Nana Fredua-Agyeman
Nana Fredua-Agyeman is a poet and writer by passion and an
Agricultural Economist by profession. He was born in Suhum,
a small town about eighty kilometres from Accra, Ghana. He
has been writing poems since 1998, writing on issues ranging
from politics to nature. Nana’s poems have appeared in Ghana
Today International newspaper and at various internet sites
such as africaresource.com, oneghanaonevoice.com,
writersprojectghana.com and Akwantuo.org. He has poems in
three anthologies from Mensa Press: The War against Wars,
Whispers in the Whirlwind and We come from One Place and
contributions in an upcoming anthology from the Writers
Project of Ghana and another from Mensa Press Defiled
Sacredness. He promotes African Literature through book
reviews and author interviews on his blog. His Haiku poems
have been published in Frogpond, Acorn, The Heron Nest and
at online e-zines such as simplyhaiku.com, Shamrock Haiku
Journal, and Mainichi Daily News in Japan. Nana’s aim is to
get as many individuals as possible to listen to what he says
through his poetry. Currently, he works as a Research
Associate with the Sustainable Tree Crop Program of the
International Institute of Tropical Agriculture in Accra.
Agricultural Economist by profession. He was born in Suhum,
a small town about eighty kilometres from Accra, Ghana. He
has been writing poems since 1998, writing on issues ranging
from politics to nature. Nana’s poems have appeared in Ghana
Today International newspaper and at various internet sites
such as africaresource.com, oneghanaonevoice.com,
writersprojectghana.com and Akwantuo.org. He has poems in
three anthologies from Mensa Press: The War against Wars,
Whispers in the Whirlwind and We come from One Place and
contributions in an upcoming anthology from the Writers
Project of Ghana and another from Mensa Press Defiled
Sacredness. He promotes African Literature through book
reviews and author interviews on his blog. His Haiku poems
have been published in Frogpond, Acorn, The Heron Nest and
at online e-zines such as simplyhaiku.com, Shamrock Haiku
Journal, and Mainichi Daily News in Japan. Nana’s aim is to
get as many individuals as possible to listen to what he says
through his poetry. Currently, he works as a Research
Associate with the Sustainable Tree Crop Program of the
International Institute of Tropical Agriculture in Accra.
Savages are we
For Sheq
who, in the Amazon’s heart
thrum drums
stamp soleless feet
and in trance
slice the throats of beasts
for the sacrifice of wonted
sins—covering ourselves
in crosses of blood
(Same blood and cross
used in the Passover Night
Same blood and cross
which on Golgotha fetched us
Salvation)
who, with servile souls,
wait in reverence
for the soundless voice
of a statue, carved through our
imagination from mountains, stones
and trees—
(The same Mountain where
The Commandment was given,
and where he was tempted
The same chip of stone
on which his Laws were written)
We are savages…
From pebble-pelting
to Missile-slinging…
From bows and spears
to New-Killer weapons...
Civilisation has been redefined
with animalistic instincts…
man delving into
his primordial repertoire with
acute atomic intellect
…and back here
we’re proud to be savages
bowing before mute statues
forever living in divine fear
of timid gods and stone tools…
But I turned into my heart
and found not the savage I was
happy to be but a manic monstrosity
rendering rounds of death
to my selves...
A Curve in the Tell
A Direct Response to Naipaul’s The Masque of Africa
There is a curve
deeply seated in their tell
of how things that must be
are;
of how the bird
instead of flying
hops
and becomes no longer
a bird
but a frog.
I cannot see
with borrowed eyes
or think
with(in) a mind not mine
but must unity's quest
merge all selves
into a homogenous consistency
such that you curve
the tale of your tell?
when our survival
is only insured
through gene-crossing
at conception point?
So I have become
a thing, lost to existence
because you see not yourself
in me
There is a curve
in your tell.
