EPISTLE 1 IKEMEFUNA Tributaries

The EPISTLE 1

IKEMEFUNA

Tributaries a parable for paranoia

JK Anowe

Copyright © Antoni Okafor, 2016.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, retained or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy,

recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without

permission in writing from the author.

Published by Praxis Magazine

Website: www.paxismagonline.com

Address: Plot D49 Nsukka Street, Garki, Abuja 970001 Nigeria

Cover Art: © Robert Rhodes, 2016

Book Design/Layout: Antoni Okafor & Laura M Kaminski

http://www.paxismagonline.com/

i | JK Anowe The IKEMEFUNA Tributaries

a parable for paranoia

Contents

Foreword .................................................................................................................................... ii

i. war gongs ............................................................................................................................... 1

ii. sheep ..................................................................................................................................... 3

iii. wolves .................................................................................................................................. 5

iv. masquerades ......................................................................................................................... 7

v. communion ........................................................................................................................... 9

vi. folly .................................................................................................................................... 11

vii. ablutions ............................................................................................................................ 13

viii. broken windows ............................................................................................................... 15

ix. stargazers ........................................................................................................................... 17

x. truths & tyranny .................................................................................................................. 19

xi. remembrance ...................................................................................................................... 21

Acknowledgments.................................................................................................................... 22

About the Cover Art................................................................................................................. 22

About the Author ..................................................................................................................... 22

ii | JK Anowe The IKEMEFUNA Tributaries


Foreword

I first encountered JK Anowe’s poetry in Gnarled Oak Issue 4: A Parachute in the Wind

during July 2015. I was intrigued by his poem “Fragments” and sought out the poet on

Facebook in the hope of finding more of his work. I will admit to being a little surprised to

discover that JK Anowe was, in fact, the penname of Antoni Okafor, at that time a student in

the Department of Foreign Languages at the University of Benin.

During the months between then and now, we have become friends, colleagues, and

collaborators; we have been published together in collaboration with artwork by Melissa D.

Johnston (artist, poet, and editor of Creative Thresholds) at Poetry Life & Times. It is an

honor and delight for me, then, to have the pleasure of introducing his first publicly-available

collection here at Praxis Magazine in digital chapbook form: The IKEMEFUNA Tributaries:

a parable for paranoia.

a parable for paranoia is the first of a series of chapbook-length epistles. In this first epistle,

the narrative persona resonates with a somber lyric quality reminiscent of the scripture and

hymns of various faith traditions, and the poems do contain religious references, but a

parable for paranoia is far from a psalm or praise-song. Instead, its eleven poems take the

measure of the actions and attentions of gods and historic figures, and find them wanting.

While a parable for paranoia is far from the first collection of poems I’ve read that sets out

to take a critical accounting of gods and men, it is the first I’ve encountered where the

narrative persona remains consistently solemn and dignified, where melancholy does not

degenerate to melodrama, mourning does not degrade to whining, where challenge and

disagreement are presented not as uncontrolled rage, but rather as a quiet indictment of the

insufficiencies of old gods and leaders. These poems are a lyric documentation of the

inadequacies of past guardians and guides, and perhaps also our own historic inadequacies in

the roles of believers and followers.

The narrative persona of this epistle manages to retain an uncommon dignity, not of posing in

pride, but of whatever that part is that is left of a person after all betrayals, abandonments,

insults, and injustices have been suffered – whatever part remains after all else has been

stripped away, the voice of the speaker in “vii. ablutions” who says: but his tongue was his /

and mine is not under leash.

I invite you to move forward and join the narrator of a parable for paranoia to explore what

remains steadfast within the ruins. And when you have finished reading these poems, keep an

eye open for the next two epistles forthcoming in the series: ije [poems away from home] and

twelve leftover baskets.

Selah.

Laura M Kaminski (Halima Ayuba),

March 2016

iii | JK Anowe The IKEMEFUNA Tributaries


“…He has put a knife

on the things

that held us together

and we have fallen

apart…”

