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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=523651" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Gérard Sekoto, In Memorium (1913-1993)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Would that anger subside<br>  anger fed on pride</div><div style="margin:10px 0">pride of I against You<br> who is right: I not YOU<br>meum et tuum</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some words hastily released on the verge of angry pride<br>Tear from us a part of our flesh<br>   a part of our cells<br>Leaving us lesser men forever pitted against the<br>     I in You<br>  forever wanting to be right<br>I above You</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You may not - yes, now I know you didn't - have meant it<br>Your words were stony arrows sunk in the mud of my hurt<br>splitting even before they found the unintended target</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There may yet have lingered then a little bit of the malin in you<br>That ultimate grace-saver in your embattled loneliness<br> I didn't stop to think<br> I had to show you I was hurt<br>I didn't realise your hurt was legendary<br> already formed and contorted in the aeons of darkness<br>each in our indelible separateness</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your age your despair your self-abandonment<br>in the gorge of medicines<br>in the crises that felled you<br>careering through terrifying electric storms<br>leaving you year after year worsted<br>wiping duster-strokes of your memory clean</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I didn't stop to think</div><div style="margin:10px 0">  <br>  II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your demise is the passing of an age<br>is the passing of a people's pain<br>    unrequited</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In your veins you take with you a hundred years<br> of hurts and slings<br> of dismemberment and mindlessness<br> of lost chances anguish and despair</div><div style="margin:10px 0">though<br>driven into your lonesome corner<br>upright against the inroads of a Rhodes<br>or the pitted power of Buthelesis</div><div style="margin:10px 0">finding in the milling Seine<br>in the plucky rhythms of an ebony-and-ivory keyboard<br>in the hidden skeins of your eyes<br>    a pulse</div><div style="margin:10px 0">beating with the heart of downtrodden generations<br> the infinitely pulsing look of defiance<br>that ultimate refusal of defeat</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>   III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long are the years you have lain your easel down<br>Longer still the sun at Botshebelo burnishing your skin</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the soft autumnal retreat of your heart<br>You could still hear children playing in the mission station<br>You saw with what glee they jigged in Sophiatown<br>And bled for your brothers enchained in District Six</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Away in the quiet slumber of a land you loved<br>You wrought the blazing colours of a secret rage</div><div style="margin:10px 0">  of man's will thriving in his limbs<br>  of an enduring passion for hope<br> in the dance of stoic joyousness<br>in the embrace of a Mandela</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not a shaft of light escaped your hunt for<br>traces of your childhood<br>   nor<br>were lost the spare airs that filtered through shanty-towns</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your world was a world of people<br>    simple people<br>going about their chores with premeditated caution<br>  oppressed people<br>endowed by need with the guile for survival</div><div style="margin:10px 0">People for whom you lived<br>People who live on in your veins<br>  uninterred in your carved canvasses</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Poem read by the author at Sekoto's funeral in Neuilly-sur-Marne, France) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(©: T.Wignesan, March 29,1993 [from the collection: back to background material,1993] Pub. in Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. II (1993) , Paris & T. Wignesan. Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2008.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=T.+Wignesan">T. Wignesan</a><div class=q>
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Would that anger subside
  anger fed on pride

pride of I against You
 who is right: I not YOU
meum et tuum

Some words hastily released on the verge of angry pride
Tear from us a part of our flesh
   a part of our cells
Leaving us lesser men f..."></div>
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