Wednesday, May 24, 2006
A poet and he doesn't even know it...
that's our Max, also known as "Wreckless" to some.
I'm sitting in the office, reading through some blogs (during my lunchbreak, I assure you) and happen to be on Max's mate from Richards Bay's blog, SeamanRbay, when I page back to Max's blog and hit the refresh button.
Up comes the page, with a new poem as the first article, written just after Max has had another bitching session with the ether (otherwise known as IBM) where everything just disappears into a big blue hole.
Earlier today I asked Max in a comment to one of his postings where his latest poem was, as we hadn't seen one for a while. And fuck me if there wasn't one waiting for me when I refreshed the page.
Some of you may have seen some of his poems previously, but this is one you just have to read...it is his most powerful yet. As I mentioned, I'm sitting in the office, and as I read this piece of art I get a tear in my eye, I kid you not.
It is both provocative and evocative, true to each and every word. Perhaps Max has just hit on the reason why I'm still here after 37 years...my soul is owned by Mama Afrika.
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4 comments:
Must be an African thing, Steven - poems which start off with talk of 'Negroid slime' don't do much for me in general.
Of course it could be argued that I may well just not understand the tensions that lead to people using that kind of language, but for me 'powerful' gets swallowed up whole by 'racist'.
Right on. But, are you sure those henious crimes you pointed out to me are really the work of white's?
Salagatle!
Eh yes - their names and pictures are in the paper - and they're white to a man.
Sad.... very very sad.
Salagatle!
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