- Chinua Achebe

1 | JK Anowe The IKEMEFUNA Tributaries


i. war gongs

that my strength may not be lost

Ikemefuna

dust shaken off your feet

was the remains of peace

when war gongs beckoned

the calm heave of beating chests

the sterility of virgin breasts

tied with tendrils of fear

Ikemefuna

did a people

not welcome sacrilege

like prodigal hands

spilling blood upon

land longing for water

Ikemefuna

the stench of hypocrisy

nauseates my patriotism

your blood cries louder than abel’s

yearning for the eyes of God’s ears

yearning for the raining season

of fruitful tears

sweetened with negligence

your blood is incarnate

of my name

Ikemefuna

ede leaves over our crownless

heads like shields

blocking arrows of rain

and of gods that separate

our ruins from their gains

as mother would do



shells from snails

when again would cocks

remember morn and chant

their fearless psalms

when again would

tongue taste voice

Ikemefuna

this distance has

taken more than

it has given

and the moan

of the gong

draws nigh

Ikemefuna

breath is melting

to ashes in my lungs



ii. sheep

can you smell

Ikemefuna

the rotten wails

of our nocturnal souls

exhumed distraughtly

from indignant holes

from the miserly leniency

of your unforgiving

fathers and mine

we make sail

paddling into dreams

where divided we stand

rocking in typhoons

of yesterday’s fart

we are broken

Ikemefuna

like mother’s favorite china

in the sand

an ensemble

of discordant tunes

procumbent as dust

this land

where sheep is sheep

and shepherd

in wolf clothing clad

do you think i never

loved her enough

this house

with no roof

over our shaven heads

this lorn fireplace

cold with lore

and dea(r)th



your blood like oil palm

upon one finger soils another

ours is a fight of blame

bearing touches that unite follies

like speckles of flame

infinite as the universe

intercede for us

Ikemefuna

for naked gods

cannot clothe us

intercede for us

will our stars still set

their souls ablaze

a day after forever



iii. wolves

are we not done yet

Ikemefuna

the unleavened tears of shrill cries

flooding my country-shores

have filled our eardrums

as words do empty slates

what have we not done

Ikemefuna

lions now roam our goat-stead

hungry roars feeding on baaing fears

we are wretched

beyond honor sire

like soup deprived salt

brothers buying birthrights

commonly sold as garri

in the misjudgments

of markets that bloom

like sunflowers at dawn

and the sun makes

known her own folly

hazy portraits hang

like corpses

on battered walls

broken exhibits

of an exalted

coat of arms

falling walls

like the goliath

yet no david

before him stands

rats of our household

have told tedious tales

of fish sizzling at the fireplace



pray for us

Ikemefuna

kneel for us

that the devil

may not be sent

to do God’s work



iv. masquerades

the law is an ass

Ikemefuna

and justice

its pungent fart

it is the wilt of fresh air

bathing our perspired graces

sweeter than shortcomings

suffixed in the heave

of our menopausal hearts

beating madly

madly beaten

like drums

inviting masquerades

to a dance

the wind blunt

as the eunuch

between raven legs

celebrates our wake

puppets to the prowess

of pitiful politics

we prance

epileptic under the rigmarole

of their strings

would you rather bask

in the solemnity of silence

whose shroud our mothers

dilapidated in childbirth

whose barns our fathers

fill with yams from mounds

of cowardice

bless us Ikemefuna

for we have sinned

we have preached



the gospel

of sin

bless us

for we come threadbare

and shredded

neither in peace

nor in paining penance



v. communion

come

Ikemefuna

and sit

sip from the innocence

of your teats

in the cradled dimness

candlelights evade

come

it is not a love story

that so pricks my lips

it is a story about love

of how it would howl

like a hurricane

of liberty

that is now the jailer

would ours truly be ours

Ikemefuna

lending forth

ruptures of remembrance

to our deserted hearts

bleak and bitter as truth

sneaking from bosoms

of history

like sleep

will death be friendly

coming and going through

these forsaken seasons

we throw claws at selves

as hawk derisively do prey

famished beaks groping

like spades

like swords

peeling the foreskins

off our hearts

since groins can no more

in potent pleasures plough

bind us Ikemefuna



hero and hypocrite

limitlessly sticking out tongues

to savor communion

unbind us

crumb for crumb

love is dead

as are the gods

deaf with fear



vi. folly

am i not

God’s fool

Ikemefuna

sublime and crude

have i not stood

by my countryside

to watch the ways of my fathers

burn with rapid vigor

like dry grass in harmattan

seldomly

did i slaughter silence

as father

would have done son

before the lamb’s

portrayal of propriety

i watched

the tottering limbs

of hyperbolic lads

feign courage

i felt fingers

against triggers

tremble as earthquakes

i heard the cries

of damsels

defiled in dense bushes

and soldiers buckling belts

over their distresses

i saw them grin

like bats

infidels throwing rotten ugwu

like scented roses

at the feet of chi

before resonations

of gunpowder drifted

like melancholic clouds

and the painlessness

of breath exited

like a silent fart



and in this dream

begotten in a dream

Ikemefuna

i know heaven

