Poem Of Alienation - Antonio Jacinto

This is not yet my poem
the poem of my soul and of my blood
no
I still lack knowledge and power to write my poem
the great poem I feel already turning in me

My poem wanders aimlessly
in the bush or in the city
in the voice of the wind
in the surge of the sea
in the Aspect of Being

My poem steps outside
wrapped in showy cloths
selling itself
selling
'lemons, buy me le-e-e-mons'

My poem runs through the streets
with a putrid cloth pad on its head
offering itself
offering
'mackerel,sardine,sprats
fine fish, fine fi-i-i-sh...'

My poem trudges the streets
'here J'urnal' 'Dai-i-i-ly'
and now newspaper caries my poem.

My poem goes into the cafés
'lott'ry draw-a-tomorra lott'ry draw-a-tomorra'
and the draw of my poem
wheel as it wheels
whirl as it whirls
never changes
'lott'ry draw-a-tomorra
lott'ry draw-a-tomorra'

My poem comes from the township
on Saturdays bring the washing
on Mondays take the washing
on Saturdays surrender the washing and surrender self
on Mondays surrender self and take washing

My poem is suffering
of the laundress's daughter
shyly
in the closed room
of a worthless boss idling
to build up an appetite for the violation

My poem is the prostitute
in the township at the broken door of her hut
'hurry hurry
pay your money
come and sleep with me'

My poem lightheartedly plays at ball
in a crowd where everyone is a servant
and shouts
'offside goal goal'

My poem walks barefoot in the street

My poem loads sacks in the port
fills holds
empties holds
and finds strength in singing
'tué tué tué trr
arrimbium puim puim'

My poem goes tied in ropes
met a policeman
paid a fine, the boss
forgot to sign the pass
goes on the roadwork
with hear shorn
'head shaved
chicken braised
o Zé'

a goad that weights
a whip that plays

My poem goes to the market works in the kitchen
goes to the workbench
fills the tavern and the goal
is poor ragged and dirty
lives in benighted ignorance
my poem knows nothing of itself
nor how to plead

My poem was made to give itself
to surrender itself
without asking for anything

But my poem is not fatalist
my poem is a poem that already wants
and already know
my poem is I-white
mounted on me-black
riding through life.

---

António Jacinto (1924 - 1991) Angola