Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts


WanaWana aims to make poems accessible with album, “In Memory Of Forgetting”
Nigerian poet hosts listening party for sophomore poetry album at Rele Gallery

On Sunday, August 27, Wana Udobang, popularly known as WanaWana, collaborated with Rele Gallery for an intimate listening of her sophomore poetry album, “In Memory of Forgetting”.

During the listening, WanaWana’s audience stayed in a trancelike quietness for over thirty minutes, as track after track interlaced to tell a story of personal struggles, brokenness and triumph. After the listening, Efe Paul Azino, founder of the Lagos Poetry Festival, facilitated a Q and A. In explaining her motivations for the album, WanaWana stated, “I want my work to be accessible … I am continually experimenting with new ways of making my work available to people who would not normally listen to poetry”. As for her creative approach to the album, Udobang explains, “I want connection . . . I don’t want just teach or preach, I want people to connect with the work in a very personal way for themselves”.


Wana Udobang

Wana Udobang and Efe Paul Azino

“In Memory of Forgetting” is a 10-track album made up of aesthetics including, music, wordplay, intonation and vocal variety. The album features Cat Mayel, renowned poet Titilope, as well as music by Femi Leye, Echo and Lanre ‘Sabre’ Oladimeji. The collection is an unapologetic introspective into the sharp, sometimes dark, corners of Udobang’s life, and a piercing mirror for the listener to see the same in theirs. At its heart, it is a seminal work by an artist who wants her listener to remember to turn the page and never go back.





WanaWana might just be on her way to achieving her goal as one critic remarked, “… as a critic and [a listener], I couldn’t help but see the album for what it was - honest”. Other critics at the event noted the inventive use of music to guide the listener’s mood through the collection.

The album is digitally available worldwide on iTunes, Google Play Music, Amazon and Deezer. Lagos residents can pick up a CD copy at Terra Kulture and Rele Gallery. It is also available at the Salamander Café in Abuja.





Iquo Basi, Wana, Arit 

Yup, I was there! With Wana and Nneka Ezealor

Enajite Efemuaye



Ndukwe Onuoha, Dami Ajayi

Bantu, Ndukwe Onuoha


Denrele Sonariwo, owner - Rele Gallery, Wana Udobang and Efe Paul Azino



Lade Tawak



About Wana Udobang: Wana Udobang, popularly known as WanaWana, is a journalist, poet and filmmaker whose work probes women’s rights, social justice, personal narratives, culture and the arts. As a performance poet she has graced the stages of festivals across Africa.  Her first spoken word album, ‘Dirty Laundry’, was released in 2013. Her poems have been featured at the British Library’s Word, Symbol and Song exhibition. “In Memory of Forgetting” is her second spoken word poetry album.

I had so much fun!
See y'all in the next one!



Hi guys!

It's another day for poetry and this one is written by my darling friend, Samiat Alamutu. You can check her out on Twitter (@Ade_Toun) and Instagram (@lamiii.aa). I hope you like it as much as I do :)




Hi guys!

This poem is for Human Trafficking Awareness Day.

You became an adult right after the barter,
You should remember it,
But your memory failed at the first handshake,
and it sailed away with the ship's stern,
Like every other thing after that.

You became a dirty cloth,
Whose stains are phantom than crater,
One that has now matched your skin,
Like a chameleon with its status.
So you don't feel the fabric,
Because you do not have strength left for the weakness it has become.

Now you turn to the air,
Hoping it will see you,
That it sweeps the mold off you,
Cleanses you of yesterday's filth,
Of tomorrow's slop,

You hope that this invisible substance/becomes the route/to the light/that is the only story your memory ever tells.

By Lola Ogunnupebi.

Audio:



**Have you read my last post? It's got juices!**

Till Friday, xx


Hi guys! How have you been?!

It's been quite a while since I came here and quite a while before that, I'm so sorry. First my busy schedule got in the way, then laziness set in after that, or should I say I just decided to rest in for longer.

A quick catchup on what I've been up to: I've been on a movie and series production set as the Production Assistant and these productions were amazing! I'll definitely put up posts about them when they're about to air or be premièred.

Last Saturday, I was at the fourth edition of Live Your Dreams Africa (I'll write extensively about my experience and takeaways in another post and I was entrepreneur-ally blessed. Literally. You have no idea. I've come to see that creating magic could feel very unique and fun. An icing on the cake would be the fact that someone else is also having fun using and implementing what you've created.

