The Song That Is Stuck …In My Throat: A Collection of ‘Crispy’ Poems, Vol. 1-3

By Sue Kappa

Sue Kappa deems important, the responsibility of the poetry platform to give vent to the suppressed and depressed to voice out their grievances, pour out their unshed tears and inner desires in the free verse style. Here, he knits together a kaleidoscopic tapestry of mood and style in the treatment of the themes of Nature, Love, Disappointment, Disillusionment, Resilience, Perseverance and Conviviality among others. They range from the town-crier mood which employs rants on the streets unrestrained, registering protest, complaints and reservations, somber reflections in the prayer/supplication mood of meditation and the uninhibited show of appreciation and joy in colloquial, chatty, entertaining tone.
In this three-in-one volume collection of poems christened The Song that is Stuck in ma Throat, Kappa brings to life ideas, observations and human acts that do not easily occur to us as lively subjects or serious matters to engage our curious attention. He thus succeeds in stirring our imagination riot about the possibility of everything around us including the ones we easily ignore and the taken-for-granted aspects of our daily lives’ interactions serving as subject matter for a poem.
And in this deep-fry style of going deep into subjects treated, we encounter the different strands of the patterns of responses and outcomes we expect as a comforting package from a professional counsellor such as pieces of advice, consoling words, moods tickling us to laughter and hilarity, and a deep reflection on our own lives. Sometimes, it gets so close as though Kappa was just behind, following us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Aug 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781984591234

Sue Kappa

Sue Kappa (real name Peter Atakuma Agbodza) is an ethnographer and a teacher. He taught Literature in English at Dambai College of Education (Oti Region) and Peki College of Education (Volta Region). A former student of Likpe Secondary School and Awudome Secondary School, he initially trained as a teacher at St. Francis’ College, Hohoe (Volta Region) before proceeding to the University of Education, Winneba (all in Ghana) for the Teacher’s Diploma and a B. Ed in English Education. In 2010, he obtained a PhD in African Studies (with Distinction) from the University of Ghana with NUFU sponsorship from the University of Bergen, Norway. His distinguished performance as a teacher at the pre-tertiary education level earned him a Prize value of 20,000 US Dollars from the Government of Ghana for being adjudged the First Runner-Up in the National Best Teacher Award in 2001AD. Currently, he resides in Ho, Volta Region, Ghana.

Book preview

THE SONG

THAT IS

STUCK

…IN MY THROAT

A COLLECTION OF ‘CRISPY’ POEMS, VOL. 1-3

Sue Kappa

Copyright © 2019 by Sue Kappa.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/31/2019

Xlibris

800-056-3182

www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk

786393

CONTENTS

Author’s Acknowledgement

Foreword

The Mines of Consummate Passion

The Cull of the Frontline

The Gift Orchestra of Tom and Jerry…

The Sacred Blood of the Guiltless… Is Crying

Between Heaven and Hell…

The Manifesto of My Application As a Labourer in Your Garden…

The Ruthless Cloud of the Red Ants’ Army

His Excellency…

Elbows are Flying Past…

Oh, This Carelessly Packaged Cohort

Four Shouts in Two Days

Do Not Carry Captain Li on Your Forehead…Oh Ho!

A Harvest of Waist Dance Celebrations…

Dossena Must Not Go, Oh…

The Gentle Robbers with Fingers, Our Progeny

Transcripts of the Unsung Gallant Comrades

Rummaging The Past in The Present: Reflections of the General

Customs Order For Free Passage of Goods…

…In The Bosom of the Warrior Bees

Please, Don’t Let Me Go…

Pay Us Our January Wages Now!

Oh, The Burden …of the Guilt

VOLUME 1

IN THE

Bosom

OF THE WARRIOR

Bees

(A collection of ‘crispy’ poems from the East)

