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Archive for December, 2010

I cycled past my old house yesterday, now reduced to another national housing pile of rubble. A sorry pile of broken bricks and a mess of wires, like dead snakes that were too slow to escape. Another home of memories now removed from the physical to the abstract.

But for now i remember the terracotta tiles beneath my feet, the frangipani view from the tiny balcony, the accumulated cutlery of past tenants, the rusty ceiling fan’s squeak, the erratic lights in the hallway, the intricate shapes formed by peeling paint and my gorgeously cool mornings insulated by thick old walls and doors.

I don’t even have a photo of the place, but at least the fabulous sign just down the road survives…

chai

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rattexIt is a strange irony, how I, the poet of provision, the builder of beauty, am deemed unworthy of my own creation. They run me out of town, and I go: what is a mere artist to do in the face of brutality?

excerpt two from ‘I am machinga’ by Hafiz Juma, soon to be published in Street Level the elusive book…watch this space (well, glance at it occasionally in the next few weeks for more information)

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