Kofi Awoonor

Kofi Awoonor (born George Kofi Nyidevu Awoonor-Williams; 13 March 1935 – 21 September 2013) was a Ghanaian poet, author and diplomat. His work combined the poetic traditions of his native Ewe people with contemporary and religious symbolism to depict Africa during decolonization. He started writing under the name George Awoonor-Williams, and was also published as Kofi Nyidevu Awoonor. He taught African literature at the University of Ghana. Professor Awoonor was among those who were killed in the September 2013 attack at Westgate shopping mall in Nairobi, Kenya, where he was a participant at the Storymoja Hay Festival. Quotes I crossed quite a few of your rivers, my gods, into this plain where thirst reigns I heard the cry of mourners the long cooing of the African wren at dusk the laughter of the children at dawn had long ceased night comes fast in our land where indeed are the promised vistas the open fields, blue skies, the singing birds and abiding love? History records acts of heroism, barbarism of some who had power and abused it massively of some whose progenitors planned for them the secure state of madness from which no storm can shake them; of some who took the last ships disembarked on some far-off shores and forgot of some who simply laid down the load and went home to the ancestors. A poem on the gallows once On such a day who would dare think of dying? So much Freedom means that we swear we'll postpone dying until the morning after. In our beginnings lies our journey's end. Where lies our salvation? You asked. We do not need any salvation. Does not our end lie on this beginning shore? The road to freedom is paved with the courage of the oppressed. This statement means that achieving liberation from oppression requires the brave actions and determination of those who are suffering. It highlights that freedom is earned through struggle and defiance, not given freely. Sometimes, the pain and the sorrow return particularly at night. I will grieve again and again tomorrow for the memory of a death foretold. I grieve again tomorrow cull a flower across the yard listen to the birds in the tree. I grieve again tomorrow for a pain that grows on a pain a friend of my solitude in a bed long emptied by choice; I grieve again this grievance immemorial for this pain this load under which I wreathe and grieve Yesterday I could not go for my obligatory walk, instead I used the hour to recall the lanes, the trees the birds, the occasional snarling dog the brown sheep in a penned field the dwarf mango tree heavy with fruit the martian palms tall and erect the sentry-pines swaying in a distant field. A poem on A death foretold 1991 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 horizons limit 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. "*A poem on the Weaver bird On this dirty patch a tree once stood shedding incense on the infant corn; its boughs stretched across a heaven brightened by the last fires of a tribe. They sent surveyors and builders who cut that tree planting in its place a huge senseless cathedral of doom. The cathedral The bowling cry through door posts carrying boiling pots ready for the feasters. Kutsiami the benevolent boatman; When I come to the river shore please ferry me across I do not have on my cloth-end the price of your stewardship. This poem is an appeal. The first line tells us that there is a cry and so we know that all is not well. People are crying as they carry boiling pots ready for feasters. It is most likely a funeral and if Awoonor’s Ewe background is to be well considered, this tells us of a typical burial occasion among the Ewe people where feasting is a norm too. But who is the dead man? In line 4, Awoonor calls a man by the name Kutsiami. This is a word that translates literally as Death-Linguist (for Ku-Tsiami) in Ewe. And this linguist is supposedly a benevolent boatman who must needs carry the dead man across a certain river. This is traditional among Ewes to say that “someone has crossed a river” as a euphemism for “he is dead”. By line 5, we know that Awoonor is talking about himself as the dead man. He makes a plea to the supposed linguist to take him across without asking a price for the duty, for “I do not have on my cloth-end/ the price of your stewardship” (line7-8). It is very common to see many old and poor Ewe folk in Ghana tie their money in a small bundle at the end of their cloth. This is invocation of a traditional ideal also and pitiful to know that the man for whom a whole feast is being commemorated is too poor to pay a boatman. Typically, ferry charges along the Volta River are very reasonable and this baffles. Perhaps, Awoonor is stating his displeasure at the fact that money is spent feasting at the dead man’s funeral after he is gone than is thought to be shared with him while he is alive. So much so that he lacks even the trifles to pay his journey to the other side. The review of the poem The journey beyond External links