Photo taken in Perugia, Italy.
Text written as part of Tiferet Poemathon 2015.
All copyright of Catriona Knapman.
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My poems are now available as part of an anthology 30 Poems in 30 days alongside some other great poets.
The book features a mixture of poetry prompts and poems from different poets and challenges you to rise to the challenge of writingn their own 30 poems in 30 days.
Available here on Amazon.
The collection was put together by Kimberly Burham and Lisa Sawyer and proceeds go to support Tiferet Journal. A big thank you to everyone whose energy and time went into making this happen.
See what you can create in 30 days!
My poem Goddess is in this summer edition of @TiferetJournal. Do go check it out alongside the work of other writers who participated in the Tiferet 2015 Poemathon.
The poem is inspired by this painting ‘Mother of the World’ by Russian painter Nicholas Roerich.
She is all bird wings and thistles
all deer toes and sand banks.
She is all hanging lampshades and fairies.
She is the edge of a cliff.
I really love hearing poetry and stories read out loud and I also love to read at open mics. I feel it offers something completely different to the written version and brings it to life. I feel poetry is about life and I would like to try and use my writing to bring it alive a bit more and see how to make it relevant to more people. Feeling a little bit terrified, but also trusting this is the way forward, I have begun to record my poems. The first one is here. I think i need to invest a little time in sound editing, but hopefully this will work as a first attempt. Do let me know if you have any tips or suggestions on how to improve from this first attempt.
‘Todo su vida es una novella.
(His whole life is a novel).’
When I asked Cesar where he was now, he said he worked in a potato factory and that he would tell him about the poem when he next saw him.
If you have read the poem in the latest edition of Magma on the theme of Freedom, the character of Don Silvio is a little changed from project driver, to President’s driver and I invented his family situation, because he never talked about that. Over my two years working in that project in Nicaragua I rode so many miles with Don Silvio, down to Managua from the mountains of Esteli, up to the mountains of Esteli from Managua, around Managua’s long motorways and urban sprawl, across to Matagalpa, into Jinotega through the hills, up to Sebaco, to Ocotal, up and down and over and over Nicaragua’s one main road and various bumpy and less bumpy side roads.
Stopping sometimes for rosquilla or tortilla, or on one occasion to buy a live iguana on the side of the road, but mostly just driving that one line of paved caraterra, up and down, the hills dropping to rice fields, the road becoming flatter, the smell of the chicken factory about half an hour from Managua, the coloured houses dotted along the way, the blue statutes of the Virgin Mary, the bright pink posters of the President, the valleys and the untamed mountains. Up and down, there and back, again and again and again.
In each new town,
you have a different mujer,
exotic or plain, gorda or guapa.
She offers you her local ways. Yes.
Don Silvio liked ranchero music, which is often played as we drove. He also liked to talk and loved to eat. Mostly he would chew on some gum or some other snack as we drove. As he did, he would tell me about the advantages of having a different woman in each town you visited, so ‘if one woman does not attend to you well, then you just leave and move onto the next one.’ He would also tell me what to do in different situations, which was not much advice, as a command and if it was not followed, he sulked and became grumpy or difficult.
He was a tall man, a big man, with an enormous belly and commanding presence. In the revolution, he formed part of the Sandinista rebel army which freed the country from the Dictator Somoza in 1979. Sometimes he talked about that, holding a fake gun to his arm, firing. Yes, he and many others, eventually brought down a Dictator. He remembered it all with delight and pride. He continued that fight, which has sadly become more about partisan politics, by arguing violently with anyone who wasn’t a Sandinista, often storming heavily out of the room when they disagreed with him. However, when he saw the current President Ortega, (from the Sandinista party who was also part of that historic revolutionary movement) on television, or on a poster, he would salute, puff out his chest and put on a serious expression as he proclaimed ‘My Commandante!’
If you were asked: what way would you have it?
You would laugh, like it is a game
¿Quién sabe, verdad?
you would say.
Somehow, for me, his presence embodied exactly Nicaragua’s past and present; the country’s nostalgia for what was, their revolution and reality of what is: a place which has seen peace since 1990, but where life for most people remains a sustained poverty, hard work and dreams. It was with all that he drove us up and down those roads. It was like that he became a poem.
Quotes are from the poem ‘The Ex-Revolutionary’. You can read the whole poem and other great poetry in Magma, Issue 60.
Tolouse and his similarly dressed crew, who call themselves the Commandos, are wearing outfits that, “kop to tail” (head to toe), cost up to $1,120 each. In South Africa, groups like this are called skhothanes, an adaptation of a Zulu word meaning “to lick” or “to boast.” The day’s occasion is similar to a dance-off, but the broader subculture it is a part of, known as izikhothane, is specific to the “born free” generation—those born at the end of apartheid—living in the townships of South Africa. Born-frees like Tolouse have no direct memory of a time when nonwhites lived in townships like Soweto by force instead of economic stagnation.
As they skhot (boast) about the names of the high-end Italian brands they’re sporting—Arbiter, Rossi Moda, Sfarzo—they never fail to mention the price tag, too. For young men living in a country where economic development hasn’t translated into what’s needed most—jobs for young people—skhothane culture is not just a way to stand out, but a way for young South Africans to move up in a society that offers them few options. While this social mobility may be more perceived than actual, one township local summed up their motivation nicely: “When they do what they do, absolutely no one can do it better. They feel like kings.”
Despite this evolution, headlines such as “Why Are Poor South African Teens Buying Expensive Clothes and Destroying Them?” still persist. Such stories follow a simple logic: Removed from the struggle of apartheid, these morally bankrupt and entitled youths ostensibly see no problem wasting the money that not long ago their parents would have barely been able to earn. These headlines imply a more loaded question: Why would anyone in Soweto spend their money on anything but getting out of Soweto?
Greg Potterton, managing director of Instant Grass, a Johannesburg-based agency that specializes in studying pockets of youth culture in Africa, says that in a place like Soweto—which is bordered by freeways and was designed during apartheid to be isolated—Tshepo’s local pride is often a product of circumstance. “When a lot of these kids are growing up, they really don’t have much option or aspirations to go anywhere else because they didn’t know about anything else,” Potterton says. “Then, you get reverse innovation happening: In the absence of luxury, creativity is born. Over time, it’s become a cooler place to be.”
From Soweto Style by Rosie J Spinks in Roads and Kingdoms