PRAISE-SONG TO THE RIVER-BIRD.
It is now nine days since the passing of John Pepper Clark-Bekederemo, J.P Clark for short. He was a Nigerian poet of repute. His poems are usually terse but pregnant with meaning. His imageries are poignant, bringing the reader to experience both the tone and tune of each line of the poem. I first met him in a literature textbook at Jibril Martin High School in our literature class. His poem, Abiku became a mantra for us-Deji Ogunbamowo (our Head Boy), Sodiq Yahyah and my humble self. We munched the lines with relish as though they were beancakes fried with palmoil and with the right proportion of sauce.
He employed the placative tone; an appeal perhaps from an older member of the family on behalf of the sorrowful mother to the Abiku child who is bent on torturing her with his repeated returns.
You find in the poem imageries peculiar to fishing in the riverine area of Niger Delta. Words like fishes, rack, thatch are suggestive of this and they are also a pointer to the humble and ordinary life of the people in that area.
Then I came in contact with Night Rain a poem that delves into the damaging effect of rain at night in a poor neighborhood. The rain became an usurper of sound sleep causing the narrator to tell how his poor mother moves her vats, baskets and all away from the run of water because the rain has found a leaking path of escape in the thatched roof.
It was at the University of Ibadan, The Department of English where other poems of this great poet found their way into our reading list. We read Stream side Exchange, Fulani Cattle and others. I was a member of The Poetry Club then and we composed a poem for J.P when he and his wife Ebun Clark paid us a visit. We performed the poem at the quadrangle while J.P and others were seated at the slab or so beside the stairs leading to the department of English. I have kept a copy of the poem which was a combination of our voices. First among which was Mann Nwoke Anderson, a Classicist and an art enthusiast, Ọlayiwọla Samuel Babalọla, my course mate and our leader, we also had two of our Juniors with us, Ronke Abioye (nee Adebayo), Ọmọlola Sanusi oluwole and myself. We titled it :
PRAISE-SONG TO THE RIVER-BIRD
(for J.P Clark-Bekederemo)
Watch the restless streams
Lap the edges of the bank
From where the breast of the earth
Poke, standing firm like those of maiden
In a ritual dance
Perhaps, stepping in consonance
With the rhythm of the Agbor dancer
Thou wise old bard
weaving worlds with words
These several seasons
Now, the snail is out of the shell
Season's sonorous seer soared on wings of words
Let the universe feast in this festival of metaphors.
From these mount of the gods
A certain immortal thrived making songs
Midnight slowly slaughters the sky
Offspring of mother Kiagbodo
Sword in the larynx of the sun
Can you still look the sun in the eye?
Hear the cries of kindred spirits
Lost amidst these tribal noises
Midnight has crossed the sky
Bekederemo,
Many are the casualties
Many are the communal call
Tyrants coming and going these several seasons.
THE POETRY CLUB
UNIVERSITY OF IBADAN
23rd March, 2010.
In my Creative Writing class I did what I call a remix of Ibadan by J.P Clark as part of my submission for the semester examination. While his version describes the haphazard housing manner in Ibadan with its rusted roofs, mine go back in time to the ancient times observing the transformation of Ibadan from the ancient to the modern times. See the differences:
Ibadan
running splash of rust
and gold-flung and scattered
among seven hills like broken
China in the sun.
By J.P Clark.
Mine
Ibadan
(An) ancient empire
Of great and mighty warlords,
Broken and scattered
Into a complex modern city
Prodigal for dross and gold
carelessly hinged among seven hills.
My friend and fellow poet, Romeo Oriogun expressed his displeasure at the remix of this sacred masterpiece. His words still lie on my timeline:
lol.... there are poems you don't touch. you just remixed a masterpiece, it almost made me cry. Its a crime man. a big crime.
I still chuckle at his words while also agreeing with him that some poems and any work of art at that are just masterpieces, any imitation of it will look like committing a sacrilege. In another case, poets learn the art of poetry by imitation before finding their individual voices.
I will close this historical archive with a new poem I composed after J.P's passing. It is titled A Song for Bekederemo. Enjoy it.
A SONG FOR BEKEDEREMO
Let these flowery words
be the fishing boat
transporting you to the creeks of Kiagbodo.
I have kept your words
Knitted like raffia mats
on rooftops shielding my hut
against the rain of ignorance.
Your words are heavy
like bags full of cowries
valuable and timeless,
only fools will trifle with them.
You sang many songs
a lifetime will take us to master
even if we live forever and ever
we will learn and re-learn
the juicy nutrients in the lines
condensed and minted with meanings.
You have long beaten the warning gong
and still we count casualties
because, like forgetful children
We grope in the beam of lights
I pray your sojourn survive currents
and the trappings of murky waters.
Greet Okigbo and don't forget Achebe
Soyinka sends his love and I,
the emissary bearing this sacrifice
send you my FAREWELL.
Thank you for reading and for your support. I am your humble companion in this journey of words,
Julius Topohozin.
