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Assefa Dibaba Poem
are you free, humanity, by power of love
or in chain by love of power or by lack of it?
a student of The School of Resentment asks…
back in time,
at such dominant spaces
called Shunganunga, here
or Hora Arsadi, Malka Atete, Tullu Nam Dur, there—
where points of above and below meet
where people went to fast to be alone with spirit
and where Natives preached to their youth
the “Seven-Generations Principle,”
that every Native should keep in mind:
whatever decision she or he was to make
in lifetime
would affect seven generations to come!
now, Puritans came,
and preached to the Natives:
that they came to “PACIFY,” to “CIVILIZE”
and that God gave them the land—
a safe haven to be free from EVIL!
those freedom fighters
sooner or later
banned the Natives’ right
and burned, slashed and killed buffaloes
cut down timbers, and disrupted nature!
now, Thomas Paine rose
and nailed the principle of independence
and, at the same time, engraved
the creed of Manifest Destiny
in the Common Sense:
that the coast to coast expansion
was justifiable and inevitable destiny!
now, Walt Whitman rose
and hailed “sex contains all!”
in his “A Woman Waits for Me”—
an ode to procreation or miscegenation
in which he strips
women of their independence
and Natives
of their self-assurance—
unlike his “Democratic Vistas”!
now, we have come too long a road
from “A Woman Waits for Me” of penis
from the “White Man’s Burden,”
to "The Vagina Monologue"
and to sing:
No society can be immune
to hypocrisy, social pretension, anarchism, oblivion,
until it refutes itself against its foundation values:
Manifest Destiny, Removal Act, Trail of Tears, Slavery,
and racism, the neo-Jim Crow—
going on everywhere and anywhere in disguise!
and to adhere to Democratic Principles!
in a society where economic freedom is at its center,
Individual Liberty, for the Individual
without Food without Shelter,
is virtually impossible, manifestly a lie—
or it is only politically correct!
now, before we go without going
it is time for us to learn new prayers
and thus the Pastor leads the prayer:
there is no Poor on this land
only the Rich and the not-so-Rich
we are all equal!
now we are not in jail or in chain
now we have a gun to fire
now, we can tear down Nature to see God’s face!
now, we embrace our Individualism
now, bless these couples:
he and he
she and she
we trust in GOLD!
here-and-now
hallelujah
amen!
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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Assefa Dibaba Poem
hey boys
hey girls
how is life in water?
the old fish asks
the young fish answers:
…good, same old shit
…good, just another day,…
they keep swimming
up stream
how is life in water for fish?...
thinks the fisherman,
who never talks
but stands on the shore
in the Autumnal rain,
looking at the dead
young fish
washed ashore
and casting his net wide
and wide
and thinking:
if youth knew
if age could…,
thinking, casting, and pulling
the net
he widely cast,
now trying
to narrow the net
he cast wide
but in vain!
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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Assefa Dibaba Poem
when Spring River recedes
we will break a ritual bread
together
the lover plans
I would rather build a fence
along the bank,
the woman swears
at the daybreak,
she calls a fence-builder
to have him build
a fence
between her farm
and her lover’s field
on Spring River
say by fate or by will
(or by divine intervention)
the fence builder builds
not a fence
but a bridge
over Spring River
the lover thought,
standing on the bridge:
bone-deep sorrows
can distill the soul
they don’t kill,
they harden and toughen
and cleanse and heal
the foul!
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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Assefa Dibaba Poem
the great speech
of great dictators
is
not so great...
listen,
either
they speak once to all
or
they speak all at once
and they mean
nothing at all!
dictators make wars
out of the blue
and talk
and and and and ...
they know
young men
love war
not because they hate peace
or they uphold patriotism
just as alternative to poverty
war is a method of escapism
for young men...
simply, the theory is this:
better to be
field-mouse
than house-mouse
during dictators'
unstoppable long speech:
while house-mouse
has to watch TV
sit and mourn,
field-mouse has got leisure
to play horn!
