Rastafari through the arts

"To control a people, you must first control what they think about themselves and how they regard their history and culture. And when your conqueror makes you ashamed of your culture and your history, he needs no prison walls and no chains to hold you." 

Dr. John Henrik Clarke

Laura James: Black Madonna

I just wanted to take a brief moment and highlight some poetry from an associate of mine whose blog I also follow.  Though they may not be in the pantheon of great poets from time immemorial, I thought the work to be good enough to support.  Given that there have been recent calls for artistic works from all throughout the Rastafari Diaspora, for a proposed exhibit in Ethiopia in 2014, I feel secure in my doing so.

That said, I love to see Rastafari artists who explore topics other than legalization of marijuana.  Now that I think about it, I can hardly think of any other topic that most of those who fit the "Rastafari" industry mold: dreadlocked hair, red gold and green emblems, thick almost guttural "Jamaican accents" (or some hybrid stereotyped derivative thereof), nowadays a almost prerequisite turban for a male singer, and loosely uniformed backing "reggae" band, talk about.  

Gone are the songs of revolution.  Gone is the spirit of freedom and redemption in lyrics and artwork.  Most often we are inundated with images and subject matter that are all together too simple and material.  Or plain not on a level that relegates certain pound in your head discussion.  We can argue all day about the imperial and claustrophobic marijuana laws and how unjust they are amongst ourselves.  But we must be cognizant that though they were created unjustly, any excessively devoted time on that subject takes time away from other issues that have equally or more substantial importance.

Laura James: Couple with Leaves

We have so much more to us as African peoples.  As Ethiopian African peoples, we are far too diverse not to explore the broad ranging topics that add the much beloved spice and flavour to our lives.  Subjects of love, honest love, fidelity, family, nature, spirituality, revolution within paradigms of conscious thought, and sometimes even physical agitation and revolution.  Not to mention the mechanical arts in sciences: architecture, horticulture, invention, recipes that display talents and artistry of the temporal palette.

These are but a few of the many things I would love to see from Rastafari artists in poetry, song, prose, sculpture, paint.  Maybe then we will truly see a Rastafari culture that encompasses the entire diaspora, in conscious thought and action.

Follow me on Twitter@JahKwasiAbahu

7.14.2010

Today

I.

I am.

I am going to write a love poem.

And it will be simple.

Simple as the wind.

The wind that blows smoke from the north.

The wind that carries God's whispers

to raise Kings and also to

pierce the hearts of men.

It will be the lilt I hear in your voice

as I read your letter

sitting in dungeons of

solitude with contemptuous peoples.

It will be the sparkle I see in your eye

when I hear your voice

in the shadows of winter's first frost. 

Or the scent of your fragrance

that fills me

in the place you last stood

right over there by the

lotus blossoms.

It will be in the sweet honey elixir,

gushing through me

bringing to remembrance

that smile and those lips

and all their promise.

I am going to write a love poem

because it has been too long

and soon will be again.

Jah C

7.05.2011

Show me you so that I might show you me

Standing there amidst

dew drops and

sun showers and childrens

laughter, I saw

you from across

oceans and the heavens

languishing,

staunch as a single

Harlem Rose.

If I were to capture

but an inkling of

the strength

you heave in

each breath

you breathed through

Eve's parted

lips I

would carry your

load and

mine and yours

again

as Atlas if but only

to allow you to

lend your bare hand to my face.

If my lips were

to be as free as

my pen, birds would 

recite my love in song

and perfume all the worlds

air with its' fragrance.

It was all I could do

not to

reach out

across the abyss,

the oasis that lay

between us

and draw you to me

and give Samspon his leave.

If only the angels who

carry my heart

in whisper

across this universe

would gain audience with

the stars that dance when you smile,

you would hear the

whole

true

story.

Jah C

2.07.2011

Cry As You Must

There is a book of stolen dreams

to which no author found.

In the binding of this book

all pain and loss are bound

Was said that of these dreams,

wrote in that book,

are gifts for none to see.

All the troubles in your heart

are shouldered here for thee.

Jah C