Thursday, 23 February 2012
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massage of the week
Birago Diop, “Spirits”
Listen to Things More often than Beings,
Hear thevoice of fire,
Hear thevoice of water.
Listen in the wind,
To the sighs of the bush;
This is the ancestors breathing.
Those who are dead are not ever gone;
They are in thedarkness that grows lighter
And in thedarkness that grows darker.
The dead are not down in the earth;
They are inthe trembling of the trees
In the groaning of the woods,
In the waterthat runs,
In the water that sleeps,
They are in the hut, they are in thecrowd:
The dead are not dead.
Listen to things More often than beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear thevoice ofwater.
Listen in thewind,
To the bushthat is sighing
This is the breathing of ancestors,
Who have not gone away
Who are not under earth
Who are not really dead.
Those who are dead are not ever gone;
They are in a woman’s breast,
In thewailing of a child,
And theburning of a log,
In the moaning rock,
In theweeping grasses,
In the forestand the home.
The dead arenotdead.
Listen more often To Things than to Beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear the voice of water.
Listen in the wind too
The bush that is sobbing:
This is the ancestors breathing.
Each day they renew ancient bonds,
Ancient bonds that hold fast
Binding our lot to their law,
To the will of the spirits stronger than we
Whose covenant binds us to life,
Whose authority binds to their will,
The will of the spirits that stir
In the bed of theriver,
on the banks of the river,
The breathing of spirits
Who moan in the rocks and weep in the grasses.
Spirits in habit
The darkness that lightens,
the darkness that darkens,
The quivering tree,
the murmuring wood,
The waterthat runs and the water that sleeps:
Spirits much stronger than we,
The breathingof the dead who are not really dead,
Of the dead who are not really gone,
Of the dead now no more in the earth.
Listen toThings More often than Beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear the voice of water.
Listen in thewind,
To the bush that is sobbing:
This is the ancestors, breathing.
Source: The Negritude Poets, ed. Ellen Conroy Kennedy. New
York:Thunder’s Mouth Press, 1989
Listen to Things More often than Beings,
Hear thevoice of fire,
Hear thevoice of water.
Listen in the wind,
To the sighs of the bush;
This is the ancestors breathing.
Those who are dead are not ever gone;
They are in thedarkness that grows lighter
And in thedarkness that grows darker.
The dead are not down in the earth;
They are inthe trembling of the trees
In the groaning of the woods,
In the waterthat runs,
In the water that sleeps,
They are in the hut, they are in thecrowd:
The dead are not dead.
Listen to things More often than beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear thevoice ofwater.
Listen in thewind,
To the bushthat is sighing
This is the breathing of ancestors,
Who have not gone away
Who are not under earth
Who are not really dead.
Those who are dead are not ever gone;
They are in a woman’s breast,
In thewailing of a child,
And theburning of a log,
In the moaning rock,
In theweeping grasses,
In the forestand the home.
The dead arenotdead.
Listen more often To Things than to Beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear the voice of water.
Listen in the wind too
The bush that is sobbing:
This is the ancestors breathing.
Each day they renew ancient bonds,
Ancient bonds that hold fast
Binding our lot to their law,
To the will of the spirits stronger than we
Whose covenant binds us to life,
Whose authority binds to their will,
The will of the spirits that stir
In the bed of theriver,
on the banks of the river,
The breathing of spirits
Who moan in the rocks and weep in the grasses.
Spirits in habit
The darkness that lightens,
the darkness that darkens,
The quivering tree,
the murmuring wood,
The waterthat runs and the water that sleeps:
Spirits much stronger than we,
The breathingof the dead who are not really dead,
Of the dead who are not really gone,
Of the dead now no more in the earth.
Listen toThings More often than Beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear the voice of water.
Listen in thewind,
To the bush that is sobbing:
This is the ancestors, breathing.
Source: The Negritude Poets, ed. Ellen Conroy Kennedy. New
York:Thunder’s Mouth Press, 1989
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