Rahkman:
cyprain ekwensi is gone too passport of mallam illia i just love that book

tutudesz:


MY LAST TESTAMENT, A POEM
BY JP CLARK

MY LAST TESTAMENT

This is to my family
Do not take me to a mortuary,
Do not take me to a church,
Whether I die in or out of town,
But take me home to my own, and
To lines and tunes, tested on the waves
Of time, let me lie in my place
On the Kiagbodo River.

If Moslems do it in a day,
You certainly can do it in three,
Avoiding blood and waste,
And whatever you do after,
My three daughters and my son
By the only wife I have,
Do not fight over anything
I may be pleased to leave behind

Fahdiga:
I'm having a feeling of nostalgia. this man's work made my day during my secondary school days. rest on sir

gwafaeziokwu:
Night Rain

By J.P Clark




What time of night it is

I do not know

Except that like some fish

Doped out of the deep

I have bobbed up belly wise

From stream of sleep

And no cock crow

It is drumming hard here

And I suppose everywhere

Droning with insistent ardor upon

Our roof thatch and shed

And through sheaves slit open

To lightning and rafters

I cannot quite make out over head

Great water drops are dribbling

Falling like orange and mango

Fruits showered forth in the wind

Or perhaps I should say so

Much like beads I could in prayer tell

Then on string as they break

In wooden bowls and earthenware

Mother is busy now deploying

About our room let an floor

Although, it is so bad

I know her practiced step as

She moves her bins, bags and vats

Out of the run of water

That like ants filling out of the wood

Will scatter and gain possession

Of the floor. Do no tremble then

But, turn brothers, turn upon your side

Of your loosening mats

To where the others lie.

We have drunk tonight of a spell

Deeper than the owl’s or bat’s

That wet of wings may not fly

Bedraggled up on the iroko, they stand

Emptied of hearts, and

Therefore will not, stir, no, not

Even at dawn for then

They must scurry in to hide.

So let us roll over our back

And again roll to the beat

Of drumming all over the land

And under its ample soothing hand

Joined to that of the sea

We will settle to sleep of the innocent and free.



Rip great one! You kind comes once in a life time. Nigerian literary community will miss you.

OLULAW:


What a masterpiece unashamedly brimming with atheism. Avowedly embracing his ethnocultural identity and milieu, it eschew recklessness and needless acrimony, espoused feminine hierarchisation whilst boasting of unalloyed fidelity in marriage. This sort of Nigerian men are endangered species. Requiesce in pace.

Throwback:
Sad loss.

One of the Nigerian literary quartet that Wole Soyinka referred to.

Now only Soyinka is left behind.
Christopher Okigbo is gone.
Chinua Achebe is gone.
JP Clark is gone.

OLULAW:


What a masterpiece unashamedly brimming with atheism. Avowedly embracing his ethnocultural identity and milieu, it eschew recklessness and needless acrimony, espoused feminine hierarchisation whilst boasting of unalloyed fidelity in marriage. This sort of Nigerian men are endangered species.
Requiesce in pace.

Throwback:
Sad loss.

One of the Nigerian literary quartet that Wole Soyinka referred to.

Now only Soyinka is left behind.
Christopher Okigbo is gone.
Chinua Achebe is gone.
JP Clark is gone.

RAGEofFIRE:


Read his poems that were added to the"West African verse" back in Junior Secondary school.......A literary genius

RIP Sir........

Dreambeat:
I think this was written by Kwesu Brew. Great poem too

Exmilitant:
in stretching semantics, you lost your meaning.

gwafaeziokwu:
Night Rain

By J.P Clark




What time of night it is

I do not know

Except that like some fish

Doped out of the deep

I have bobbed up belly wise

From stream of sleep

And no cock crow

It is drumming hard here

And I suppose everywhere

Droning with insistent ardor upon

Our roof thatch and shed

And through sheaves slit open

To lightning and rafters

I cannot quite make out over head

Great water drops are dribbling

Falling like orange and mango

Fruits showered forth in the wind

Or perhaps I should say so

Much like beads I could in prayer tell

Then on string as they break

In wooden bowls and earthenware

Mother is busy now deploying

About our room let an floor

Although, it is so bad

I know her practiced step as

She moves her bins, bags and vats

Out of the run of water

That like ants filling out of the wood

Will scatter and gain possession

Of the floor. Do no tremble then

But, turn brothers, turn upon your side

Of your loosening mats

To where the others lie.

We have drunk tonight of a spell

Deeper than the owl’s or bat’s

That wet of wings may not fly

Bedraggled up on the iroko, they stand

Emptied of hearts, and

Therefore will not, stir, no, not

Even at dawn for then

They must scurry in to hide.

So let us roll over our back

And again roll to the beat

Of drumming all over the land

And under its ample soothing hand

Joined to that of the sea

We will settle to sleep of the innocent and free.



Rip great one! You kind comes once in a life time. Nigerian literary community will miss you.

pozehnani:


Oh.. thanks for the heads up there. Used to think it was chinua Achebe because it had an igbo setting plus it was my elders sisters set that read it. So i used to steal it from her bag then to read and never really had time to check the author.

I still visited the library until the lockdown. I love literature works a lot. Was reading one before the lockdown. "Mothers love" or so. Can't remember the title now.

Baawahala:

Still he is Igbo author, Elechi Amadi from Ikwere,he never denied it.

YorubaKinging:
The end is near

pozehnani:


Ikwere in rivers.? They are not igbos.