artWritten

Photo

Sat, 11 May 2013 15:38:21 +0300

punch-in-the-face-poetry: [Video description: A poet from Brave...

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 07:20:44 +0300

[Video description: A poet from Brave New Voices Philadelphia performs on a spot-lit stage. The poet is Ethiopian, has an afro, and wears a flower behind one ear and a couple of rubber bracelets on both wrists. The performance is intense and the crowd responds and cheers to poet on.]

I’m tired of people asking me to smooth my name out for them.
They want me to bury it in the English so they can understand.
I will not accommodate the word for mouth.
I will not break my name so your lazy English can sleep its tongue on top.
Fix your lips around them.
No you CAN’T give me a stupid nickname to replace this gift of five letters.
You try to pronounce it before you write me off as Little One, Afro, the Ethiopian Girl
or any other poor excuse for a name you’ve baptized me with in your weakness.
My name is insulted that you won’t speak it.
My name is a jealous god.
I kneel my English down every day and offer my begging and broken [??] to be accepted by these [??] from my parent’s country
This is my religion.
You are tainting it every time you call me by something else, you break it and kick it you really think you’re being clever by turning my name into a cackle?
He what? He why? He when-how-he-what-who-how-huh-did-what?
My name is not a joke.
This is more than [wind and the clap of consinents?].
My father handed me this heavy burden of five letters decades before I was born.
With letters, tried to snatch his Ethiopia back from the middle of a red terror
He tried to overthrow a facist,
he was thrown into prison,
ran out of his home.
My name is a frantic attempt to save a country
to perserve [a legend],
the only line I have leading me to a palce I’ve never been.
It’s a boat, a plane, a vessel will carry to to the earth.
I’ve never felt
I speak myself closer and closer to Ethiopia by wrapping myself in this name.
This is my country in ink.
My name is the signature at the end of the last letter before the army comes.
It is the only music left in the midst of torture and fear.
It is the air that filled my fathers lungs when he was released from prison.
The inhale, that ushers in a new begining.
My name is a poem, my father wrote it over and over and over again.
It’s the love of my life, sends homesickness to bed.
I refuse to break myself into dust for people too weak to carry my name in their mouths.
Take two syllabals of your time to pronounce this song of mine.
It means “life.”
You shouldn’t treat a breath as carelessly as this.
You cradle my name between your lips as delicately as it deserves.
It’s Hiwot*.
Say it
right.

(Partial transcript via lotus-eyes)

*Pronounced He-wut

#sigh

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 05:00:24 +0300

#sigh

While peeing I got to read this… #publictoilet #writing

Fri, 22 Mar 2013 03:23:47 +0200

While peeing I got to read this… #publictoilet #writing

Photo

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 02:02:13 +0200

Photo

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 13:44:52 +0200

On love and freedom… There one can’t exist without...

Sun, 17 Mar 2013 23:57:21 +0200

On love and freedom… There one can’t exist without the other…

For me….

Sat, 16 Mar 2013 00:55:09 +0200

For me….

it hurts because it matters

Sat, 16 Mar 2013 00:52:44 +0200

it hurts because it matters

time

distance

sea

land

thoughts

ideas

seems like everything is a divider

choice

need

want

tears

mine

yours truly,

hurts

it all matters

wish time added life

distance subtracted

seas bracketed

land divided

so our thoughts could multiply with ideas of love

togetherness

I need you.

(I said it)

it hurts – all of it

because it matters.

izzosibiya: Nuff said… Then I keep my fingers crossed, hoping...

Fri, 15 Mar 2013 23:43:55 +0200

izzosibiya:

Nuff said… Then I keep my fingers crossed, hoping Muhle will see this… LOL!

explore-blog: Wisdom by Van Gogh, hand-lettered by Lisa Congdon...

Thu, 28 Feb 2013 23:44:43 +0200

explore-blog:

Wisdom by Van Gogh, hand-lettered by Lisa Congdon – who has a knack for this sort of thing.

"The erasure of Quvenzhané’s name is an attempt, consciously or unconsciously, to step around and..."

Wed, 27 Feb 2013 06:54:21 +0200

“

The erasure of Quvenzhané’s name is an attempt, consciously or unconsciously, to step around and contain her blackness. Yes, sometimes black people have names that are difficult to pronounce. There aren’t many people of European descent named Shaniqua or Jamal. Names are as big a cultural marker as brown skin and kinky hair, and there has long been routine backlash against both of those things (see: perms, skin bleaching creams, etc.). This insistence on not using Quvenzhané’s name is an extension of that “why aren’t you white?” backlash.