Just like its meaning implies, it's a fantastic feeling to know you've done something that people love. If you do create magic that only you love, don't pass out on the fun of creating it, it just means that there's another form of magic waiting to be tapped and you've been able to create it.

My friend, Haneefah Adam from this post and this post created magic in the past week and the internet have been and is still raving about it.

PHOTOS BY HANEEFAH ADAM
Before then, she had created an earlier magic that had appealed so much to the Islamic community. That tells you that there's no limit to the magic you could create. 

PHOTO : HANEEFAH ADAM
Just make sure to be authentic!



I'm currently creating a magic of my own. It's still in the works and I'm really excited. To top it all off, I have really really really amazing friends and family that are doing everything in their power to take that journey with me. Sometimes, you don't have to create magic all on your own, so as this week starts on yet another fresh page, please try to make magic. No pressure. If it doesn't come this week, it sure will come another week.

Tweet: You've got the wand, just wave it when you're ready http://ctt.ec/4py0T+

P.S: I joined in on this interesting hashtag #The100DayProject where based on your skill, you could share something creative everyday for 100 days. I've been sharing some of mine on twitter @LolaOgunnupebi and on Instagram, @dm_lola. Please see these channels to check them out. You could also participate if you're interested, it's not too late to join the ride. Thanks!

PHOTO : HANEEFAH ADAM


Finally, sip some Coke, all is well with the world. Hehe

Till next time,
xx



Hey guys:) Happy Humpday!
Well, you know how much I love poetry. I've written a few here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here.

This one was written by Helen Cheng. Got her poetry from Poetry Soup. I hope you LOVE it as much as I did.



Hello guys!

Remember Baby Baby from last week? This is the second part. 


If you missed the first one, you can read it here.

Enjoy :)

***

But mother I won’t be alone
Other children will go with me
And march the streets of Birmingham
To make our country free!

But mother I won’t be alone
Other children will go with me
No, Baby.
No, you may not go
For I fear those guns will fire
But you may go to Church instead,
And sing in the children’s choir

***
She wasn't letting me leave. 

Even with my persistence. I had almost resolved to sit in when my tricks didn't seem to be working on Mama. Brilliant woman that she was, she suddenly suggests I went to church – where she thought I’d be safe. That was at least where there wasn't any form of segregation.

I could feel the sadness from right inside her pupils.



Poor Mama. Her heart was heavy and the fear sneered through enough for my little eyes to see. She was actually letting me go – into God’s arms – to sing rather than march with my peers on the streets of Birmingham. Stubborn as I was - and hell bent to make it outside, I resolve to "Sing to the Lord"

If only she knew the effect of her idea. She had a tad bit of hope, but looked like it was gone in seconds and back in a flash. Of course I was going to Church, lift up my eyes to the hills and sing my heart out. I was going to sing in no way I had ever sang. I was going to round every muscle and bone in my body up and shout out to Him...To sing...

...With the other children.

***
P.S: Thanks for reading Baby Baby #1. Sincerely Appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this one? Tell me how  below!





This was inspired by my secondary school's song book (Called Merry Mayflower). It's an account (in form of a song) of a little girl's experience during the Birmingham March of 1963. I wrote short stories at the end of each verse to the song. This is the first one. Enjoy...

***
Mother dear, may I go down town
Instead of out to play?
And march the streets of Birmingham
In the freedom march today?

Mother dear, may I go down town
Instead of how to play?
No, Baby.
No, you may not go
For I fear those guns are fierce
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
Aren't good for a little child

***
I felt a ting of frustration, as even batting my eyelashes didn't help this time. My mother always had that soft heart for me – after all, I was her only child. She loved me so much that she had put up a strong fight with my dad not to name me. She preferred to call me Baby.

We hadn't heard any noises, but we sure got news of the peaceful walk going sour. I felt the need to be there. To march with my mates for this freedom that had seemed unattainable for a long time. I was just 10, and I already knew my contribution was needed for the freedom of my people. Mama didn't want me to leave – of course she wouldn't – she definitely didn't want to risk losing me. 

Maybe I didn't know how scary it was to see your child hell bent on going somewhere because I wasn't a mother; I just felt I had to be out there. I had to be with the other children. I had seen Heather's signature hat right from my window. She was in company of two others - whom I knew so well - they were my other friends, Reese and Montana. We did everything together, but not this one. Mama had failed to even let them in.


