O people of the book!
I have been busy lately making new friends. And the spirit is leading me to introduce you to a bunch of prostitutes (ranging from ages 19 – 43) with whom I have grown VERY close. Before you shout “Blood of Jesus!” and “Holy ghost fire!”, let me inform you that they are characters in a novel I have been working on. Let us call this book WHORE LUCK. It is centred on a brothel somewhere in the outskirts of Kaduna town. Continue reading “INTRODUCING WHORE LUCK.”
Despite the fact that every new kitchenware that comes into the home chops off a portion of the man’s stature, today’s man has not yet realised that the greatest threat to his manhood is not the feminist movement but mechanised kitchenware. Continue reading “WAR AGAINST MECHANISED KITCHENWARE”
Seventeen years after the death of my father, I still have not met anybody that could have matched, or beat, him at whistling. I still have not met another person who could work their jaw muscles and other bucco-labial organs to produce that deep and somber moan of the accordion; that pitched cry of the violin; that bark of the trumpet or that wail of the electric guitar.
Continue reading “GOODBYE TO THE AGE OF WHISTLING.”
“What happens to a dream deferred?” Langston Hughes
When Walter Lowenfels and Michael Fraenkel began their short-lived publishing venture before 1930, they hoped to publish artists anonymously thereby highlighting art rather than the ego of the artist. Noble as the movement was, its eventual demise could be largely traced to a paucity of contributions by artists, a great many of whom must have considered anonymity too exorbitant a price to pay knowing that their success in the arts industry depended highly on their fame. Continue reading “THE BURDEN OF POETISING (Part 2)”
Can we agree that there exists this realm of creativity into which the artist’s mind must soar or descend before they can create? Can we also agree that this realm is a ‘restricted area’, accessed only by those minds that have found ways to locate the access ports, which might be what the music composer, Yanni, means by ‘the keys to the imagination’? Is it impossible to imagine poets as miners of imageries who have to erect derricks over the hard shell that incases the realm of creativity? Is it not reasonable to believe that the poet’s first attempts will either drill too deep, to reach the dregs, or go too shallow, to suck up the watery parts? If so, would it then not be unfair or premature to judge poets based on their not-so-impressive debut works since only through constant practice and perseverance can one master the art of projecting the shaft to the proper degree? Continue reading “THE BURDEN OF POETISING (Part 1)”