Poet of the Week from Angola: Jofre Rocha
Jofre Rocha is my poet of the week. I thought this poem was an appropriate one because the author captures the sentiment of loss, lost opportunity, lost experience perfectly. As someone who has never been forced to flee my country, I am unable to imagine just how difficult and heart-wrenching this ordeal would be. However, in reading the lines of Rocha's poem I can start to imagine and relate. For the millions throughout the middle east and North Africa who have been exiled (or are still exiled) this poem must be an especially poignant one. And that last quatrain, such power and bubbling anger; Rocha's parting shot: 'a thread of anger snaking from their eyes.'
Poem of Return
When I return from the land of exile and silence
do not bring me flowers.
Bring me rather all the dews,
tears of dawns which witnessed dramas.
Bring me the immense hunger for love
and the plaint of tumid sexes in star-studded night.
Bring me the long night of sleeplessness
with mothers mourning, their arms bereft of sons.
When I return from the land of exile and silence,
no, do not bring me flowers...
Bring me only, just this
the last wish of heroes fallen at day-break
with a wingless stone in hand
and a thread of anger snaking from their eyes.
Some of my favorite poetry books:Jofre Rocha is my poet of the week. I thought this poem was an appropriate one because the author captures the sentiment of loss, lost opportunity, lost experience perfectly. As someone who has never been forced to flee my country, I am unable to imagine just how difficult and heart-wrenching this ordeal would be. However, in reading the lines of Rocha's poem I can start to imagine and relate. For the millions throughout the middle east and North Africa who have been exiled (or are still exiled) this poem must be an especially poignant one. And that last quatrain, such power and bubbling anger; Rocha's parting shot: 'a thread of anger snaking from their eyes.'
Poem of Return
When I return from the land of exile and silence
do not bring me flowers.
Bring me rather all the dews,
tears of dawns which witnessed dramas.
Bring me the immense hunger for love
and the plaint of tumid sexes in star-studded night.
Bring me the long night of sleeplessness
with mothers mourning, their arms bereft of sons.
When I return from the land of exile and silence,
no, do not bring me flowers...
Bring me only, just this
the last wish of heroes fallen at day-break
with a wingless stone in hand
and a thread of anger snaking from their eyes.
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