AUTHOR’S ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

All glory to God first for the gift of life and of health and of song that sustained this project. I wish to register my deepest appreciation to the following whose lives and works have inspired me a great deal: The late Professor Chinua Achebe for his vibrant authentic unmistakable and indescribable fluidity of literary creativity and imagination affected me wholly from the first day I encountered Things Fall Apart, No Longer at Ease and Arrow of God. Professors Kofi Anyidoho, Wole Soyinka and Kwesi Yankah and the late Professor Kofi Nyidevu Awoonor have both inspired and taught me ‘how to say it’. In my estimation, these giants have held the machete and the torch; cutting the path and showing the way for the African Oral Art form in English to have its own mark of identity. I cannot forget the support of my Great Teachers and Mentors Christine Oppong, Professor of Applied Anthropology, Charles Teye Angmor, Professor of African Literature, Dr. Delali Margaret Badasu, Professor Kojo Amanor, of IAS, University of Ghana, Legon, Dr. Samuel Addo, Dr. Ben Forson, Mr. F.Y. Korwu and the late Mr. Hiadzi my English Literature tutors. There is a special place in my heart for Johnny Yao Agbontor who first inspired the ‘rage of the Muses’ to create in me the deep and passionate love for poetry at Likpe Secondary. I have also reserved special thanks for the following; my mother Rosina Afua and my dear sister Mawuse Abra Norgbe for the moral and spiritual support during my formative years. To Esther Amissah for the endless bouts of hilarious laughter we have shared, which opened the tap wide for more poetry to flow. To my bosom friends, Richard ‘Vanity’ Osei, Pascal Akpitse, Kojo Gbongbo; to Dr. Collins Nunyonameh, Nelson Appiah and Senyo Adzei who always insisted that this project must get off the blocks at last. I Thank You. Twin brother Fr. Paul A. Agbodza and dad Augustine Philip Agbodza you are forever remembered for the foundation. To Rev. Joy Dake and family, Pastor Jeremiah and family, ‘twin sister’ Misper Apawu, Silas Ayittey, Joseph Aboagye, Susanna, Verissa, Agnes, Esther and Evaristus Tepprey for the immeasurable moral and administrative support. Last but not least Mavis Ama Apawu (of Daisy Grafix), this remains an indelible relic of your handiwork, hard work and rare spirit of perseverance through the odds. I forever remain indebted to you.

FOREWORD

My affinity with poetry dates back to childhood days when I discovered the knowledge that Poetry creates an unlimited swathe of field for language to be carved, sculptured and molded according to the taste of the poet; for language to flourish; for the imagination to jump onto a feisty circus. Poetry lays the platform for the freedom to express any thought, to jumble, jolt and jostle the human imagination in bizarre, fascinating and pleasing ways. However, this might not be the primus attribute of Poetry. The opportunity to create the platform for multi-level and multiple ways of interpretation and analysis, sometimes dictated by the personal experiences and orientation of the one involved in the appreciation enables the poet to flow freely on the waves of this intellectual liberty and clip away any ill feelings of what the reactions could be. But the most important revelation is that Poetry is a very beautiful thing. It is more beautiful than people could imagine. Without playing naïve, I can state categorically without the fear of contradiction that the WHO must agree and identify the healing properties in Poetry.

Indeed, a good poem or a conscious poet can produce a balm that enlivens the soul and drives out the poison from the human body. These poems written in the free style mode replicates the extent of freedom granted in the African free verse style to register feelings, thoughts and ideas in an unrestrained manner when given the opportunity to perform in public sometimes entering a ‘reckless rant’ style on the streets. However, this is not to say that decorum is not observed. Likely, my style could be seen as depicting the tendency of the poet to step on any slab and jump into any waters, shallow or deep, just riding down the slope without restraint. These poems were written between 1992 and 2018.

The Song That is Stuck in My Throat (Volume 1 – 3) (2019) published by Xlibris is a three-in-one volume anthology consisting of 69 poems. Originally, each volume was separately collected as the different titles of the volumes depict.

These are; In the Bosom of the Warrior Bees, Slender Silhouettes Across the Retina and Just a Wriggle…On the Stage.

In the Bosom of the Warrior Bees (Volume 1) sets the pace in the entire collection and opens with the analysis, a surgery on the nature of Passion, the underpinning motivation to attain great feats. Themes of gloom, sorrow, fear, disappointment, rage, dejection, nostalgia, hypocrisy, loss of hope, thievery, joy, conviviality, deprivation and nature are packaged in this collection.

Slender Silhouettes Across the Retina (Volume 2) is a collection that is predominantly focused on the theme of love. However, other themes such as disappointment, pain, regret, hope, conviviality and youthful exuberance can be identified.

Just a Wriggle…On the Stage (Volume 3) tosses up a mix bag of diverse themes such as kinship loss, nostalgia for home, impatience, youthful rage and jests on the streets, ingratitude, fear and silent apprehension, negative effects of enculturation, nature, humility, patriotism and the value of life’s essence.

The next project of a three-in-one volume collection The Song That is Stuck in My Throat (Volumes 4 – 6) (comprising the separate collections with the volume titles Fresh Fields of Dried Grass, Broken Bugles’ Silent Sirens and Hills of Snow…in our Backyard) is up-coming.

THE MINES OF CONSUMMATE PASSION

6 January, 2018; Ho

Do you know, what is called Passion?

Wherever we can locate Passion

Whenever we can invite Passion

Whatever we can make of Passion

However Passion looks like

We can mine its soul

Only from within our Souls

Only from deep down our souls

But what have you found of Passion?

It is the spirit undefinable

It is the longing to stick in longer

It mints the Key to Invention

It births the Mother of Innovation

It is the Gateway to the Spectacular

It is the Constitution of the Excellent

Do you know the character of Passion?