She wasn't letting me leave.



You know Sagamu is naturally finer than this, right?
Clad in variant cloves,
Of certain centuries and now,
Soil so different,
I always knew when I was there
- And it's not about adult or infant brain
My heart just knew it was there.

The air is different yet mixed,
Her products are distinct at all levels
You didn't learn in her and not be a star
She's all mom, 
She's all bother.

All around her,
She's balanced love and hate
Sons, daughters always came back,
No matter the length of the lands
Nor the width of the seas

Though some only stayed a few, 
She always gifted her peaceful air
In them for keeps.
Outside her warm haven.

My Village,
Always haven bound for her own,
Not minding when the hug happens.
My Village, 
A weave of love still weaving.
My Village,
- is real age.

-And I'm not sure I can feel this enough,
But:

SAGAMU IS SO BAE.



photo credit: sudarvideo.com

P.S: Please dont forget to vote for Lifetitudes Blog and Tuke's Quest in the Nigerian blog Awards!
Click here to vote for them (Categories 15 & 18 respectively) muah!!!

P.P.S: You guys havent filled in my poll :( Please poll na! Thank youuu

P.P.P.S: Want to buy an HTC One M8 Phone? Pleeeease buy from my shop on Konga here. Eez affordabu gaan! Please share to friends as well. Thank you!!! 

Till next post,

Love,
Lo.
Source

Someone once asked me
Why it was so hard to have a pure heart
And I told him it wasn’t
He says “How”?
I say “Here’s how”

I have a heart, whiter than a dove’s
No blemish, no smoke
All happy, all hope
All smiles, all bright
All beautiful, all green
No judges, no foe.

I have a hear
That loves in a blink
And expects no strings
Gracious than grace
As clean as plain
And blue with life
Like the sky so beautifully made.

I have a heart
In her.
Who loved me in a grin
And hugged me in a whim
Knowing just my identity
Not my face.
Not my character.
Just my name.

I have a heart,
Pure in Aanu,
Not hard to behold

And ever easy to show.


She was two people
She is two people
She was two hearts
She is two hearts
She was an unexplained love
She is an unexplained love
She made up two bodies
She makes up two bodies

She was of a love so thick
So thick it moved the heavens
And from life to life
No one seemed to explain why
Or even know what to explain
She connected hearts
Moved them enough
To not be forever

She was a strong drive
So strong she always caused tears
She lived in many
Still does.
She always wielded the truest of love
And always made the most shattering downfall

She was called something else
But recycled the letters of her name
Just so hearts might not have to suffer
But not all got the memo
She made one waste time and wish away
Every day
But even she could not change what her touch did
For it always started happy
And ended awry
Always.

She was called AS AS
She is still called AS AS
Made of the genes of two
Who always seemed to walk
Because they couldn’t just be
Some call her genotype
Every call her genotype
And they always go back in history
And travel by in the present
To see how to make her touch end happy
But always come back empty

She is AS AS
Made of two identical letters
In mostly two non-identical yet matching hearts

A match unmade in heaven.

Source
Thank you so much, for the kind reviews on my poem yesterday. Made me happy! In the spirit of poetry, here's a "romantic" one. Never written a romantic one per se, but kindly share your thoughts on this in the comment section. Enjoy...Gracias!

***
Time is not for us.
The ticks of seconds and the dings of hours need not
Keep us from being our hearts’ pick
For whether you’re at the other end of the ocean
Or a million swirls across far mountains,
My trail will lead to you in a blink


And then we will remember
One day while I’m tending to the clinking sounds of pots
And you’re there reminding me of moments,
Together how life fought to keep us apart
But got the bad cake instead.
What we have isn’t choice
Couldn’t have been.
Some say we’re written in the stars,
I think we are the stars, 
Because I know you think so too
That’s why we’re so matching.


Ours is that which cannot be titled
For even titles bow to us for guidance
Life’s turns, Life’s gift
Are our trust funds
Prepared for our coming, 
Written for our passing
The stars that shine brighter than light are;

For You. For Me.
For Us.


Source
I want to plant a seed
So good it birthed a formidable adult
Fierce fire, burning passion, I look forward
To beginning that for which I yearned
To make and nurture to beauty.

But how is it others well do some things?
As if they had known you in some life before?
The drive, the strength, with which they oppose
Leaves you wonder if there was any brain in you.
You take a deep breath, ask what it is
They say this. You do this.
Then they say argh!!!

