Twisted Slogging Apparitions…In the Hazy Glint: A Collection of ‘Crispy’ Poems, Vol. 1-3

By Sue Kappa

Sue Kappa’s art is identified with the jovial conversational tone, a unique trait of the African free verse style, which he takes advantage of to employ a style that is in many ways reflective, frolicking, intimately engaging, gripping, infectious and entertaining. Here he sculpts a unique blend of styles including the vibrant boisterous bearing of the town-crier, with loud rants on the streets, unrestrained, protesting, complaining and relaying messages to the community, somber reflections in the mood of meditation, and ‘hearty rants’ in a cheerful, chatty tone, as he treats such themes as, Neglect, Regret, Self-Conceitedness, Fear, Recklessness, Irresponsibility, Deceit, Anxiety of fathers, Conviviality, Uniqueness of the individual, the importance of Decorous Conduct, Vanity, the Inevitability of Death, Loss, Climate Change, Resignation to Fate, Loneliness, Destitution, Globalization, Sloppiness, Self-aggrandizement, Fortitude, Nature, Insecurity in the conjugal union, among others. The passion of Kappa to dig it deep, to come forth frankly, to present in detail the outline of the narrative is openly at play again in this collection. This collection establishes Kappa as someone you would find difficult to ignore. In this three-in-one volume collection of poems christened Twisted Slogging Apparitions …in the Hazy Glint (Vol. 1-3) following three of his earlier collections; The Song That is Stuck…in My Throat (Vol.1-3), and (Vol. 4-6) and Booming Bursts of Bloated Balloons…at the Baiting Beach (Vol. 1-3) (all by Xlibris), Kappa utilizes this deep-fry style of going deep into subjects treated, to tickle us to laughter and hilarity, and to make us reflect on our personal lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Oct 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664112605

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.

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Copyright © 2020 by Sue Kappa.

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Rev. date: 10/23/2020

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AUTHOR’S ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

As usual readers will understand that I have to acknowledge the giver and the supplier or the ‘Procurement Director’ who ensures that my spine is supplied unlimited oil to be able to keep me up for hours in the day writing the songs He has sent his angels to deposit on my compound for the past three decades. I give glory to God 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 display of the vibrant, authentic, unmistakable and indescribable fluidity of literary creativity and imagination, which affected me wholly from the first day I encountered Things Fall Apart, No Longer at Ease and Arrow of God. Stumbling upon the works of Professors Kofi Anyidoho, Wole Soyinka and Kwesi Yankah and the late Professor Kofi Nyidevu Awoonor has both inspired and taught me ‘how to carve it, and say it’. In my estimation, these giants, and many others 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 Mr Badasu from Kpando my Class One teacher and all my teachers, especially 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 dear mother Rosina Afua Gu-Dzansi and dear sisters Mawuse Abra Norgbe, Edna Norgbe, Gifty Norgbe and Francisca Suetor Norgbe for the moral and spiritual support during my formative years. To Esi Amissah for the endless bouts of hilarious laughter we have shared, which opened the tap wide for more ‘songs’ to flow from the ‘feisty’ 90s. That memorable stroll from Bepong to Mpraeso in 1998, would forever remain an indelible impression engraved on the mind. To the late Joshua Chester Fiawoo and Pascal Akpitse, two irreplaceable bosom friends, who have been called to join the ‘Church Triumphant’, Rest in the bosom of the Lord. I can never forget your staunch support in years past. To a true friend, Richard ‘Vanity’ Osei, I owe a debt of gratitude. Kojo Gbongbo and family, your support has kept me strong. Nelson Appiah, our ‘Doctor’ and my friend and brother, Dr. Senyo Adzei, for being there always, I Thank You. Great Friend, Margaret Akpene Attipoe, Your analysis and appreciation of my ‘songs’ from our Legon days, from August, 2005, has been infinite inspiration. Twin brother, Rev. Fr. Dr. Paul Attah Agbodza, my brothers Frank Norgbe, Bright Norgbe, Napoleon Dzansi and Pastor Delali Dzansi, my dad, Augustine Philip Agbodza and uncle Victor ‘Spaceman’ Agbodza, my sister Joan Agbodza and children, my sister Doris Agbodza-Ocansey, and family, Adede and Korkor Ocansey, William Agbodza (Jr) and the team; Prince, Joy, Collins, and Princess Ama Agbodza and Eric Agbodza and family, Fred Dzikunoo and my dear sister Gifty Gu-Dzikunoo, Elikem and Elinam Dzikunoo, Sika Anabillah-Smith and family, Mr Alfred Addo and Mrs Pearl Agbedo-Addo, Sabina, Jay and Etornam Addo, you are all appreciated here for the support and the prayers. To Rev. Joy Dake and family, Pastor Jeremiah and family, new entrant full of song and laughter, Bubune, and Dina, Pamela, Princess, Peace and Mama Rose, your great support is acknowledged here. Salome, Joseph Aboagye, Evans (Van Es), Gertrude Kugblenu, Evelyn Adodoadzi (my new assistants), Esther Thosaliv, Confidence Kakraba and Harrison Paul Adjimah, I appreciate the inestimable moral, technical and administrative support. I Thank You all. My Twin sisters, Misper and Mavis Apawu, Kelvin Dzogbenyuie Attah, Godson Sepah and David Adzoe, your efforts, readiness, and the tirelessness in running the errands, all are bundled together and forever etched in Gold. Thank You.

