozen
    ways to rehabilitate yourself.
    Pick any one of them and soon
    you will forget the fear
    and hardship, the peril
    on the edge of the chasm…. The
    shops stock again a variety
    of hair dyes, the lace and
    the gold are coming back; so
    you will regain lost mirth
    and girth and forget. But when,
    how soon, will they their death? Long,
    long after you forget they turned
    newcomers again before the hazards
    and rigors of reincarnation, rude
    clods once more who once had borne
    the finest scarifications of the potter's
    delicate hand now squashed back
    into primeval mud, they will
    remember. Therefore fear them! Fear
    their malice your fallen kindred
    wronged in death. Fear their blood feud;
    tremble for the day of their
    visit! Flee! Flee! Flee your
    guilt palaces and cities! Flee
    lest they come to ransack
    your place and find you still
    at home at the crossroad hour. Pray
    that they return empty-handed
    that day to nurse their red-hot
    hatred for another long year….
    Your glorious words are not
    for them nor your proliferation
    in a dozen cities of the bronze
    heroes of Idumota…. Flee! Seek
    asylum in distant places till
    a new generation of heroes rise
    in phalanges behind their purified
    child-priest to inaugurate
    a season of atonement and rescue
    from fingers calloused by heavy deeds
    the tender rites of reconciliation
A Wake for Okigbo
    For whom are we searching?
    For whom are we searching?
    For Okigbo we are searching!
    Nzomalizo!
    Has he gone for firewood, let him return.
    Has he gone to fetch water, let him return.
    Has he gone to the marketplace, let him return.
    For Okigbo we are searching.
    Nzomalizo!
    For whom are we searching?
    For whom are we searching?
    For Okigbo we are searching!
    Nzomalizo!
    Has he gone for firewood, may Ugboko not take him.
    Has he gone to the stream, may Iyi not swallow him!
    Has he gone to the market, then keep from him you
    Tumult of the marketplace!
    Has he gone to battle,
    please Ogbonuke step aside for him!
    For Okigbo we are searching!
    Nzomalizo!
    They bring home a dance, who is to dance it for us?
    They bring home a war, who will fight it for us?
    The one we call repeatedly,
    there's something he alone can do
    It is Okigbo we are calling!
    Nzomalizo!
    Witness the dance, how it arrives
    The war, how it has broken out
    But the caller of the dance is nowhere to be found
    The brave one in battle is nowhere in sight!
    Do you not see now that whom we call again
    And again, there is something he alone can do?
    It is Okigbo we are calling!
    Nzomalizo!
    The dance ends abruptly
    The spirit dancers fold their dance and depart in midday
    Rain soaks the stalwart, soaks the two-sided drum!
    The flute is broken that elevates the spirit
    The music pot shattered that accompanies the leg in
    its measure
    Brave