*____
hantuuta manaa mannaa
dalga-mureessa wayya
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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Assefa Dibaba Poem
three issues are at stake in poetry writing at present: first, whether or not we can write an emotionally charged (subjective) material/topic such as love (loving, not loving, not being loved), freedom, and justice effectively with artistic objectivity. This is more complicated by the notions of choices (and voices,) individual self-determinism, self-sufficiency, and individual sanctity over collectivism.
Voices say this: Humankind have Choices, Choices have Consequences, Consequences have Risk or Reward! It is those Voices (heard or unheard) and Choices (risk or reward) that make lines or volumes and make us who we are as Poets--living and dying with our Choices!*
Second, we poets are of a tender-heart, vulnerable, and victims to violent shifts of response and emotions that relationships bring to us. We are sensitive, however, so being, we are beneficiary of human benign neglect and gross oblivion around. We do a great deal out of something ignored as trivia!
Third, whether we poets are misfit in a misshapen society or we are misshapen at a misfit time, really I am not quite sure myself! But one thing I am certain about is this: the poet struggles with SOMETHING more than his/her own myth: to be able to see the relations of the unrelated, to curve out a creative originality, and to muse about if pleasurable pain (painful joy) is bearable and if living and loving truly is ever possible of to date! For no wrong life can be lived rightly!
Poet,
Less than that, what good is Poetry for?
*Listen to the Poet and Folksinger Leonard Cohen's "Choices"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBDKKFJuXos
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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Assefa Dibaba Poem
lover! lover! lover!
you think human heart
is an open page,
a requiem to be read
at leisure?
or you think it a black hole,
impenetrable thick darkness
to peep through?
what is essential to the heart
is invisible to the eye—
a reason that knows no reason—
LOVE
one can touch the depth of heart
by tracing the missing lyrics
by bracing the undying memories
you love with all your heart
although it gets broken often
you write cathartically hoping
it’ll get better somewhere down the road
like this desperately romantic lover
who charts the poetic landscape of lost love
in his "to whom it may concern":
my love,
back in the day when we first met,
I said this:
in my culture
a man is judged
by the size of his farm field
as by the number of his children
by the heads of cattle he owns
by the peace he makes
with gods, people, Nature
and with his personal chi—
ayana
my father had 10 children
(all without Viagra)
with two beautiful wives
I am the first-born
arrogant bastard
who chose to be a bard
than a farmer
and feels younger than the last-
born. hard to break
soft to please
and you said,
your love to me is
like the rain that always soaks
your love to me is
like the light that always shines…
and I saw
goodness in your eyes
eternity in our love
unsuspecting
the fragility of being human
in the rain
I tilled the land
I sowed seeds of our love
in the light
I tended the farm
I reaped with awe
the sheaves of its harvest
I carried home the stocks
thrashed, winnowed,
deposited the grain
I lived and loved
with sure sense of purpose!
of late, you grumbled:
now that the rain is gone
it is drought ever since
you don’t plow
our grain bank is empty
it is a wasteland
our land is laid fallow
when you left
you left without trace
and I said:
take the grace
take the grass
and the luck
with you
but your love
when you left it felt
a direct insult
to my sweet sweats
tilling, tilling the land
digging, digging the well
towing, towing the water
in those lonely nights
darkness crept in
one leg shorter than the other
smiling without a face
touching without a hand
the weather, now, after years,
is good all year long:
the fig tree you knew weak
thin and flaccid
has now grown fully
thick and hard and tall
in the yard
the rain rains and soaks the land
as water wets
the light shines and warms heart
as fire burns
not too cold, not too hot
just as ever!
lover! lover! lover!
can you see with your nose close to the mirror?
