Stray Truths: Selected Poems of Euphrase Kezilahabi

by Giorgione di Castel Chiuso (Editor)

Overview

Stray Truths is a stirring introduction to the poetry of Euphrase Kezilahabi, one of Africa’s major living authors, published here for the first time in English. Born in 1944 on Ukerewe Island in Tanzania (then the Territory of Tanganyika), Kezilahabi came of age in the newly independent nation. His poetry confronts the task of postcolonial nation building and its conundrums, and explores personal loss in parallel with nationwide disappointments. Kezilahabi sparked controversy when he published his first poetry collection in 1974, introducing free verse into Swahili. His next two volumes of poetry (published in 1988 and 2008) confirmed his status as a pioneering and modernizing literary force. Stray Truths draws on each of those landmark collections, allowing readers to encounter the myriad forms and themes significant to this poet over a span of more than three decades. Even as these poems jettison the constraints of traditional Swahili forms, their use of metaphor connects them to traditional Swahili poetics, and their representational strategies link them to indigenous African arts more broadly. To date, translations of Swahili poetry have been focused on scholarly interpretations. This literary translation, in contrast, invites a wide audience of readers to appreciate the verbal art of this seminal modernist writer.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781611861822
Publisher:	Michigan State University Press
Publication date:	11/01/2015
Pages:	126
Product dimensions:	5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.50(d)

About the Author

Annmarie Drury is Assistant Professor of English at Queens College of the City University of New York.

Read an Excerpt

Stray Truths

Selected Poems of Euphrase Kezilahabi

---

By Annmarie Drury

Michigan State University Press

Copyright © 2015 Annmarie Drury
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61186-182-2

---

CHAPTER 1

From Kichomi (1974)

    Utangulizi

    Mtu yeyote akiniuliza
    Kwa nini vina mizani,
    Situmii na mistari na
    Beti sitoshelezi.
    Nitamwambia: Rafiki
    Kuna njia nyingi za kwenda
    Bustanini.
    Lakini kama mtu yule yule
    Kunizoza akiendelea na kuniambia
    Njia niliyoitumia ni mbaya,
    Nitamwambia:
    Rafiki, twende nyumbani kwangu
    Kwa mguu, na nyumbani kwangu
    Tukifika jaribu kunifunza
    Kutembea.


    Introduction

    If anyone asks me
    why, as for rhymes and meter,
    I don't use them and why, as for lines
    and stanzas, they don't add up,
    I'll say to him: Friend
    there are many ways of going
    to the garden.
    But if that same person
    keeps on nagging and telling me
    my way is a bad one,
    I'll say:
    Friend, let's go to my house
    on foot, and at my house —
    when we arrive — try then to teach me
    walking.


    Uvuaji wa Samaki Victoria

    Jana asubuhi ufukoni niliona watu
    Wenye nguvu, wasohuruma, na walafi wakiimba
    Na kuvuta kitu kirefu kutoka majini.
    Uzitocho ulionekana kuwataka mashindano.
    Hata hivyo walivuta tu.
    Kwa nguvu zaidi sasa.
    Niliweza kuhesabu meno yao.
    Sijaona mashindano makali ya kamba kama haya
    Kati ya wenye damu ya joto na wa baridi.
    Mwishowe watoto wa Adamu walishinda,
    Na Neptune aliacha mashindano,
    Maana walikuwa na choyo kisimfano!
    Baada ya kutolewa katika utawala wao, mamia
    Walikuwa sasa wamelala mchangani
    Wakirukaruka huku na huko
    Ili kuepa mionzi mikali ichomayo.
    Lakini wapi — walishtakiwa kwa kuchafua maji ya kunywa.
    Na kwa kudanganywa na mmelemeto wa pesa,
    Wadhalimu, waliwahukumu chunguni.
    Niliondoka.
    Saa kumi na moja nilikwenda tena kuogelea.
    Wale watu walikuwapo bado, nusu uchi!
    Walikuwa wakivuta tena!
    "Tunafanya hivi mara tatu nne kwa siku," walisema.
    Hapo peke yangu nilisimama, kwa hasira yenye huruma
    Nikiomboleza na kuwalilia
    Waombolezi wa wazamao
    Na walimu wa uogeleaji.


