Sunday, March 10, 2013

Migrant Poetry of Sarah Rowland Jones




Aliens

The South African National Biodiversity Institute
offers detailed and specific guidelines
on its website, for the identification
and treatment of aliens present in this country.

Some, especially those which threaten infestation,
are subject to compulsory removal.
They must be eradicated from the environment.
The law is clear, and brooks no exceptions.

Others are regulated by area or activity.
Permits must be issued to enter the country,
to breed, to move.   This much is clear:
they may not inhabit riparian zones.

Many pose no threat to the native populations.
These aliens may come here freely,
and enjoy leave to remain, to spread,
to put down roots and become naturalised.

The rules are clear and implemented with care.
Everyone knows exactly where they stand.
If only the Department of Home Affairs
would take a leaf out of the same book.


Across Time and Space

Red and white, autumn’s overblown roses
mark not as some suppose grape variety
but the good health of the earth,
the Western Cape’s fine terroir –
a wine-maker’s equivalent
of taking a canary down a coal mine.

My grandfather, who died at ninety-three
his pale tissue wrists still pocked with coal dust,
had been little freer than that yellow bird,
teenage pit-boy at his uncle’s side, until
the ground gulped and swallowed the man whole.
After that Alf picked potatoes,                                        
toiled in fields, anything that kept the earth
firmly planted underfoot.  Not so different
from these farm labourers,
nor those cramped Treorchy rows of grey stone
in the greyer Welsh weather
from the whitewashed cottages of this estate,
small and bright in the African sun.

And what have I, with my soft hands,
in common with these workers on the land:
the one, two generations and a continent away,
the others, here, today, a skin-shade universe apart?



Sarah Rowland Jones was a British diplomat for 15 years before being ordained as an Anglican priest in her home of Wales. She moved to South Africa in 2002, on marriage, and is Research Advisor to the Archbishop of Cape Town, Dr Thabo Makgoba, having also worked for his predecessor, Archbishop Njongonkulu Ndungane.





Monday, February 25, 2013

Migrant poetry by Naomi Nkealah




An interrogation by a 16-year-old

Do people wear jeans in Cameroon?
Yes, they wear jeans of the highest quality.

But do they have shops and malls in Cameroon?
Yes, they have big markets and shopping centres.

But do they have cars to get to the shops?
Yes, they drive Toyotas and Mercedes Benzes.

But can they afford petrol to put in their cars?
Yes, you can’t drive a car with water, can you?

Oh, so people know how to drive there?
 Yes, they have driving schools just like here.

Do they have metro police like we do?
Yes, they have traffic officers like you do.

Do the police take bribes like ours?
Yes, some are just as corrupt as yours.

But do people go to prison there?
Yes, criminals go to prison everywhere.

But do they give them pap and meat like they gave Nkateko?
Yes, they give them pap and meat and fish and chicken.

You see, that’s why people won’t stop crime!
Oh yes, crime will never stop! 


Naomi Nkealah is a senior lecturer in the Department of Languages at the University of Limpopo (Turfloop Campus). She holds a PhD in African Literature from the University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg, and has published widely on various subjects, including gender, xenophobia, and human rights. Her articles have appeared in South African journals such as the English Academy Review and Tydskrif vir Letterkunde (Journal of Literature). She has also contributed chapters to various books published internationally. Besides her academic work, she writes short stories and poems which have been published in literary journals such as New Contrast, Carapace and A Hudson View, as well as in various anthologies.





Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Migrant Poetry of Campbell Macfarlane





Fallen Angels

A river of animals moving through African dust
With drought left behind and migration a must
A seasonal migration for survival come what may
With Darwinian culling frequent along the way

Human survival based on choice not genetics
A subtly different process with different kinetics
We journey through time with diminishing diversions,
Without any leaders and with human imperfections

A widening gap between ourselves and reality
Our chosen recipe for globalised insanity
A widening gap between a culture of greed
And those who cannot satisfy basic human need

Our journey a rat race of corrupt acquisition
With egos and agendas a mockery of evolution
Of chief psychopaths who cannibalize family along the way
And screw human lemmings for profit and play

We should protect what is ours from establishment clones,
cavemen and bullies and sycophantic drones
No time to be nice, no patience with fools
We must dump personal baggage and try to craft rules…

To leave shallow waters, leave the selfish behind
Absorb a tapestry of cultures on our journey through time
Share if not one language then global peace as a goal
Navigate homeward and resurrect our soul



Campbell Macfarlane was born in Scotland and have lived in South Africa since 1975. A retired doctor of biochemistry, he has an interest in stem cells, evolution, writing poetry and plays and making movies.