Tag Archives: explanation

Explained -The Mad Village Poet 10

Monkey in Bali, Indonesia

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Original(O): You can call the frog cute
Just so he can help rid you of mosquitoes.
Explained(E): Just as you can call the cow pretty just so she gives you milk. This is about ass-kissing -pardon the use of the term “ass”. When we think about ass-kissing or foot-licking, we usually think of pleasing those “above” us. But, besides royal(and gorgeous) asses, what about that “low-life” or “social misfit” of a person whom we don’t really feel the slightest admiration for as a fellow HUMAN; whom we just keep around us for the things we stand to gain from them. Worse still, we keep them believing they matter to us. Such pitiful, scary emotional vampires some of us make! I can’t imagine what thoughts will run through the mind of that young man when he learns that his “girlfriend” is just keeping him “around her ankles” for some bizarre reason remotely far from attraction.
O: A long road ends in heartbreaks
When your heart grows sick from longing.
E: Some will claim distance breeds longing! Indeed, I’d like to know the definition of that distance -one year, across one continent? Not that there are no EXCEPTIONS. I’d like also to know the meaning of EXCEPTIONS. I know of a friend of mine -distance of about 6 time zones and 3 years. It appeared he wasn’t an exception.
O: Though one may prove brave and strong
By walking the length of it,
Is the journey any more fun?
In the end, anyway
You will earn the Purple Heart for boredom.
E: I would applaud such a friend, for instance; but, they are no more together today. And such a man he was! Such a man!
O: How fast time flies
When its wings are unclipped by the pen.
E: Sometimes, I would start writing around the stroke of midnight, and get lost till it’s around 2am. Writing has such great pull on one.
O: Life turns up great
When played by the book.
E: And where is such a book?
The only one that’s given my life any semblance of sanity is the Bible.
O: But spare me the throes of reading music.
E: A just-by-the-way comment. But, if there’s any reader here who can also read music, my respectful bow. How is it that reading something so liberating and wonderful be so seemingly boring?!
O: I’d rather be just another croaky-frog writer,
Who sings his words with a bang
Even though he plagiarized.
E: And I can’t count the number of them. Writers who photocopy others’ ideas and words. With no originality on their own part. And they blow their own trumpets loud with it.
Anyway, let’s acknowledge some creativity there. They remixed another’s song and made best-sellers with it.
O: Then what advantage does free-styling have,
When the monkey also has his stunts?
E: I would give more credit though, to some fledgling writer who shows some personality/originality.
What then makes anyone earn the title of a “writer” when just anybody can freestyle.
NB: I do not mean to sound derogatory or insulting by using the word “monkey”. From my past writings in this series, you will see more clearly how I have used the term to refer to human beings in a poetic way.
O: But, can we all be poet laureates?
E: The answer would be a banging-croaky “No”!
O: You don’t need wisdom to choose which to be.
You only need monkey soup.
E: By saying monkey soup now, keeping in mind past usages of the word “monkey”, I am referring to creativity/ingenuity.
O: And don’t even begin to think
You know the choice I made.
Humour me if you can
Not forgetting that you’d still the monkey soup,
So we can speak the same lingua.
So long, fellas!
We shall meet in the jungle.

Thank you!