    Fishing at Lake Victoria

    Yesterday morning I saw people at the shore —
    strong people, pitiless and greedy, singing
    and pulling something long from the water,
    the heaviness of which seemed to challenge them.
    Even so, they pulled —
    harder now.
    I could count their teeth.
    I've never seen such a fierce tug-of-war
    between the warm-blooded and the cold.
    In the end, the children of Adam triumphed,
    and Neptune gave up the fight,
    for they were greedy beyond measure.
    Lifted into their control, thousands
    were lying now on the sand,
    flailing this way and that
    to escape the harsh rays piercing them.
    Impossible — they'd been charged with dirtying the drinking water.
    And for being tricked by the gleam of coins,
    the despots sentenced them to the cooking pot.
    I left.
    At five, I went back to swim.
    Those people were still there, half naked!
    They were fishing again!
    "We do this three, four times a day," they said.
    I stood there alone in compassionate anger,
    sorrowing and crying
    for those left behind to mourn the divers
    and the teachers of swimming.


    Ukweli

    Aliyepiga kelele kijinga
    Watu wakamcheka wakaudhika
    Au kutetemeka na kufikiri
    Mda wake hakupoteza
    Hata kama aliuawa kama mnyama.

    Tazama. Panya waliojifia kijinga
    Katika mji wa Oran
    Walileta baa kitisho
    Watu vichwa wakainama
    Wakingoja shoka juu ya shingo kushuka.

    Tazama. Wapiga kelele ndio
    Walioanzisha dini au mapinduzi.
    Ukweli huja umekunjiwa
    Ndani ya ngozi nzito ya ujinga
    Huonekana baada ya mda mrefu wa kuchimba.


    Truth

    Everyone laughed and felt annoyed
    at the person foolishly making a racket
    or trembled and thought about what he said.
    He wasn't wasting his time
    even if he was slaughtered like an animal.

    Look. The mice who sacrificed themselves foolishly
    in the city of Oran
    brought a terrible pestilence.
    People lowered their heads
    waiting for the axe to fall on their necks.

    Look. The ones making a racket are indeed
    founders of religion or of revolution.
    Truth comes folded up
    inside heavy layers of foolishness
    visible only after long investigation.


    Namagondo

    Nakumbuka Namagondo mahali nilipozaliwa.
    Yako wapi tena mawele, mawele tuliyopiga
    Leo hapa, kesho pale, kesho kutwa kwa jirani?
    Viko wapi viazi vitamu vilivyo washinda walaji
    Shambani vikajiozea kwa kutokuwa na bei?
    Nalilia Namagondo kijiji nilipozaliwa.

    Iko wapi tena pamba tuliyovuna kwa wingi
    Vyumba vikajaa, watu tukavihama!
    Nawakumbuka wanawake wenye nyingi shanga,
    Karibu na barabara wakikoga kisimani.
    Na hapa pembeni, watu wanavuna mpunga.
    Uko wapi tena mpunga uliokitajirisha watu?

    Hapa kwa mzee Mbura, pale kwa mzee Mfunzi
    Jiraniye ni Kahunda, pale mzee Magoma
    Karibu yake, mzee Nabange, pale mzee Lugina
    Sasa wote wamekwenda waliokiongoza kijiji.
    Miji mingine imevunjika, watoto wajihamia
    Wameanza kufarakana kwa kujijengea miji!

    Yaliyobaki, sasa ni yao makaburi
    Huko mbali mwituni au karibu na barabara;
    Katika kaburi la Misioni, kwenye vichuguu vingi
    Na pale walipolala twaogopa kupita usiku!
    Nalilia Namagondo mahali nilipozaliwa
    Mahali nilipozaliwa kati ya ardhi na mbingu.

