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Mahibere Dego
(published in Magma 87, autumn 2023) On a mountain called Association of the Kind, on the island of its mountaintop, they rip the wings from people’s backs and shoot them off a cliff. It is the sunniest day of the year when the valleys of Earth are most red and so many hearts are singing. Your father has lost the hand he would have stretched out to you. The cave you hid in as a boy is choked with stones. An island in the sky is meant for quiet thought and hermits. Today it means that evil goes unseen… except this phone has eyes and watches without blinking. It notes impassively that kindness cannot save a man, even when it is a giant wave of rock with a giant’s shadow and a hundred winds shrieking their objections… how powerless are those who lose! how unbelievably craven is the captain’s heart! but bless, if you can bear it, this soldier shouting, out of shot bek’a, it is enough! bek’ign, it is enough for me! he has found his voice, lying like a tombstone in his throat hello, he says to his voice get up, it is time for us to speak (from Tenderfoot)
Good bread for Abebe i.m. Still warm and spongy almost wet a circle of injera on the mesob sits in my mind’s eye and goes with me reaching its gentle hand into my head it makes me think about the day your father took us to a market in the hills that red-eyed roadside boy furiously begging to be fed… do any of us really understand, Abebe how finger close a boy can be and still have nothing nothing of the world’s good bread? Elegy for a thunderstorm What is a storm if not weeping? and the boy washing himself in the storm with rough hands and soap is he not a slim trunk of water attracting thirsty looks on the track? rain grieves when our loved-ones suffer drought it fills our ears with sadness how can we not weep when rain weakens and the storm is bled? one restless afternoon a thunderstorm like a stampede of buffalos like a panther hide thrown over the earth roaring and hissing like a colossal road traffic accident on the muddiest section of motorway between Addis Abeba and the underworld when everyone rats into their holes and the town sags and starts to break apart the possibilities for great naughtiness spring up amongst wet children even rainbuckets lick their lips as another thunder crash unties a row of houses and the storm looks at itself, amazed by its own strength frightened even, knows full well this is too much water in an old box of drought too purple this shower for a folk with such clean noses a religion washed in Nile-water so the storm looks for a tap somewhere up there in the kitchen clouds and turns itself off to peels of great bell-drops banging down on roofs that cause even the roofs them-tin-selves and the boy scrubbing his arms to beat this elegiac drum roll for the unforgettable thunderstorm of their life since none of us is half as strong as our desires I shave my soft hair starting with a verse by Mekonnen Galaacha singing Geerarsa, the poetry of Oromia I shave my soft hair I shave my soft hair hoping beautiful curly hair will grow I sing my shrill voice I sing my shrill voice hoping a rich smooth voice will grow I run my small feet I run my small feet hoping a pair of marathons will grow I tug my novice chin I tug my novice chin hoping a long wise beard will grow I read my crinkle books I read my crinkle books hoping a brain the size of Addis Ababa University grows I pat my ropey belly I pat my ropey belly hoping a beautiful fat paunch will grow hoping a beautiful fat paunch will grow (from Ethiopia Boy) Lemon for love Today Mahmoud Ahmed is singing again wailing out of Abebe’s radio lemon for love! lemon for love! lemon you are so sweet his voice is long and stringy as a branch it throws the lemon down at his girlfriend’s feet lemon for love! lemon you are so tasty! if she picks it up, it means she will marry him now the chorus is shouting hohohohoho! clapping all its hands, stamping its fifty feet now Abebe’s fingers are jumping and clicking shoulders shaking! knees popping! because the girl in the song is beautiful as Makda Queen of Sheba and yes! she has bent to pick up the lemon Mahmoud Ahmed, you must never stop singing your voice can make anything happen it twists round my brain like the roots of a tree it opens a fresh leaf in my heart Mahmoud Ahmed, if I sit here by Abebe’s window will you throw my lemon for me? (from Ethiopia Boy) |
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To hear Chris reading Mahibere Dego, please click on the link. To hear Chris reading, Good bread, from Tenderfoot, please click on the link. To hear Chris reading Elegy for a Thunderstorm, from Tenderfoot, please click on the link. To hear Chris reading, I shave my soft hair, from Tenderfoot, please click on the link. 
Click on this photo to listen to Mahmoud Ahmed singing Lomiwen teqebelech (She accepted the lemon) |
እናቴ ከመልካዋ
ከመንግሥት ፈቃድ፣ ሰነድም ሳያሻት፣ እናቴን በምሥጢር፣ በውስጤ ደብቄያት፣ በናፍቆት አርግዛኝ፣ በናፍቆት አርግዣት፣ አሥራ ስምንት ዓመት፣ ቆይቼ ሳኖራት፣ አሁን ግን እምዬን፣ በሞት ስንቀማ፣ የተስፋዬ ጨረር፣ አጽናኜ የነበር፣ በናፍቆት ጨለማ፣ ከልቤ ወጣና፣ እሱም ተስፋ ቆርጦ፣ መንታ አነባ እኔ ጋ፣ ሃዘን ተቀምጦ። |
My mother in her country town
by Alemu Tebeje I did not need a permit to keep my mother deep inside of me for eighteen years, her sadness at not seeing me, my sadness at not seeing her. But after eighteen years she died and then the tiny ray of hope inside the sadness of not seeing her slipped out of me and sat down on the ground and wept. |