We found its consuming nature

We saw how it grips its victim firm

We saw how it rages violently

Re-enacting the fury of blazing fire

So, so many are frightened by it

So, so many simply try to avoid it

So, so many know it’s just ruthless

So, so many know it’s overpowering

So, so many know it’s distracting

So, so many know its destructive hold

Its devouring tendencies celebrated

Its rampaging temperament known

Its incontrollable desire acknowledged

Its overwhelming nature recognized

Its consuming passion identified

It consumes your humanity mercilessly

It guzzles your pleasures recklessly

It dehumanizes you heartlessly

It converts you a fêted recluse

It stifles the charm of your physique

It decapitates your decent public pose

At first…

Alas! And At Last!

Long, long before our feasting society

May isolate the ultimate differentiation

Of your silent rigorous contribution

…It renders late the recognition

It dethrones you before your close kin

As another loving human

It rejects your claims of zealous care

It shuffles the truth about the reality

It denudes your apprehensions of grasp

It personalizes your inner longings

It delays the understanding you demand

Oh, thou Consuming Passion

You push your victims into a dark hole

You crush them to squelch

You create a Sahara around them

You encourage the unexplained desertion

By loved ones…

Then you open the eyes of all

After a long winding curvy twisting while

After the retiring session

After the pyres of passion

Had been violently spent…

After the arrears of unspent yearnings

Have hesitantly attained expiry

After the inhaled unexpressed moans

And silent sighs

Had formed a malignant tumour

On the chest…

Oh…

After the hue of the plea had long faded

After they have synchronized

They have harmonized

They have sculpted

    The countless zero responses

    Into a fixed fossilized bust

    Of a bent customized character…

After they have long swallowed

The prized nectar

That ignites the spark

To spice the vibrant rhythms…Oh…

When the virulent plumes

Turn their flight homewards

When they turn their lazy sail

Back to earth

After the diagnosis of a hamstring

In their muscles

With their light flustering talons

Denuded of volume…

Depleted of energy…

Unable to ignite the vibrant

flapping unable to find the spark

to stoke the spirited swoop…

That is when you release your victims

To wave their victorious bands

To strangers overwhelmed

With questioning askance gazes…

To the lonely mounting cones

Of silent sands still sentient

    On the shore…

THE CULL OF THE FRONTLINE

10 January, 2018; Ho

The cull of the frontline is raining, my son

The cull of the frontline has begun

The backline must take cover

The backline must fall back incognito

The backline must employ discernments

The cull of the frontline is happening today

The order dispensed hesitantly

The news emerged from the chimney

As a whisper leaked through the roof

Oh, the cull of the fine collection, this is

Oh, the edict for the cull

Oh, the intent measured cull

Oh, the cull of the vibrant frontline

Has sifted through the commander’s whiskers

Has turned the commander’s lips black

Have turned Reddish, Darkened green,

His appearance twisted spiteful

His demeanour fashioned fiendish,

His manners moulded mean

His mien minted malicious

His aspect sculpted mischievous

His look cut to clinical precision

Cut for the dread of the burden

Of the prodigious trade

Of the cull

Of the energetic frontline

With no motives assigned

With no Elegies aligned

With no Requiems prescribed

But just speeches forbidden

But just grimaces outlined

But just snivels proscribed

…

We just woke up to the realities of our new

imposed states the large caskets that bore

the messages have been dumped on the

shores of shock for the clan

So, Elders are surveying

for the appropriate

moments for the terrible news

Elders are determined

to keep the worrying news

from the vibrant ears of the young

So the youth have designed

the tip-toe steps

to ferry them to the back of the fence

And their ears have tumbled

upon the terrible news…

THE GIFT ORCHESTRA OF TOM AND JERRY…

5 April, 2010; Accra; 8.20pm

We shall register our gratitude

On the sides of Kwahu Mountains

To send a message to Uncle Kwadjo

We shall graft our gratitude

In graffiti to be embossed

On the psyche of Kwahu Mountains

As a permanent paraphernalia

Of the churches’ Easter souvenir

Treasured beyond measure

Because we shall forever cherish

This special gift of an orchestra

Of Frosty Groggy Frog-like eye-balls

Of Dreary drunken demeanour

Of match-stick arms

Set on a matchbox chest

Set on wobbly legs

We thank you Uncle Kwadjo

For the grand eye-opening

For erecting for us the Monument

For installing for us the Hard Drives

For giving us the memory chip

For giving us the tunes melodious

For giving us the notes harmonious

For giving us the sound philosophy

For giving us the solid benchmarks

For giving us simple notes

of pleasing tunes

For giving us the draft

of the permanent template

For giving us the Magna Carta

of the greatest charade

of a beautiful orchestra

For giving us a lovely replica

of an enchanting act

For giving us an inkling

of the possible existence in reality

of the masqueraders

      who look like real doctors,

      as our hearts’ surgeons,

      the true healers

of our hearts…