FOREWORD

The opportunity offered by poetry as a vibrant form of communication through which the frustrations of the poor and the depressed can be expressed imbues me with confidence that all the outlets of free self-expression cannot be closed by a strange occurrence. Suffice to point out that some might have issues with the lengthy titles, and poems. But equally important to note is my investment in the belief that if a work of art is subjected to very rigid rules of conformity, it could lose the vital tag as ‘work inspired by the creative instinct’. One of the reasons I have stuck with Xlibris is the fact they have granted me the liberty to work within the full reaches of the exploratory circle of my instincts to cast and mold the way I desire my ‘songs’ to be poured out. Meanwhile, I am not oblivious of the point that, I have an embedded onus to be cognizant of the fact that beneath that freedom is the obligation to keep to ‘rules of engagement’, to be decorous. These poems written in the free verse mode illustrate the extent of freedom assumed by the African free verse style to register feelings, thoughts and ideas without restraint in a public performance. Sometimes, the ‘performer’ enters a ‘reckless rant’ style on the streets. It is observable that, the style identified here unconsciously follows in the tracks of other older African poets such as J. Pepper-Clark, Wole Soyinka, O. M. Mtshali, Tim Wangusa who would just go ahead and shrink the awe on your face and post a package of a surprise twist on your forehead. Some would rate this style as being ‘raw’ and ‘overly frank’ in the manner of Marvell, Wordsworth and Donne. But it is not designed to depict their unique styles. This is the attention-grabbing, African street-rant style, established as an old trade by the town crier who beats the gong to relay messages from the leadership of the community. It could shock you on your feet, strangle your coyness and dismantle your disinterest. It could arrest your interest and gobble in your ‘complicity and involvement’. It could keep your attention locked in. It could jostle you out of lethargy and rattle your body out of its state of sleepiness. It could foist on your drowsy eyes a vibrant scenery and trouble your eardrums restlessly. It could tickle your heart to stand straight up and quietly hum, ‘oooh!’ This style of the deep and extensive treatment of subject matter does not simply emanate from the desire of the poet to just flow without knowing where to stop. Rather, it depicts the tendency to encircle the subject and deal with it whole, clawing in all the loose strands and giving each part adequate treatment until his instincts hold the brakes and order him, Peace, ho! End it there! As a combination of styles can be identified here, the persona sometimes enters a pensive mood and reflects, at other times, he goes all-out onto the streets to shout out his frustrations unrestrained. The poems here were written between the 1990s and 2020AD. Twisted Slogging Apparitions…in the Hazy Glint (Vol. 1-3) (October, 2020) published by Xlibris is a three-in-one volume anthology consisting of 73 poems. Originally, each volume was separately collected as the different titles of the volumes depict. These are: Volume 1, A Bowl of Petals …of Hollywood Honeymoon Blues; Volume 2, Casting Our Visages Ready …for the Glossy Loss Looming, and Volume 3, Searching Frenetic in the Dark Groove …for the Bill of Laden. The themes of these poems cut across social, political and economic spheres of life. Serious issues are bundled and presented in the mood of jollity to tickle our imagination and jolt us into realization of our folly and lethargy or just open to us the pages of the facts of our vulnerability. Specifically, the three volumes have tackled, among others, the following themes; Neglect, Self-conceitedness, Regret, Fear, Recklessness, Irresponsibility, Deceit, Anxiety of fathers, Conviviality, Uniqueness of the individual, the importance of Decorous Conduct, the pursuit of the Vain, the Inevitability of Death, Loss, effect of Climate Change, Resignation to Fate, Loneliness, Destitution, Globalization, Sloppiness, Self-aggrandizement, Fortitude, Nature and Insecurity in the conjugal union. This collection follows on the heels of three earlier collections (all by Xlibris) The Song That is Stuck …in My Throat, (Vol. 1-3) and (Vol. 4-6) and Booming Bursts of Bloated Balloons at the Baiting Beach, (Vol. 1-3). Upcoming is the collection of predominantly long citations named A Dab of a Film of the Fragrance …of a Rose, (Vol. 1-3).

