The story of these poets and their poetry...
(spoken making the speaker)
by: Maskrull sithole
“We the bread we ate. when in the pits of our stomachs we felt all that yeast soon to erupt on us.
I am guilty to have listened, let me share the guilt. I am a loner in my words and I heard death
Is even lonelier, I have seen it in your eyes and i am sure you not that much cold a person.”
-self
Poet and his poetry...
It’s later than ten in the evening and this poet over here had just finished cooking, that being the life for guys renting bachelor flats, the lack of schedule in doing things and the relaxing calm of knowing that whatever it is, it will be done eventually. A tendency that a lot of my guy friends have picked up from back in the universities they attended as they lived at the student residents there.
We had been watching videos of JP Cooper , a guitar playing artist who i have to agree, that ever since my being introduced to his works, I was transformed a follower, in fact I was the one watching these videos from the laptop, this poet was rather consumed in his blackberry, exploiting his blackberry internet service(BIS) to the full, I can only assume he had been on and off facebook simultaneously checking on his chats on Whatssup(a beautiful means to keep in contact with your circle of people at an affordable rate, a counter instant messaging against blackberry messenger BBM)
Refugee Native Fox Wazania
I first ask him “what is the meaning behind your name” , to this he chuckles and tells me “there’s no meaning” to which I quickly try to rebottle by asking again assertively this time around “why refugee, do you feel a refugee in your own country?” and to this, with his eyes still glued on his phone, the answer is “yes, because I am black” he has about a smirk on his face as he says this. He continues and add saying “waAzania, waAzania is the land after the revolution. I don’t belong to South Africa”. To make sure that I follow I, I feel it necessary to probe on his statement by asking a confirming question, “ so you belong to the land as opposed to South Africa?” and the answer is “yes” with a smile. I couldn’t get to ask him about the Fox in his name since he himself saw no need to make mention as to what like every part of his name means, I just figured that the ‘Fox’ part of his name is the meaningless word in his name make up.
I then move to poems, and that part of our conversation was introduced by my idea on doing such work. When I told him that I would like to compile a set of interviews with some of the Durban based poets. To try and take a piece of them in words for the masses that might one day, if not already in need to know as to who these individuals (be) are where their works are concerned and I say to him “I’ll start with you” to which he beckons back saying on a tired voice ,his eyes fixed to his phone still “I am not a poet”, I laugh at this a dumbfounded laugh, of course with no element of derogatory.
“You write poems, how are you not a poet?” I ask. He takes his eyes off the phone, but still go about eye goggling it at the corner of his eye and says “my writing poems does not make me a poet”, i quickly try to get him to explain what he means by that and like he read my mind, he continues “back in the day being a poet was a profession, a job” I agree with him saying “yes, like where some men will be potters, soldiers, one can just be a poet” however I was to continue from my affirmative statement, he cuts me by saying “but the writers today, they are not like that, I am not like that”
“so to you it doesn’t fell like a job, a nine to five?” I ask to which he answers” yes”, and look at the wall on his side and back to his phone and ask me a question, “which is produced first, the poem or the poet?”
And I confess to him that I wouldn’t know given his proclamation on not being a poet but I nonetheless felt the need to say “i suppose with your definition to the term, the poem comes first. But again in general I believe that the poet comes first” he looks at me, quiet. I go on “ I think for one to produce a poem, they’d have to first look upon themselves, call themselves poets” . he says “i suppose” with that air of needing to say something and I disturb that air buy asking him “but Nate, if all you do is write poems, read poems and recite poems and all these works are originally by you, are you then no poet?” with a closing “yes”. He responds with “I suppose” and between you and me. He says: I SUPPOSE a lot. He is a friend. I Know these thing.
His short bio...
Native Fox WaAzania roots from KwaNongoma which is a rural settlement North of KwaZulu Natal. A member of a poetic group called Zemfetic Native to which he is a co-founding member. his writings are more lenient to the politics of this state but not limited to just South Africa. He is an academic as well holding a honors degree on Bcom Accounting and as a result finds himself in the heart of Durban.
Facebook: Native Fox waAzania
