As Long As Trees Take Root in the Earth

and Other Poems

Alain Mabanckou, Nancy Naomi Carlson

• Editore: Seagull Books
• Anno: 2021
• ISBN:
  9780857429179
• Argomento: Letteratura
• Categoria: Poesia

A hopeful, music-infused poetry collection from Congolese poet Alain Mabanckou. These compelling poems by novelist and essayist Alain Mabanckou conjure nostalgia for an African childhood where the fauna, flora, sounds, and smells evoke snapshots of a life forever gone. Mabanckou's poetry is frank and forthright, urging his compatriots to no longer be held hostage by the civil wars and political upheavals that have ravaged their country and to embrace a new era of self-determination where the village roosters can sing again.These music-infused texts, beautifully translated by Nancy Naomi Carlson and supported by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, appear together in English for the first time. In these pages, Mabanckou pays tribute to his beloved mother, as well as to the regenerative power of nature, and especially of trees, whose roots are a metaphor for the poet's roots, anchored in the red earth of his birthplace. Mabanckou's yearning for the land of his ancestors is even more poignant because he has been declared persona non grata in his homeland, now called Congo-Brazzaville, due to his biting criticism of the country's regime. Despite these barriers, his poetry exudes hope that nature's resilience will lead humankind on the path to redemption and reconciliation.

I

WHEN THE ROOSTER ANNOUNCES

THE DAWN OF ANOTHER DAY . . .

it’s midnight

shrews and pangolins

already roam the banks

of the Loukoula

death is moaning in dens

thickets of silence

suddenly stir

my torch has gone out

I’m haunted by words

I can’t wait to complete

this tale

before the break of day

now the eyes shut halfway

dreams are diverted

as soon as you drift off

towards the shores of that childhood

you lug around

like a shell scrubbed clean

by marine salts

borders go astray

I remember streams

manganese

Mayombe forest

Congo River

backbone of the homeland

you think you are writing

for relief

and you realize that words

incubate scars

of unfulfilled moments

the shadow precedes the hand

the extinguished light

finds the murmur again

of death-vigil nights

long is the distance

that’s the only way

people can value

the path

don’t forget

without birds

without trees

without rivers

no forest exists

how long

will sand keep the imprint

now that

in shadows

September winds blow

what will we have left

wind

the shadow of a land

the flutter of a day

lost ‘in the swallow’s beak’

we’ll still have the dew

of a passionate morning

congealed sap

the shadows’ song

in the screech owl’s throat

the sneering of macaques

in banana fields

each day

each night

I learn about the share of guilt

buried in the ground

the dead look away

beyond the hills

giant silhouettes lie in wait for me

and demand atonement for crimes

committed by my own kind

how do I know that the wind

whispers the truth

how do I know that dead grass

doesn’t collude with the drought

how do I know that death

clad in tattered clothes

no longer lurks behind enclosures

I blame my share of serenity

just as I blame my lack of tranquility

seeking in vain

a centre of gravity

I tell the wind to remove the stench

of rot

I tell the sun to illuminate

groves

I apologize

for the sake of the night

for the sake of those unable to speak

for the sake of carved-up lands

but there is the wound

the tree bark of the moment

the fatigue of its boughs

hope planted

at the start of a dried-up day

the wound that opens

the morning’s taut skin

the swa...