Devolution
From that quintessential lamb
that multiple cell structure
formed within time’s womb,
our fractured minds
sailed through
blackholes and galaxies
timeframes and timelines
through stalactites
and stalagmites
of icy revolutions
through fractal rays
hidden within
ancestral catacombs
and then we are reborn:
a single-cell structure
with no mitochondria
to power our minds:
(Our inverted ontogeny
becomes the allegory of our being)
the consciousness
of our existence
perceived through
the lubs and dubs
in the heart of the city
and through:
Suicide Bombings
Missile Testing
God Killings.
In this Century
we are wiser by death.
Abracadabra, Adabraka
Abracadabra, Adabraka
you are in or you are out
you are with us or against us
but if the world is bipolar
and unlike poles attract
and if hell is fire
what would heaven be, ice?
then heaven would attract hell
and the chemico-spiritual reaction
would produce water
which is neither ice nor fire
Abracadabra, Adabraka
people are not mad
in every department
of their brains;
last night I saw
a woman raped
at the city centre
do habits die
with madness?
Abracadabra, Adabraka
there is nothing lingering
on the periphery
of my mind, yet
I did not allow this
nothingness into
my thoughts
what therefore is freewill?
Abracadabra, Adabraka
if there is a freewill
I would will myself
into a coconut
or even a goat
to escape god’s judgement of men
For Sheq
who, in the Amazon’s heart
thrum drums
stamp soleless feet
and in trance
slice the throats of beasts
for the sacrifice of wonted
sins—covering ourselves
in crosses of blood
(Same blood and cross
used in the Passover Night
Same blood and cross
which on Golgotha fetched us
Salvation)
who, with servile souls,
wait in reverence
for the soundless voice
of a statue, carved through our
imagination from mountains, stones
and trees—
(The same Mountain where
The Commandment was given,
and where he was tempted
The same chip of stone
on which his Laws were written)
We are savages…
From pebble-pelting
to Missile-slinging…
From bows and spears
to New-Killer weapons...
Civilisation has been redefined
with animalistic instincts…
man delving into
his primordial repertoire with
acute atomic intellect
…and back here
we’re proud to be savages
bowing before mute statues
forever living in divine fear
of timid gods and stone tools…
But I turned into my heart
and found not the savage I was
happy to be but a manic monstrosity
rendering rounds of death
to my selves...
A Curve in the Tell
A Direct Response to Naipaul’s The Masque of Africa
There is a curve
deeply seated in their tell
of how things that must be
are;
of how the bird
instead of flying
hops
and becomes no longer
a bird
but a frog.
I cannot see
with borrowed eyes
or think
with(in) a mind not mine
but must unity's quest
merge all selves
into a homogenous consistency
such that you curve
the tale of your tell?
when our survival
is only insured
through gene-crossing
at conception point?
So I have become
a thing, lost to existence
because you see not yourself
in me
There is a curve
in your tell.
Devolution
From that quintessential lamb
that multiple cell structure
formed within time’s womb,
our fractured minds
sailed through
blackholes and galaxies
timeframes and timelines
through stalactites
and stalagmites
of icy revolutions
through fractal rays
hidden within
ancestral catacombs
and then we are reborn:
a single-cell structure
with no mitochondria
to power our minds:
(Our inverted ontogeny
becomes the allegory of our being)
the consciousness
of our existence
perceived through
the lubs and dubs
in the heart of the city
and through:
Suicide Bombings
Missile Testing
God Killings.
In this Century
we are wiser by death.
Abracadabra, Adabraka
Abracadabra, Adabraka
you are in or you are out
you are with us or against us
but if the world is bipolar
and unlike poles attract
and if hell is fire
what would heaven be, ice?
then heaven would attract hell
and the chemico-spiritual reaction
would produce water
which is neither ice nor fire
Abracadabra, Adabraka
people are not mad
in every department
of their brains;
last night I saw
a woman raped
at the city centre
do habits die
with madness?
Abracadabra, Adabraka
there is nothing lingering
on the periphery
of my mind, yet
I did not allow this
nothingness into
my thoughts
what therefore is freewill?
Abracadabra, Adabraka
if there is a freewill
I would will myself
into a coconut
or even a goat
to escape god’s judgement of men
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