VOLUME 1

A BOWL

…OF

PETALS

OF

HOLLYWOOD

HONEYMOON

BLUES

CONTENTS

Just Tune Your Ears …to the Songster’s Songs…

When Your Pharaoh is Gone…For Good…

PUBLIC NOTICE: Cancellation of an Apology

There’s No Siblinghood in this Matter, Ma Sister!

Help, Mr. Commander, I Can’t Find My Babe…

Oh, You’re a Non-Communicant, Are You a Witch Then?

Do Not Trample Under Foot Your Important Jewels…

You Can’t Just Alight, and Walk Away…Like That…

I’m Just Cooking a Dumpling…

‘Old Man Boggie’; The Face of Old Age…

The Grenade of a Final Good Bye… of a Kiss…

#FBI|SS, Please Help Us Find Uncle Debbo’s Daughter…

Please Help Save Princess Sidie…

‘Please, Have You Seen My Daughter?’…

The Tricky Category of TCA (Terms & Conditions Apply)…

Hollywood Honeymoon Blues Are Raining …Get on Board

The 66Ahms Poolside Fiesta for 13-16-Year Old Girls…

Please, Follow the Rules of Engagement in Warfare

UN Soldier! We Salute You

Will the Quality in Me Ever Again Be Witnessed?

Telephone Conversation: Re-Ignited, Re-Loaded…

What if I’m Just Bold, and Bubbly …and Beautiful…?

