Four poems by Dambudzo Marechera

The Bar-Stool Edible Worm

I’m against everything
Against war and those against
War. Against whatever diminishes
Th’ individual’s blind impulse.

Shake the peaches down from
The summer poem, Rake in ripe
Luminosity; dust; taste. Lunchtime
News – pass the Castor Oil, Alice.

There’s a Dissident in the Election Soup!

I have no ear for slogans
You may as well shut up your arse
I run when it’s I LOVE YOU time
Don’t say it I’ll stick around
I run when it’s A LUTA time
I run when it’s FORWARD time
Don’t say it we’ll fuck the whole night
The moon won’t come down
At first awkwardly, excruciatingly embarrassing
But with Venus ascending, a shout and leap of joy

When the sheets are at last silent
Don’t ask “What are you thinking?”
Don’t ask “Was it good?”
Don’t feel bad because I’m smoking
They ask and feel bad who are insecure
Who say after the act “Tell me a story”
And you may as well know
Don’t talk of “MARRIAGE” if this reconciliation
is to last.

Did You Ask What’s Wrong with War?

There are no wrong words, right?
There are no wrong trees, right?
There is no wrong sand, right?
I’ve slept the world in freely
underwear
Dreamed I buggered all the little boys
who are future leaders
Fucked all the funny little girls made of
thatch and ghandy
My anarchist arse has shat on society
And LOOK millions of open flies
are homing in on your wide-open lips.

Comrade Dracula Joins the Revolution: A
Wedding of Minds

For something to do let’s forever walk this
Circle they call marriage (forever presumes neither
Beginning nor end) The rigmarole of vows is over.
Remember god allows himself the freedom to be the
        centre
Of a circle whose circumference is everywhere (What
Cynicism!)  With caution & luck we too can be the image
Of him.  Love like history is bunk.  Hence let your
        attractions range
Free – I have no such intentions with humans at least.
You in this world will dally to surfeit
While I with the dead whose tombs are my brothels
Will oil passion’s stiff joints.  Do not be alarmed:
As they say A LUTA CONTINUA even beyond the
        serried graves.

fotografia de Bamba, Luanda

Translation: José Pinto de Sá

by Dambudzo Marechera
Mukanda | 14 January 2011 | Dambudzo Marechera

by Dambudzo Marechera

Dambudzo Marechera .

Rusape (1952) - Harare (1987), Zimbabwe. In his novella, The House of Hunger (1978), and interviews, Marechera often falsely suggests that his father was either run over by "a 20th century train" or "came home with a knife sticking from his back" or "was found in the hospital mortuary with his body riddled with bullets". Such incorrect accounts may be part of Marechera's penchant to revise even the "facts" of his own life. German researcher, Flora-Veit Wild seems to give too much weight to an account given by Marechera's older brother, Michael about the destructive element in the younger Marechera's life. Michael suggests that Dambudzo was a victim of their mother's muti, implying that he was cursed in some way. Interestingly, when Marechera returned from London and was made writer-in-residency at the University of Zimbabwe, his mother and sisters attempted to come and meet him but he rejected them offhand, accusing the mother of trying to kill him. Still, it is known that Marechera never even made an effort to meet with any member of his family until he died.

He grew up amid racial discrimination, poverty, and violence. He attended St. Augustine's Mission, Penhalonga, where he clashed with his teachers over the colonial teaching syllabus, the University of Rhodesia (now University of Zimbabwe), from which he was expelled during student unrest, and New College, Oxford, where his unsociable behaviour and academic dereliction led to another expulsion.

In his short career he published a book of stories, two novels (one posthumously), a book of plays, prose, and poetry, and a collection of poetry (also posthumous).

BUALA

Four poems by Dambudzo Marechera

by Dambudzo Marechera