Calling Quvenzhané “Little Q” is a lazy way to keep from having to deal with the discomfort that race causes. It is easier to be colorblind, to simply turn a blind eye to the differences that have torn this nation apart for centuries than it is to wade through those choppy waters. And Quvenzhané’s very existence is enough to make the societal majority uncomfortable. She is talented, successful, beautiful, happy, loved, and adored–all things that many people don’t figure that little black girls with “black” names could, or should, be. Their answer? Let’s make her more palatable. If she insists on not fitting the mold of the ghetto hoodrat associated with women with “urban” names, let’s take her own urban name away from her.

”

- “Her Name Is NOT Little Q, Motherfuckers.”

at least that’s what i would have called it if i could have. this is from my latest at Uptown Magazine, “The Oscars, Quvenzhane and the C-Word.” check it out!

(via brokeymcpoverty)

The need I yearn, I desire, I want. A lot of times this...

Wed, 27 Feb 2013 05:20:49 +0200

The need

I yearn, I desire, I want.

A lot of times this need.

This yearning

I was not allowed to have

To indulge

To think about

It was taken away from me.

Me the woman

Me the friend

Me the daughter

Me the lover

I yearn.

I desire

I want.

I love

Is it right?

right or wrong?

neither

remove all value

all thoughts are equal

It is

lovely,

beautiful

terrible.

It hurts

It is crazy

weird.

It me.

I yearn, I desire, I want.

I need

Like my tongue needs water

Like my heart needs song

And my eyes need beauty

I need.

I yearn,

I love,

I want you!

Photo

Fri, 22 Feb 2013 03:39:42 +0200

Silently You sit silently, never saying anything I love it. I...

Fri, 22 Feb 2013 03:38:03 +0200

Silently

You sit silently, never saying anything

I love it.

I crave the silence where I am queen.

The silence whispers my name.

It excites me

Your big brown eyes take me in.

Watching

Prowling

Loving

You sit silently.

it scares me

I wonder what is behind the eyes

I cringe at thoughts of hurt

Thoughts of anger

Thoughts of violence

Silently you ride

Silently you pump

I wonder

Who you are riding

Who you are pumping

Why the violence

You scare me

The hurt

The anger

You give it me

Spilling it all on me.

It stings,

It hurts

It burns!

Photo

Wed, 08 Aug 2012 23:36:18 +0300

africlecticmagazine: “They Don’t Make Them Like They Used To” ~...

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 17:33:20 +0300

They Don't Make Them Like They Used To

‘caught in the rapture’

‘I decline. I refuse to recline’

‘I decline. I refuse to recline’ by mary

‘long live the dead queen’ series

africlecticmagazine:

“They Don’t Make Them Like They Used To” ~ Mary Sibande

Mary Sibande is a South African artist based in Johannesburg. Her recent series ‘Long live the dead queen’ was featured within the city on the side of buildings and other structures as large, photographic murals. The series, like Sibande’s practice as an artist, ‘attempts to critique stereotypical depictions of women, particularly black women in our society.’

http://www.facebook.com/africlecticmag

africlecticmagazine: Sibande is the first in four generations of...

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 17:32:02 +0300

africlecticmagazine:

Sibande is the first in four generations of her family not to be a domestic worker. It was a fourth year varsity project which saw the birth of Sophie. She says she wanted to create a maid who had “stuff - things like her madam did.”

Sibande, a 28 year old artist who grew up in Barberton, Mpumalanga, and graduated in Fine Arts from the University of Johannesburg, has ‘arrived’ in town in every possible meaning of the word. Her life-size sculptures and photographic prints are right now in the process of being bought by the South African National Gallery and an American museum. She was also invited to enter her work in a competition for the United Nation’s headquarters in Bonn, Germany, and three of her print editions (10 to an edition) are already sold out.

In the 18 short months from her first solo show at Gallery Momo in Rosebank, Joburg, Sibande’s art is already fetching double its original price and is predicted to soar even further with the increasing international acclaim - she has been featured in the New York Times, and when we meet, has just touched down from her fourth art residency in Sylt, Germany. The other three have been in Paris, New York and Basel, Switzerland.

Read More http://www.thearch.co.za/articles/26/artist/all-maid-up#.T-x8pCtYtOk

I love —-> izzosibiya: Picture Credit:...

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 04:01:52 +0300

I love —-> izzosibiya:

Picture Credit: http://kojobaffoe.tumblr.com

THE THING WE APPRECIATE IN OUR HOUSE OF LOVE

Just when I’m in the middle of confusion, Muhle gallantly saves me from dubious thoughts. HAAAAH!! You just have to love LOVE for it will always amaze you. But more amazing are the people we associate with our LOVE/AFFECTION.

Muhle! You are a mason… my mason #trueStory

from ‘the black art’ anne sexton.

Tue, 29 May 2012 23:26:05 +0300

from ‘the black art’ anne sexton.