Explained -The Mad Village Poet 9

English: Long Road

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Original(O): Time to walk the open streets of poetry
Though many preferring safety-sheds and lookouts.
Explained(E): Traditional poets face the challenge of dwindling fans and enthusiasts, on a stage where modern musicians, classical novelists, actors, etc also strut. There is therefore the need for courageously using poetry in ingenious ways, to get one’s message to the world. In the real sense, poetry is actually an open street of expression, but somehow, people seem to run into potholes. And, like I once said, dry lands(bad writings) are so easy to find these days.
O: However, the monkey struts in it
Having mastery of arts,
And immune from trial in court.
The wisdom of the Creator.
The beauty of art.
E: In my past writings, I have often likened myself to a monkey in this sense: I do not pride myself as a veteran writer, and so my “bad” works may be excused. (Big smile + wink!)
In this writing, I am saying: everyone has a right to expression. Just like what holds in the particularist school of philosophy, virtually everyone can be regarded as a poet. Even if they are not renowned poet laureates. So, they can stroll out in the streets of poetry freely; and so far they CAN truly express THEMSELVES, they can’t be found guilty.
O: Is the writer just a creator of words,
Bored with the very essence?
E: And the answer would be a spotless “No”. Writing is definitely not all about the use of words for their beauty. It’s also a lot about the message one hopes to send out. This is why a writing with words that cannot send out the message of the poet may classify as a dubious one.
For instance, “The Mad Village Poet 9(Original)”!
O: And, knowing there is no end to words,
Shouldn’t there be enough to go round?
(Give hear, you unemployed ones!)
E: There are writers who started from the scratch as freelance writers. Some even started from the “basement” as private ranters. These have found a very meaningful and gainful occupation in writing. It is really an open street with shops and stalls.
O:And, now, some will say:
Some writers have command of the literal world.
E: Well, we don’t have to all open wholesale depots on this street. Let some be content with small stalls; and even some with hawking!
O: And after the elaborate journey into literal insanity,
Won’t the mad poet get bored?
E: Indeed, it is boring sticking to one manner of expression throughout one’s writing career. By the time I am writing this explained version, I have already concluded the eleventh and last (original) mad village rant.
O: (Wonder if his rants are not considered insults
To the job description of the writer.)
E: Of course, I do not mean “ranting” in itself is insulting. I was particular about the mad village poet series. Without these explanations, they would have really been terrible excuses for writing.
O: Won’t he then do what he knows best
Thinking and writing like one who loves monkey soup!
E: And the mad village poet did just that: he thought of laying an egg! One that will hatch into The Mad City Poet!
Thank you.

Explained -The Mad Village Poet 8

The following is the author's description of t...

Cloud Gate

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Original(O): It is a good time to play,
Before the night goes astray,
Explained(E): Like I have said earlier on, I am a nocturnal creature and more active at night. After my daily medical work, eating and working out; and I wake up into the totally fair evening weather and take my bath, I am ready to start the day. This implies that the nights are my last treasured moments for the day. I eat supper on the stroke of midnight, watch movies, do some writing and pass out past midnight on the wings of music for the spirit.
O: And the dawn brings the clouds
Who love knocking on my window;
E: I have once described the morning weather as “as fair as it can be” (or in words like that!) The sun is in a hurry to wake up, and the mornings are bright and wonderful. You feel like you woke up in the clouds.
O: Then I wake up on my knees,
Paying homage to the Supreme
Who stands as the Gate-Keeper
To the world of the Supreme Unseen.
E: You pass out at the brink of ecstasy. What better way to wake up than into heaven’s arms. It’s all about Him here. He freely and lovingly throws the gate into His(Christ’s) Kingdom open for any “Tom, Dick and Harry” to hop inside. Bless the days I refuse the all-too-easy offer. Blame it on my self-destruct mechanism and the nothing-good-comes-easy mindset..
O: One day the pregnant virgin will lay her egg;
And when they hatch, an adult emerges.
He will then stroll up to the stage,
After years of stepping up to the plate,
E: With reference to the prequel to this (rant no. 7), I(the mad village poet) would be the virgin. And after seasons of learning and growth, a better writer hopefully emerges.
In another sense, the mad village poet will soon give birth to it’s creation -The Mad City Poet.
O: To pick up the prize.
The penultimate proof of maturity.
The reward for seasons of wandering the white land.
E: Whatever good or bonus comes to one as a writer is not the end of the story.
The ultimate proof is the impact to the world done. And I do not mean writings that must move crowds or nations. I mean writings that will make some meaning to any one person or crowd. That is the ultimate reward.
(Though the prize the mad village poet’s creation picks up refers to the bonuses and accolades!)
At least, all your years or seasons of writing will pay off.
The “white land” refers to my white sheets I made my notes on.

Thank you.

