Literary Corridors

  The Weaver Bird by KOFI AWOONOR The weaver bird built in our house And laid its eggs on our only tree. We did not want to send it away. We watched the building of the nest And supervised the egg-laying. And the weaver returned in the guise of the owner. Preaching salvation to us that owned the house. They say it came from the west Where the storms at sea had felled the gulls And the fishers dried their nets by lantern light. Its sermon is the divination of ourselves And our new horizon limits at its nest. But we cannot join the prayers and answers of the communicants. We look for new homes every day, For new altars we strive to rebuild The old shrines defiled by the weaver's excrement.  

  WESTERN CIVILIZATION by Augostinho Neto (Angola)   (Translated from Portuguese by Margret Dickinson)   Sheets of tin nailed to posts driven in the ground make up the house   Some rags complete the intimate landscape.   The sun slanting through cracks welcomes the owner   After twelve hours of slave labour. breaking rock shifting rock breaking rock shifting rock fair weather wet weather breaking rock shifting rock   Old age comes early   a mat on dark nights is enough when he dies gratefully of hunger.

  The Brewing Night by Yussuf Kassam   It was that moment night when I heard it, Yes, I heard it all. That night sleep deserted me; So I lay awake, sleep in all my senses.   It was long past midnight. Time dragged on, the clock couldnt chime / tick The dog wouldnt bark, nor the baby cry; It was a moonless and windless night; The whole universe seemed to stagnate In dark, dreary, dead slumber. What was amiss? I knew not.   The dead quietness and solitude Seemed to be eternal - but Waves of babbling and muttering Began to trickle through the street; the air; Humed footsteps echoed through the street What was amiss? I knew not.   I pulled my curtain to see, And then I saw it all Heavy boots, thick uniforms and solid helmets Dimly discernible under the pale street lamp The atmosphere stood stiff and solid with Brawny-faced and clenched - teeth determination Thus the cauldron had boiled that sleepless night ...

  From War is Kind ["Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind"] by STEPHEN CRANE   Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind.         Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,       Little souls who thirst for fight,       These men were born to drill and die.       The unexplained glory flies above them,       Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom—       A field where a thousand corpses lie.   Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches, Raged at his breast, gulped and died, Do not weep. War is kind.         Swift, blazing flag of the regiment,       Eagle with crest ...

  Africa by David Diop Africa my Africa Africa of proud warriors in ancestral savannahs Africa of whom my grandmother sings On the banks of the distant river I have never known you But your blood flows in my veins Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields The blood of your sweat The sweat of your work The work of your slavery Africa, tell me Africa Is this your back that is unbent This back that never breaks under the weight of humiliation This back trembling with red scars And saying no to the whip under the midday sun But a grave voice answer me Impetuous child that tree, young and strong That tree over there Splendidly alone amidst white and faded flowers That is your Africa springing up anew springing up patiently, obstinately Whose fruit bit by bit acquires The bitter taste of liberty.      

  Richard Cory by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim.   And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, "Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.   And he was rich—yes, richer than a king— And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place.   So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head.  

  I, Too by Langston Hughes I, too, sing America.   I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong.   Tomorrow, I’ll be at the table When company comes. Nobody’ll dare Say to me, “Eat in the kitchen,” Then.   Besides, They’ll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed—   I, too, am America.    

If We Must Die by Claude McKay If we must die, let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursed lot. If we must die, O let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us though dead! O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe! Though far outnumbered let us show us brave, And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow! What though before us lies the open grave? Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

  Introduction to the Play and the Theme of Love Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o's I Will Marry When I Want (originally Ngaahika Ndeenda in Gikuyu, 1977), co-written with Ngũgĩ wa Mirii, is a groundbreaking Kenyan play that critiques post-colonial socio-economic inequalities through a community theater lens. Performed at the Kamiriithu Community Education and Cultural Centre, it was banned by the Kenyan government after just six weeks, leading to the authors' detention without trial—a testament to its radical portrayal of class struggle, cultural erosion, and exploitation. The play unfolds in a rural Kenyan village, centering on the poor peasant family of Kĩgũũnda and Wangeci, whose lives intersect with the wealthy elite Kĩoi and Jezebel Mũhũũni. While the play's overt themes include class conflict, the corruption of religion and capitalism, and the tension between modernity and tradition, love emerges as a multifaceted undercurrent. It is not romanticized as an idyllic force but...

  A h, Are You Digging on My Grave? By Thomas Hardy "Ah, are you digging on my grave,             My loved one? — planting rue?" — "No: yesterday he went to wed One of the brightest wealth has bred. 'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,             'That I should not be true.'" "Then who is digging on my grave,             My nearest dearest kin?" — "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use! What good will planting flowers produce? No tendance of her mound can loose             Her spirit from Death's gin.'" "But someone digs upon my grave?             My enemy? — prodding sly?" — "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate That shuts on all flesh soon or late, She thought you no more worth her hate,             And cares not where you lie. "Then, who is digging on my grave?   ...

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.   Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room.   Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise.   Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries?   Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard.   You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.   Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?   Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up ...

  The Ruined Maid by Thomas Hardy "O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown! Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town? And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?" "O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.   "You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks, Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks; And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!" "Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she.   "At home in the barton you said thee' and thou,' And thik oon,' and theäs oon,' and t'other'; but now Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!" "Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she.   "Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek, And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!" "We never do work when we...

                             When I see the beauty on my beloved’s face When I see the beauty on my beloved’s face When I see the beauty on my beloved’s face, I throw away the food in my hand; Oh, sister of the young ma, listen; The beauty on my beloved’s face.   Her neck is long, when I see it I cannot sleep one wink; Oh, the daughter of my mother-in-law, Her neck is like the shaft of a spear.   When I touch the tattoos on her back, I die; Oh, sister of the young man, listen; The tattoos on my beloved’s back.   When I see the gap in my beloved’s teeth, Her teeth are white like dry season simsim; Oh, daughter of my father-in-law listen, The gap in my beloved’s teeth.   The daughter of the bull confuses my head, I have to marry her; True, sister of the young ma, listen; The suppleness of my beloved’s waist        Okot p’Bitek ...

                                              The Beloved - A.R. Cliff-Lubwa Lapobo, Tall but not too tall, Short but not too short, She is of medium size.   Lapobo, Her teeth are not as ash Nor the colour of maize flour, Her teeth are white as fresh milk. The whiteness of her teeth When I think of her Makes food drop from my hand.   Lapobo, Black but not too black, Brown but not too brown, Her skin colour is just between black and brown   Lapobo. Her heels have no cracks, Her palms are smooth and tender to touch, Her eyes — Ho they can destroy anybody.