Am I wrong? Was I? Will I be?
For attempting on passion and excitement
Of putting my new found light
In something I believed in?
Or am I just really stupid?
For starting maybe wrongly
And keeping my right ones behind?

They show all kinds of crazy
And I think, “What do I do?”
They speak English, but the fog from their screams
Only make it sound gibberish.
Am I really wrong?
For trying to reach the things that I can’t see?

I wanted to plant a seed,
Nurture it and watch it grow
With my hope, smile and excitement.
But would not the seed be scared itself now?

I borrowed it here. Please don't sue me :D


Hello, guys!

How have you been doing? I promised myself that I'll definitely post before October ran out and there's just 4 days left from today, so....I'll save you my long talks hehe :D

The reason for this post is to appeal to that part of ourselves that spells the number One. We all definitely want to get to the top, and some just like being the first, rather than  the second. This poem I came up with highlights those situations I can remember where the word "first" came up or personal experiences where it did.

The point sha...is to remember that there are LOTS of places where you can be first. If where you are doesn't work out, there's definitely somewhere else that will connect with your primary intent and interest. Don't give up. The Number One is for everyone! :D

P.S: Kindly leave a comment about instances or places where you want to be number one, or where you've seen it used just like I did in the poem. I've made it reaaaallly short to make a whole lot of space for yours. Because I love you gaan!

******
One.
The start of anything,
The start of something to be known for.

One.
A lone tree in the middle of nowhere,
Tied to a mystery of some sort.
We all would wonder,
We all would say.

One.
Me. An art unaware of its strokes,
But is sure the hands that draw it will move.
Someday. Now.

One.
You. Uncertain yet certain,
Events would evolve before definition.
A true definition to guide your thoughts,
As they've happened.

One.
I once saw what looked like a man holding his right index finger up,
Saying something I didn't quite know.
It was a picture. People said it meant (Allah Is One)
I saw that man again in many-a-places.

One.
That place I longed to be
When academics began to look awry even with so much effort
That place I almost was. Three steps away.

That place that started my own confidence.

One.
Pinky or Index. We all counted with our hands.
Childhood is priceless. Adulthood is golden.
When you get to remember,
You realize your values began long ago.

******

Would LOVE to hear your thoughts.
Love,

The couple

Hola!

Hmm so no one wanted my airtime recharge, abi? Ok oh! Continue. Lool.....How are you guys doing today? I'm prepping to go to my village like I mentioned in my last post. Without further Serenren, this post is dedicated to my very good friend, Debbie Uche Solomon, CEO/Creative Director - House Of DUS (IG: @houseofdus)

I hope you love it :D.....and please leave comments :*


******
The spice that started it all.....



She looked angelic, yet completely bold.
He wondered how to express himself to her.
He stares at her from a corner no one knew about. No one had to know.
He had prepared it for when "he" would become "them" and it was sacred.





"Hi", She had finally said with a smile after his courage had been found.
He felt relief mixed with a beginning.
She knew he was feeling,
He wondered if she knew.
He saw their lives through her eyes and knew that he was where he wanted to be.
She stared in his and wondered what he thought of her.





They had started their journey.
Met with trials, they sought to be better and always looked ahead.
Every trump, every fall, resorted in looking ahead.
They had conquered the ifs and knew there was more in the next phase.
Still they always sought to look ahead.







Now they're at the phase.
That which would mark a gracious beginning.
A start of something to cherish for eons.
A start of bricks to build for millenniums.
A start of hurdles to cross for greatness.
A start of something....magical.




"A start of their start." 


And then yet again, before they take that leap, they still look ahead, for in front of them was a true definition of what they've been.












Here's a video to sweeten their tale:
Credit: Anthonia Ejoh




Have a great week ahead, folks!
Don't forget to follow me on IG: @loladammi
                                     Twitter: @DammiOgunnupebi
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                                   Pinterest: Ogunnupebi Damilola


See you next time...
Happy Holidays!!!

God bless us all.
Love,




Hey guys :)

So one of the readers of the Writers' Horror Challenge post suggested I gave the story another turn and ending....you know, flex my "story muscles" a bit; so I decided to...And I hope you love it. :D

Meanwhile, those of you that wee just come hia and read and go, God is watching you in heaven's flat-screen oh!

Leave comments nah :( They encourage me and make me better. Tainz! :D


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