    Wako wapi wafuasi wa Muganga Gholita
    Na yako wapi mashindano ya zetu kubwa ngoma?
    Zimebaki sasa Mbugutu ngoma za ulevini!
    Uko wapi mto Nabili uliokuwa ukifurika
    Watu wakashindwa kuvuka wakasubiri utulie
    Sasa umeanza kukauka, kazi kueneza kichocho!

    Naikumbuka michezo yetu myeleka tuliyopiga
    Visogo vikilamba mchanga sote tukishangilia
    Bali tukiicheza na kamali kuchanganya.
    Mafahali tukiyapiganisha, kelele tukazipiga
    Jasho likitutoka Nabili tulijiogea
    Zimebaki sasa ni hadithi kuwasimulia watoto.

    Wanakijiji wenzangu isikieni sauti ya leo:
    Nyota zenu, zimeanza kuzimika.
    Jua nalo, sasa latoa mwanga hafifu.
    Mtungi wenu wa bahati chini unatazama
    Kwani udongo wenu rutuba hauna tena:
    Wakoloni waliufaidi siku zile za zama.

    Yasikieni ya wataalam kwenu walioletwa
    Sahauni, ule wimbo wa zamani.
    Zingatieni ya mbolea na ujamaa vijijini.

    Nakumbuka Namagondo mahali nilipozaliwa
    Nakililia kijiji mahali nilipozaliwa
    Mahali nilipozaliwa chini ya Jua na nyota.


    Namagondo

    I remember Namagondo, the place I was born.
    Where is the millet we pounded,
    today here, next day there, the day after at the neighbor's place?
    Where are the sweet potatoes so delicious they stunned their eaters,
    that spoiled on the farm, fetching no price then?
    I cry for Namagondo, the village where I was born.

    Where is the cotton we harvested in plenty?
    Rooms filled with it, and people had to move out.
    I remember women wearing an abundance of beads
    bathing at the spring near the road.
    And here to the side people are harvesting rice.
    Where is the rice that made people wealthy?

    Here is Mr. Mbura's place, there Mr. Mfunzi's —
    his neighbor is Kahunda — there Mr. Magoma's
    and near him Mr. Nabange, over there Mr. Lugina's place.
    Now they've all gone, who used to lead the village.
    Some compounds are derelict; the children have moved.
    They've begun to estrange themselves, building their own places.

    What remains now are their graves,
    far off in the forest or close to the road;
    in the mission's mausoleum, among the many termite mounds.
    And where they slept we're afraid to pass at night.
    I cry for Namagondo, where I was born,
    where I was born between earth and sky.

    Where are the disciples of Muganga Gholita, the poet,
    and where are our great dance competitions?
    What remains now is Mbugutu, the dance of drunkenness!
    Where is the Nabili River, then so full
    that people couldn't cross until its currents settled?
    It's drying up now and spreading sickness.

    I remember the boxing matches we had,
    all of us cheering the knockdowns.
    We played bali and gambling games.
    We set bulls fighting and made tremendous noise.
    When we were sweaty, we swam in the Nabili.
    What remains now are stories to tell children.

    Fellow villagers, listen to the voice of today:
    Our stars are going out,
    and the sun's radiance is weaker now.
    Your lucky water pot looks at the ground
    because it misses your rich soil.
    The colonists enjoyed it in days long past.

    Listen to the experts who were brought to you.
    Forget that old song.
    Consider matters of fertilizer, of socialism in the villages.

    I remember Namagondo, where I was born.
    I cry for the village, the place I was born,
    where I was born under sun and stars.


