from Gestuary

Mobilized
            For Louis Charlot and Birago Diop

By your scarred cheek  
on a dawn of war 
with one look they’d take you for
a son of Dougouba your mother 
Dougouba ah Dougouba
this female of frivolous verbosity 
with a downpour of gestures and eyes of a cat! 
She gave you a parting gift
of her dreams and a too-tight helmet
when you were about to ship out
No Dougouba-the-Loathsome didn’t hold you back
didn’t wish to 
But since when has this wicked mother-city 
denied
at the height of the storm
the shelter of her wings to her shivering children 
since when . . .  

Such an oblique horizon requires the artist to kneel
For your haggard face where an eyelid shines
looks down at the vague hilltop 
guarded only by you from shrapnel and wind 
For Dougouba mother of so so many 
each passing day weighs more on her chest
Let me finally sever
she trumpets
these breasts of mine and reveal
in her glory the archer of bygone days

Of course they’d come looking for
preferably
the I-can’t-wait-to-get-to-the-frontliners
and then also
the it’s-God’s-willers the I-can-shout-louder-than-yous
the naïve-no-see-ems  
the good-for-somethings the watch-me-nows and the nosey ones
In the end they left behind 
a few keep-on-the-sideliners 
a batch of I-bet-I-can-trick-the-tricksters
a crowd of who-other-than-me-who-I-ask-yous . . .
like you son of Dougouba
And Honey-Tongued your elder brother
comes to advise you at length 
Keïta! Stand your ground when you get the urge to run 
A glorious funeral awaits the one who falls in the thick of the fight
Your younger sibling was away

Ah but your twin sister 
like a cloudburst in the rainy season
would have blocked your way
saying shame can make for reckless acts Tiémoko that ruin family lines 
if she hadn’t fallen on the ritual field of honor
lacquered with her own blood
deserted by her female comrades in horror
who were ushered with fanfare into adulthood’s promise 
And Dougouba swooning under her fan
hiring the sorrow of three professional mourners
A good despair is hard to fake
eh Dougouba . . . And since when has her fulsome breast
wounded a mother’s chest 
since when . . .

A metallic gray sky unequally split
by the upright rifle hurting your shoulder
Jonquil piping adorns your sergeant’s greatcoat
Suddenly how hard it is for me to push the paintbrush! 
To place all my faith in the portrait
for truth be told it depends on me to exist 
And furthermore the gradations of gray 
painted in tender fine strokes
a delicate cameo of melancholies 

Hands deep in pockets
It’s just that this valley was freezing 
enough to congeal the blood! heart-splitting cold! Out of frame 
the mineral symmetry of graveyards from these parts
where grow the tendrils of a death
that no longer gives you pause 
But if God wants to lend you a second helping of life 
you’ll bring all your khaki just as it is
back home to Dougouba-the-Skeptical
See Mother touch again
this gray cloth edged in gold
I was I tell you part of this slaughter 
Dougouba ah Dougouba
full of deceit
digging six holes of virtue
only to fall into the seventh!

Let’s say He missed the chance to take back His due 
Here you are Tiémoko Keïta returned to the fold
your poor head full of wind and shrapnel
obsessed 
with building the asphalt road to somewhere 
And the little kids of Dougouba
your fathers’ beloved city 
seeing you flailing your wasted arms like a windmill in the harmattan 
gathered stones 
and snapped to attention while screaming
Sarzan!



The Warring Dead II

   Clairvoyants
Who came to fetch him do tell
At the start of a season he’d learn to know
(neither overwintering nor harmattan)
while he was hiding
in the mangrove trees of maybe
his spiritual twin beseeched him
to still resist
the gnawing pain
the gravity of time . . .
Who and for what reason . . .

