Susan Kiguli

Susan Nalguwa Kiguli (born 24 June 1969 in Luweero District, Uganda) is a Ugandan poet and literary scholar. She is an associate professor of literature at Makerere University. Kiguli has been an advocate for creative writing in Africa, including service as a founding member of FEMRITE, a judge for the Commonwealth Writers' Prize (African Region, 1999), and an advisory board member for the African Writers Trust. As a poet, Kiguli is best known for her 1998 collection The African Saga, as a scholar, and for her work on oral poetry and performance. Quotes Power is the concrete power that any individual can hold, and which he can surrender, either as a whole or in part, so as to constitute a power or a political sovereignty. Breathing life Into words Which suddenly rise up Take shape Become armies The words become armies Announcing themselves As what we know but had forgotten I compose on things I observe, things sometimes only whispered about in secret. I just do not simply recite; I first observe, listen and capture the voices that people will identify once they are heard on the stage. The troubles in our lands Swoop down like fish eagles Talons open on the Perplexed population. I do not know Who has invaded whom Who seeks regional thrones I do not know which general growls Whose radio channel lies. But I have seen Rubble cover the defenseless People blown to pieces Fingers wagging Leaders embracing People dying. I do not know which country They defend Whose children They protect Whose markets They secure Whose radio channel lies. A poem on weeping land Her face looks out flawless her sexuality electric in a mini dress and sheer satin stockings the girls of the 1960s beautiful beyond belief. She is looking through the camera like her space is here and beyond enchanting and enchanted by the times when the dreams of freedom were young the fortunes of Uganda hot and sizzling. A poem on my mother in three photographs Mothers sing a lullaby As the dark descends on trees Shutting out shadows. The sensuous voices swish and swirl Around shrubs and overgrown grass Hiding mountains of decapitated dead And the glint of machetes That slashed shrieking throats. Mothers sing a lullaby For those people who find laughter Such company Laugh like they are falling apart Or coming loose With tears gliding down their cheeks And these days all this on A mobile phone. A poem on I love home Grandfather’s bones are scattered Somewhere in a field The wind buried him. War has violated us Death is no longer sacred And life has no place for mourning. Cousin Katende was brought back From the bloodline in a coffin We learnt about it two years late That he died and was buried. His wife and child do not know us We do not know them. A poem on somewhere in the field From childhood I was that kind of person who was extremely keen at finding out about language. Maybe when you’re young, you’re not critical about what language is doing. But I was always fascinated by the turn of phrase, by what it could achieve. When I came to university, I was really into this whole “speech act” thing and How to Do Things with Words and thinking about the power behind language and how just a word can move things or can name things forever or can continue a conversation. First of all, of course, my relationship with English has been based on the fact that it’s the medium of instruction. It’s the language that has constantly been around me in my upbringing and in my education journey. It’s a language that you can’t really set apart from us, but because of the whole colonial legacy, it carries a burdensome past and memory of oppression and subjugation of my people… it’s a huge thing. It’s a language that the missionaries used to erase and debase my people’s culture. But it’s also a language that I was taught from a young age. In an interview External links Category:Poets from Uganda Category:1969 births Category:Living people Category:Women authors from Uganda Category:Women born in the 1960s