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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required [Poem read at Sekoto’s inhumation ceremony at the Neuilly-sur-Marne-93 Cemetery, near Paris. Channel 4 in London recorded the reading as they did the funeral rites in the presence of his close relatives come from afar for the nonce and based their documentary - as far as I can tell - on my lead cover article on the South African self-taught painter and musician Gérard SEKOTO, published in The Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. 2 (Paris), 1993. Both the article and the poem were re-published in my book on “poietics/la poïétique”, entitled: Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net, 2008, 214p. There ensued a general scramble for his canvasses at the Maison des Artistes where he was lodged in his declining years, and even the sketches he gave me for publication disappeared from my studio.] I Would that anger subside anger fed on pride pride of I against You who is right: I not YOU meum et tuum Some words hastily released on the verge of angry pride Tear from us a part of our flesh a part of our cells Leaving us lesser men forever pitted against the I in You forever wanting to be right I above You You may not - yes, now I know you didn't - have meant it Your words were stony arrows sunk in the mud of my hurt splitting even before they found the unintended target There may yet have lingered then a little bit of the malign in you That ultimate grace-saver in your embattled loneliness I didn't stop to think I had to show you I was hurt I didn't realise your hurt was legendary already formed and contorted in the aeons of darkness each in our indelible separateness Your age your despair your self-abandonment in the gorge of medicines in the crises that felled you careering through terrifying electric storms leaving you year after year worsted wiping duster-strokes of your memory clean I didn't stop to think II Your demise is the passing of an age is the passing of a people's pain unrequited In your veins you take with you a hundred years of hurts and slings of dismemberment and mindlessness of lost chances anguish and despair though driven into your lonesome corner upright against the inroads of a Rhodes or the pitted power of Buthelesis finding in the milling Seine in the plucky rhythms of an ebony-and-ivory keyboard in the hidden skeins of your eyes a pulse beating with the heart of downtrodden generations the infinitely pulsing look of defiance that ultimate refusal of defeat © T.Wignesan, March 29, 1993 [from the collection: back to background material, 1993] Pub. in Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. II (1993), Paris & Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net, 2008.
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