Let’s follow his lurching stretcher
Observe the twists and turns of its course
And we shall find out we shall find out

   Departed One
Peace only peace!
No one came to fetch me
no It’s just that with each passing day
the desire to return to my shadow
grew and grew 
No one refuses their grave
no one refuses their time

   Clairvoyants
When she suddenly came back from Punt 
garishly made up and perfumed with strange inflections 
do you remember 
Voices also grow older
(you nervously offered)
But she struck your mouth
with her five fingers Be glad I stopped by
I’m not here to stay
Who had come to fetch your voice . . .
Who and for what reason . . .

Let’s follow your lurching stretcher
Observe the twists and turns of its course
And we shall find out we shall find out

   Departed One
Peace and only peace!
The earth isn’t fire
whoever jumps into it has no other leap to make
So take away a sacrifice on my behalf
I don’t want to arrive empty-handed
no one refuses their grave
no one refuses their time

   Clairvoyants
Sol sol G-sharp do you hear the heavy sound
of your death now announced
or will you remain deaf to our loud distress . . .
I hear enough to recognize the song
of your step (were you trying to bargain) while
she found the effects of her silence amusing 
on your face eager for answers
Who had taken away your ear . . .
(who and for what reason)—
the stranger won’t have to make it known

Let’s follow your lurching stretcher
observe the twists and turns of its course
and we shall find out we shall find out

   Departed One
Peace my friends my brothers only peace
For sure I was nothing more than a statue of ash
and my spiritual twin in their humid realm
was lamenting my destiny
But out of love I’ll wrap up the ember
refusing neither my grave
nor my time

   Clairvoyants
And who had come to fetch your eyes
(what eater-of-souls and for what reason)
more piercing than those of the child
accustomed to visiting the other side . . .
When she cracked the door open crying with laughter:
learn to picture me in your mind for I’m going away and betraying you
Vision wears out as the years go by you screamed
feeling your spoiled eyelid scorch
under the cold flame of your love of former days 
Thus came your night your grave and your time

We’ve followed your lurching stretcher
observed the twists and turns of its course
and we found out we found out

   Departed One
Alas peace and the wake of war 
are brothers from the same father
Surrender me to the invisibles for
I’m not a warring dead
Here’s my marked grave and also my time
Have pity! So hands off my stretcher
Peace only peace



Awe-Struck 

Will you turn around now and not peek . . .
she’d squawk with her back to the room
that got so cold
once night had fallen 
annoyed as much
by the cramped quarters
the impossible distance
And her summit of snow
was suddenly lit by the storm
and her gray moraines
began to shudder under the northwest wind
She would then unclasp her seven breasts of stone 
How I would have loved to climb them! 
She’d release her bellies
which hurtled down her flanks
How their slopes enchanted me!
Then there was the ivy
which clung  
to her marbled thigh
and swirled
in blue arabesques
down to the grassy instep
where her stocking was rolled

How else to embrace
the body that piece by piece collapses
to seize the gallop of time
shod in ice
across the great roads of flesh . . .

On the pretext of dawn’s first glimmer
to sneak early!
between her scratchy sheets right
under the blessed fronds fading on the wall 
Her hip was soft and her shoulder gentle
and my smitten foot grew warm between hers
Eager for my latest news
over the past one seven thirteen days 
do you realize did you know . . .
then she in the half-light would delight in trading  
a night of portents 
for my little secrets
And she who said she had none 
except for the foolish extent
to which she missed me  
became a peninsula
on this tiny tidal bore of joys and sorrows  

She’d rise like the weather
all of a sudden turning brighter
but still a bit clouded
In a whirlwind she’d put on 
a wilted rock garden and three groves 
a stream as a belt 
She’d pause and wonder 
if this heather would clash
with the low-cut neckline of her blue ravines 
Her intuitive grasp of the texture’s
empire and defeat
she’d hide and wouldn’t reveal
And so fervent her knowledge of falling flesh 
and so staunch her resolve to still raise herself up!
Then she’d tower over me with her look of tender granite
She’d say poor! and I’d understand dear!
we got along