    Wimbo wa Mlevi

    Kama Mungu angewauliza wanadamu
    Wanataka kuwa nani kabla ya kuzaliwa
    Hilo ndilo lingekuwa swali gumu maishani.
    Na watu wangeishi kujutia uchaguzi wao.
    Mume angejutia hali yake na mke asingetaka kuwa mke
    Mtawala na kabwela, mrefu na mfupi
    Mweusi na maji ya kunde, mwembamba na mnene
    Wote wangetamani kuwa kinyume cha walivyo.
    Sijui nani angekuwa nani.
    Lakini mimi mlevi ningependa kuwa ye yote
    Mradi tu niruhusiwe kunywa pombe yangu.

    Hapo nyumbani kwa baba Madaka hamjambo!
    Ni usiku mi napita nakwenda zangu!


    The Drunk's Song

    If God were to ask people
    before birth who they'd like to be
    this would be life's hard question.
    And people would live to regret their choices.
    The husband would lament his state, and the wife wouldn't want to be a wife.
    The ruler and the ordinary person, the tall one and the short,
    the black and the tawny as water dyed by the brown bean,
    the thin and the fat — everyone
    would long to be the opposite of what they are.
    I don't know who would be who.
    But I, the drunk, would be glad to be anyone
    provided only that I be allowed my beer.

    Hello there in Mr. Madaka's house — are you fine?
    It's night and I'm headed out on my way!

(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from Stray Truths by Annmarie Drury. Copyright © 2015 Annmarie Drury. Excerpted by permission of Michigan State University Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---

Table of Contents

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS,
TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION,
From Kichomi (1974),
Utangulizi,
Introduction,
Uvuaji wa Samaki Victoria,
Fishing at Lake Victoria,
Ukweli,
Truth,
Namagondo,
Namagondo,
Wimbo wa Mlevi,
The Drunk's Song,
Mto Nili,
The Nile River,
Mgomba,
Banana Tree,
Kuchambua Mchele,
Sorting the Rice,
Dhamiri Yangu,
Consciousness,
Tatizo,
Problem,
Wimbo wa Kunguni,
The Bedbug's Song,
Kumbukumbu 1,
Remembrance 1,
Kumbukumbu 2,
Remembrance 2,
Kisu Mkononi,
Knife in Hand,
Fungueni Mlango,
Open the Door,
From Karibu Ndani (1988),
Chai ya Jioni,
Evening Meal,
Azimio,
Resolution,
Ngoma ya Kimya,
Silent Dance,
Karibu Ndani,
Welcome Inside,
Wao Pia Walicheza,
They Too Danced,
Mbegu,
The Seed,
Nondo,
Moth,
Waliozaliwa,
Those Who Were Born,
Kifo cha Mende Wekundu,
The Death of Red Cockroaches,
Kilio Kijijini,
A Cry in the Village,
Matumaini,
Hope,
Namagondo II,
Namagondo II,
Kuishi,
Living,
Neno,
The Word,
From Dhifa (2008),
Mafuriko,
Flood,
Jibwa,
Dog,
Kuwako,
Being Here,
Marahaba,
Reception,
Nani na Nani ni Nani?,
Who Plus Who Is Who?,
Wimbo wa Unyago,
Initiation Song,
Nani Kaua!,
Look at the Killer!,
Kupatwa kwa Jua,
Solar Eclipse,
Namagondo III,
Namagondo III,
Kuishi Kwajitembeza,
Living Walks Itself Around,
Hatima ya Watu,
An Ending for the People,
Tena na Tena,
Again and Again,
Mlokole,
Christian Revivalist,
Uzi,
Thread,
Ukweli-Koko,
Stray Truth,
Embe-Roho,
Mango-Spirit,
Upole wa Mkizi,
Gentleness of the Cuttlefish,
Muungano,
Union,
Hoja,
Statement,
Pa!,
Pa!,

Editorial Reviews

Drury’s translations are as elegant as they are accurate. Her selections include Kezilahabi’s most well-known works as well as poems that illustrate trends in his work and that appealed to both the poet and the translator. Drury’s perceptive introduction should be read by all translators and all students of African literatures.”
—Ann Biersteker, Assistant Director, African Studies Center, Michigan State University

From the Publisher