Oh, I Don’t Want to Compose a Song Any More…

I am the Gatigot 68042.png …

JUST TUNE YOUR EARS

        TO THE HEARTBEAT

                OF THE SONGSTER’S SONGS…

16 February, 2018; Ho

Do not throw away

the real rinds            Of the fruit…

The sour integuments

Your heart might yearn            to discard

Might harbor        The vital ingredient

And the saving nutrients,

Therefore, 

Please,            just do not ignore

the little tapping                                    Of the foot,

Do not throw away the whistling            Of the wind,

For you might never know

The little insignificant tunes

Deposited        Located

Dropped          Dumped

in the Songster’s song…

To save a flaccid wilting heart…

Therefore, tune your mind

into attentive position,

and Hear the words                    …in your soul

when the Songster sings…

Interpret them right

Match each word

to their true conduct

And decipher                        in fitting measure

The veracity                                Of its claims

And the soul            Of its content…

But, do not be content

just to Misunderstand,

Misconstrue, Misrepresent

The content                                                Of the song…

Do not play on the slight twist        Of tongue

To carve a wayward denotation

Just to shame…

Please, For your sake,

Just note such light misdemeanor

Such as could drive

a wedge between you two…

As such will not incite

the stirring                            Of the passion

Will not lead to the thrust                    Of the song

Reaching down  to the deep reaches      Of your soul…

So, Just paste the graffiti                  Of my entreaty

On the wall                                Of your heart…

Go ahead, whet the soft bristles

Of the delicate nerves

Of the tympanic membrane…

And sharpen to the apex

Their retentive propensities…

So,  the next time the shadow

Of the songster

Falls on your courtyard

Open the full volume

Of the wide reaches

Of your cringing eardrums

Deliberately                Rusticate your doubts

Consciously                    Masticate the moods

in appropriate tempo…

Vigorously rev-up your senses …

Utilize the chance

to regurgitate the motions…

And Do Not fall into the trap        to misread

to misjudge

to trample upon

The Genuine lyrics

Of the pleasant tunes

From the plain mind

From the adoring heart

Of a passionate songster…

That is why I have set out today

Just to let you know

Just tune your tympanic membrane

To the heart                                    Of the songs

And let the words        take seat deep

In the bosom        Of your soul…

Ah, you just must know

It is vital for me to let you know

When the Songster sings

You must hear the words

Deeply set in the bosom

Of your soul…

Else, You will miss out

The salient circuits in the cords

Of the connecting circuits

Of the Songster’s heart

In his song…

And you would forever miss out

The harmonious chords

Of the soul-lifting melodies

In the hundreds

Of his crispy songs…

Else, you can simply miss out on how

the Songster’s soul is fixed firm,

Is planted deep in the midst

Of song…

WHEN YOUR PHARAOH IS

GONE…FOR GOOD…

[Dedicated to: Diego Costa

and All Other Players

and Protégés Inadvertently ‘Deserted’

By their Mentors]

17 September, 2019; 8.30pm; Sokode Gborga

There is

a truly terrible feeling        that        No One,

that          No Soul

should ever pray for

to encounter        to desire

to meet                to embrace

ever      in life…

but, that, which everyone

should be prepared for,

as, its possibility

is a reality waiting

at the corner…

Eei, it could really be horrible

it could be terribly dreadful

this awful thing

to lose

your great mentor

not unavoidably to death…no!

But, rather, sad to recount,

a neatly packaged combo

of possible options

may have resulted,  all

of a sudden

inescapably…

might just be    a self-desired,

might just be

an initiated relocation    or

a ‘wicked’ transfer    or

a retirement

at the attainment

of the compulsory age

with their huge influence        and

charm        and

opinion      and

position

as the compassionate traffic cop

suddenly indecorously

unceremoniously removed, or

swiftly brutally transformed

within a twinkle

of an eye

into cursed baggage bundled,

dumped into discarded cargo      and

segregated      and

labelled      and

christened

even without the benefit

of a pious church baptismal;

stale

non-conformist

irrelevant

disbanded

rejected…

so cheekily reduced to

crumpled

squeezed pieces

of useless paper

and trodden debris

expertly urgently swept                and

quickly collected

from the fine ambiance

of the porcelain tiled floor

to prevent a careless devastating

contagion

must at all cost be prevented,

must be pushed violently,

must be hauled onto

the conveyor belt,

must be pushed slowly

psychologically

towards Hades…

hey,

I didn’t say Hell,

No!

So their memory

would be stashed away            and

rested securely safe

within the abyss

of oblivion…

Oh, please,

prompt the songster

To remove the shiny laces’

flamboyant swinging

prick him lightly

as an urgent