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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Assefa Dibaba Poem
patience
to wait
courage
to encounter
the unexpected
are two lessons in life
that I learnt
the hardest way
also I learnt
crafting
heroic perseverance
into dire life experience
from my father
also I learnt
to work hard
through
the vast and last
final way of fate
from my mother
also I learnt
from my people
creativity
diligence
personal integrity
redemptive power
of wisdom, oguma—
time was, time never is!
they say
father and mother
they generate LIFE
your culture
generates MEANING
that life
is
a ritualized
creation
of every day
reenacted through
countless mornings
days, evenings, and nights
that we are only aware of
the increasing value of time
in life
as it comes to pass
too soon
in a form of
ill health
bondage
age
exile
oblivion
or the inescapable fate—
DEATH.
if you don’t have
leisure, as a poet
freedom from work
to meditate
when you need to
and domestic stability
to sit and mediate
between the inner monster (SELF)
and the outsider rebel (POET)
and to dig into
your most deeply buried gems
all that is is futile
an offence of wasted life
it is this long process
of engagement in some Idea,
of unended quest for TRUTH
of a continuous exploration of SELF
of the way out of Entrapment
that they call CREATIVE LIFE—
that you two idiots are trapped in:
YOU and YOU—
the SELF and the POET!
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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Assefa Dibaba Poem
the old man sees a doctor:
I am sick
I am not sick
I am old…
how are you sick?
the doctor asks
see? why should I come
if I knew how I’m sick?
no seer asks the what or the how
I am sick
she knows it:
she tells what rituals to do
and to heal fast and last
I’d rather see a seer
and go home
and stretch my legs
to my coffin length…
he staggers to walk out
turns to the doctor
speaks to the patients
in the waiting room:
dead
or
dying
I am as alive
as many of the living!
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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Assefa Dibaba Poem
taken away by the flight
by the primacy of our own life process
we are all flies craving for honey
or we are pebbles—
washed but never get cleansed!
let us not be distracted by
the disappointment of
common human behavior
we have to accept, how things are
or rebel against
and so doing, we make it easy on us
or make it hard
the choice is ours
but both take the same labor:
when the going gets tough
the tough gets going—
our ordinary madness is real
we are all feeble, crabs at times:
rushing to escape out of the bucket
we are kept in eternally
we step on each other
pull down one another
caught in a stampede
and reach nowhere—
since we walk crabwise!
we are such an orderly chaos—
a gross ENTROPY!
let us listen to the voices
to the crescendo
and climax of nature
that speak the gods’ voice
let us listen
to the moaning and meaning
of love and light
making every single day and night
the voice that transcend
time and space
the voice that comes through
our shared wall of darkness
let us decenter
the dissonance of bad times
the mournful solitary nights
of hunger and sadness
the melancholic fearful days
let us not be distracted
by the disappointment
of common human behaviors,
flaws, greed, unbearable lightness of Being
let us act, let us make peace
let us live and let live in harmony—
half cooked half raw, as we are
let us toss and sip to the top—
sifa! sifa!
to the THANKSGIVING
in love and light…
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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Assefa Dibaba Poem
(another humanity)
let us withdraw
and sojourn in Nature
from this world
of labor and knowledge:
physical labor
destroys us
if we live to eat
knowledge
spoils us
if we fail to live
by what we know—
Nature redeems us!
like Halloween night children
let us tickle death
under the armpit
and laugh close to Nature
let us trick
the gods and goddesses
play hide and seek
fugitive to Nature:
for if we are ready or not
there “It” is coming!
let us sit
by the river of Life
watch
the meandering water
the crawling snake
the creeping vine
the sleeping rock
the roaring thunder
on the edge of the horizon
the flashing lightning
behind the mountain
and see eternity
in the grain of sand
let us come home
on the hilltop
and see
the coming shadow
of eaglet
soaring at a distance
the consuming beauty
of Being
that rises from the Earth
let us warm our cold
gross nonhumanness
feel the madness
battled within us
seen outside
let us return to the source
and pause and peep
through this window of the soul
to the unbounded expanse
beyond itself
beyond this humanity
is
another
humanity
across the burial mounds
of dead dynasties
dead empires
dead democrats
dead dictators
dead communists
dead fascists
near the shrines
of the living gods
and goddesses
is
another
humanity
called
NATURE.
Copyright © Assefa Dibaba | Year Posted 2015
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