Explained -The Mad Village Poet 7

frog or toad

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Original(O): Sit still before me.
Listen to the diarrhoea of constipated thoughts
Bleeding from the mind of the virgin.
The blue-blood stain a clear proof!
Explained(E): The head and the heart have been packed full, with passions and thoughts; and are now rushing out in words. That would make me the virgin writer, the newborn in the game. And that would make my blue ink the stain on the white paper I wrote my poems on whilst in the village.
O: Wisdom can speak for itself,
Without using loudspeakers.
E: Wisdom at times can be easily recognised as wisdom. (When it uses a loudspeaker.) Other times, however, one cannot easily see the sense in something until near the end, or long after it is over.
O: It can’t be likened to my relatives
-The stout croaky noble frogs
Who shoulder the responsibility of the world.
E: I think I pass for a lover of nature; and sometimes I liken myself to monkeys, just for poetic effect. I have also taken a deeper liking to the amphibians (whom I praised more in my post “My Idyllic Village Experience”. These have given rise to the saying “you don’t have to croak to be heard”. Ironically, this ain’t always true; this amphibian has done its research well. It croaks usually for mating advertisement. Now, is this not true that when it comes to courtship rituals amongst us humans, we usually croak to be heard? From the girl subtly wriggling her hips or playing the “feeling aloof” card to the wild and boisterous ones!
O: Dryness is found everywhere these days.
And many times, it also doesn’t croak to be heard.
The parch-throated reader can testify to that.
E: Sadly, there are many writings that don’t interest readers these days. It’s a desert here on this whiteland, with many of us writers struggling to pitch our tents. Some writers have discovered oases, however, and have built houses!
And when a writing is really dry, it’s not hard to tell.
O: Wonder if there’s any who understands the line above!
E: Hmm! Should I criticise myself and call my writing …? Well, I already admitted to being a virgin!
O: So, let the wise-humoured reader
Venture into this white land
With a cup of water.
E: Just as written. Don’t expect to have your thirst quenched. Better to be surprised with some good writings you stumble upon than to have high expectations and come off the blogosphere with nothing.
O: And now, the virgin waits to be impregnated!
Thank you.

Explained -The Mad Village Poet -5

English: sun behind clouds. Français : Le sole...

The president of Nigeria, Goodluck Jonathan, a...

The president of Nigeria, Goodluck Jonathan.

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Original(O): The days skip by,
Without the ticking of the clock.
Explained(E): it was just an expression to show how fast time ran (ahead of the normal 24hrs). Contrary to what one might expect in such a quiet setting, I actually got so busy I had to near-strictly schedule every activity so I could make out time. You can find out more from the background story.
O: Can the Physicist take notes, please;
Whilst the Chemist sits still, watching?
E: Time itself is a physical concept. One also observes Physics in the motions of the clock. However, from O’level Chemistry, one remembers the origin of “a second” is from the cycles of a Caesium atom.
O: When will the bored boring poet stop;
And begin to grow?
E: Well, I wasn’t actually bored in my daily activities. But I like to think of my musings as boring at times: same lines of thought, same cynicism, etc. Secretly, I love the villagelife halo to it, though.
I hoped I would leave this phase when I left the village. But, should growth be defined by the environment?
O: How good life is,
When you can go through it lying on a family bed?
And the rays of the sun are enough to warm you up.
You never have to excersise your muscles.
Hope your heart doesn’t follow suit!
E: I had a kingsize bed that is bathed with the warm early morning sun. You wake up into that brightness and you feel without a care in the world; you stretch your limbs on the huge mattress and you feel you are ready to take on Giant Atlas or Superman.
But, if you resort to a sedentary lifestyle, you will be paving way for cardiac failure. So, get your muscles working, and keep your heart muscles working.
O: Life has been fair to me of late.
Now, I can at least lay some claim to sensibility.
E: Comparing with my earlier mad rants, one could notice some structure to my thoughts. They tend to be cohesive and not picking many scattered bits of words and ideas. That was even why I had to be interpreting my rants.
O: Who can teach the naïve termites,
To find some other place to attack besides my cottage?
E: The termites dominated every small hole in the walls; they laid seige to the the couches, but we stopped them in time; then they set their sights unto the ceiling, ravaging at the edges. It was a never-ending battle till we left.
O: I wonder if President Goodluck Ebele Jonathan,
Has a place for them in the new minimun wage scheme;
Knowing they were exempted from the Poverty Alleviation Scheme.
E: I should keep my lips sealed on this one.
O: I wake up every morning into brightness,
As the clouds come knocking on my window.
E: On most mornings, the weather appeared so wonderful you literally felt you awoke close to the wonderful bright early morning clouds. This is plainly true; and is not a poetic exaggeration.
O: I wonder how many hours of sleep the sun gets,
Whilst we humans complain of insomnia.
The perpetual story of the weather here!
Yet some would call me a fair-waethered breed.
E: It was mostly sunny there. It was hard defining dawn because the sun seemed to be in a hurry to start the day, yet it took its time once up in the sky, patiently heating up the weather there. You had to cover yourself as much as you could from the heat. Don’t think you could allow for the breeze, because the breeze was hot and unpleasant. And you didn’t have to worry about sweating because the air was so dry sweat couldn’t form on your skin before it evaporated.
Introducing me: a slim, light-brown young man who against people’s expectations could withstand the worst of heat and the most painful of colds.
Nice to meet you!