is not obliged



vii. ablutions

should i implore you

Ikemefuna

to save us

from these quests

that even our reluctance

do not ply

should we hope

to shred foreskins

from the wagging tails

of rainbows

forty days after

fornication with the flood

or do we wait to watch

the carnivores feed

of the floating bodies

of dead doers

Ikemefuna

are the fingers

of a child not scalded

by a piece of hot yam

its mother places

upon its palm

are we to forever feast

in the fictional abundance

of dwarfed giants

are we to travel

the great darkness beyond

without sequins for keeper

kissing our cold eyelids

tell ikemba

that my brothers

for many silent rains

and market days

aimlessly drowned

like faithless fishes

in the red sea

of his ambition

pray tell him



he is no hero to me

for we may

upon this cohesion

of a fragmented fable

share ablutions

or beneath it pour libations

of unleavened wine

but his tongue was his

and mine is not under leash

pray tell him

Ikemefuna

that there is

nothing to fear

of one who shouts



viii. broken windows

we live in a house

of broken windows

a waterfall of hope

like cascades

of grave-building-stones

upon our lukewarm souls

no vent to lend the sun a peep

no tear in the eye

not a voice to scream

our ways

are deemed uncouth

the heart

hard as haram

o’ knave

of the house of unoka

because we do not cringe

to the cold sting

of holy water biting our skins

because we do not swallow

communion

of their tabernacles

nor answer of the belfry

chiming their porous poetries…

our rash-ridden buttocks

are the ones that boast

of all fermented stupor

because a seat

we do not share

in a holy place

of unfeigned faith

but i dare ask

Ikemefuna

that like the clouds

formed of God’s poetry

yet yielding to the atrocities

of a rainmaker



is a pagan not he that

blatantly bestows beliefs

like olive oil

watery as yellow urine

on the royal scalp of opacity



ix. stargazers

tonight

Ikemefuna

our flags

shall flap

upside down

like snoring bats

hanging low

in the graceful guise

of rickety rags

tonight

the stars

shall not peek out

from the shrewdness

of their lair

tonight

they shall be

the gazers

and we

in the lavish

slumber of loners

wandering like priests

without parishes

shall fumble

with the glorious gait

of lucifer and his angels

tonight

Ikemefuna

i shall not ask

answers of you

i shall not ask

for the resolution

we lazily seek in leashing

our umbilical cords

to our necks

that we may hang from

our mothers’ wombs

like saro-wiwa



i shall not ask

for the other half

of a yellow sun

a promise

a sour song

ikemba bored

into our faltering hearts

i shall not ask

for hope

tomorrow’s coward

i would rather ask

that crowns be polished

with the same reverence

as beggars’ plates



x. truths & tyranny

Ikemefuna

now that truth stands

naked under the bogus blee

of a sickle moon

short lived by the tyranny and

uncanny breed of gravid clouds

man forgets how

to forge erection

he forgets civility betwixt

finger and egusi seed

he lays to rest every climax

like the baby moses in one basket

letting it float on rivulets

of wet dreams towards

shorelands of our doomed nobility

but what is man without hood

Ikemefuna

a log of bamboo whose

only memory is ash in hearth

after fire intercourses

a god drunk on libation

drooling from its own gourd

where is the liberality

of sleep

if i can visit

you no more in my dreams

Ikemefuna

truth is now salt

sprinkled to preserve

open blisters

truth is now whore

unwilling to spread thighs

and this effulgence

beyond the reluctant

glow of stars



this descent of hueless rain

from the bleakness beyond

skyless nights births clarity

descending as litter from

the broken gates of heaven



xi. remembrance

remember

the last time

we met

Ikemefuna

under the theatrical shade

of desert trees

where time said

neither nay nor aye

to the merry sun

that baked our crinkled backs

like burnt bread

remember

the dreams

we shared

of fishermen

casting broken nets

of soldiers dying

unjustified deaths

you said

dreams lost

are dreams found

and war gongs

are playthings

of idle gods

you said

we neither are ally

nor fo(e)lly

to the radish essence

flowing in our veins

even in the intricacies

of our fettered births

you said

life would be

our habitual headstones

if only we were

old enough to die young



Acknowledgments

The author would like to thank the editors of africanwriter.com for publishing earlier versions

of the first three poems in this epistle: 3 poems in this epistle - war gongs, sheep, and wolves.

About the Cover Art

“March study: Early morning fog, from an unfamiliar window.” Oil on canvas, Robert

Rhodes. Used with permission.

About the Author

JK Anowe is a Nigerian poet whose works have appeared at Brittle Paper, Gnarled Oak,

Poetry Life & Times, Expound and African Writer. He is chronically introverted and

finalizing a full-length collection of poems. A few of his poems have been translated into

French & Spanish. He is a recipient of a Festus Iyayi Award for Excellence (poetry),

University of Benin, and blogs at gulliblegimmicks.blogspot.com. Anowe writes from

somewhere in Nigeria. You can follow him on Facebook @ Antoni C. Okafor.

http://africanwriter.com/

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