MARIA KAKINDA BIRUNG is an unabashed lover of literature. Her poem, 'I am not sorry anymore,' was amongst the Top five in the #Babishai2016 poetry competition. Here, we explore more about her literary life.
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If you had a choice of only one sentence in the world to describe
yourself, what would it be?
A selectively curious girl
who revels in introversion and sporadically explores literature.
What are some of your sources of inspiration?
Experiences, not
necessarily my own but other peoples’. University has so far been a pool of
encounters. My interaction with more people has been helpful especially since
people have varying versions of what they consider to be reality. Sometimes the
versions are not dramatically contrasting but are often revealing.
When it’s difficult for me
to write, I try to read books especially fiction. I have a habit of re-reading
parts of books that strike me the most. I do that a lot with ‘The Beautyful
Ones Are Not Yet Born by Ayi Kwei Armah’ and ‘Tar Baby’ by Toni Morrison.
In your #Babishai2016 shortlisted poem entitled, ‘I am not sorry
anymore’, you express, through the persona, an unveiled discontent at the
hypocritical and changing worldviews towards women. Why was this poem important
to you?
There’s a certain pressure
that comes with youth. For women, it is to look and act in a certain way.
Apparently there is a norm to which we must submit and even then our response
should be measured.
But I think deep down each
of us is struggling with some existential reality to which its ultimate
fulfilment eludes us. And I always think about how amazing it is that sometimes
you look across the street and see a lady or gentleman, very well put together.
Even I, am a culprit. I am not saying that there is no need to apply reason for
sanity’s sake but we should recognise that within each of us there is a storm.
My professor calls it dialectics; that even when one is still, the respiratory
and circulatory system are in motion. Perhaps Nikitta Gill’s quote can best
summarise what I am trying to say; ‘Whilst somewhere the water is calm, in another
place in the very same ocean, there is a colossal storm.’
Is it important for poets to always have an angle, as they write?
I think it is mostly important when we embark on a deliberate journey to address a specific issue, when we are aspiring to be agents of change. But there are times when poets are writing to discover themselves, to find answers within themselves to questions which they have constructed. And even then, the questions are never definite.
What are some of your favourite poems?
In no particular order;
Five Stations for Various-Richard Ali
Take over-Melissa Kiguwa.
The Kingdom of Gravity-Nick Makoha.
Quarantine with Abdelhalim Hafez-SafiaElhillo.
The poems in ‘Salt’- NayyirahWaheed.
What do you think a poet should do, when readers respond violently
to their work?
I think that a poet in
writing not only aims to express him/herself but also to illicit some sort of
emotion from the reader. The poet’s control is and should only be confined to
what is written and how it is moulded. The greater adversity would therefore be
no response than any response at all. A non-response may presuppose that one’s
work is detached/pretentious, you name it. A violent response on the other hand
may reflect truths and what is a greater aspiration than truths’ revelation?
As poets, how can we separate our work from our personal lives?
I think our personal lives
inform our poetry and as a result our poetry is more honest. But if we must
separate our work from our personal lives, we could immerse ourselves entirely
in the events of our lives. What I mean is that we would have to be ‘entirely
where we are’, making a deliberate choice to fully experience something. If we
must say words or do actions or respond to certain things at those precise
moments, then we should. Because poetry is very reflective and sometimes when
we write, it is in response to what I would like to call a ‘subsequent reaction’.
We are going back in time and saying, “This happened and I did this but I would
have liked to do that.” Or “I felt like
this but I should have felt like that.”
This would then be
accompanied by editing the poetry and extracting those things that we think
we’d not like the whole world to know.
Our third Babishai poetry festival runs from 4-6 August, starting
with a poetry trek across Mabira Forest, Poetry@Mabira. Will you join us?
It would be lovely to join
you and I hope to be there.
How best can poetry be celebrated for those who find it elitist?
I think that people who
find poetry elitist should first recognise that writers are human and not
superhuman. Sometimes the expectations of the public on the writers is
superficial. That because one is a writer (poet), one should always be
reasonable and very, very dignified. Yet poets struggle with the same things as
you. From personal crises to ‘simple’ things like vocabulary. But I think that
perhaps it is a cycle. That sometimes the writers also sub-consciously emulate
these expectations. So personal, ‘face to face’ interaction with the poets
would be ideal.
In Uganda, one cannot fail
to recognise that there has been a re-emerging focus on poetry in our
indigenous languages, almost like a shift back to those days of folk-lore and
storytelling. This has helped poetry become more relatable and encourages a
wider group of people to come up with their own creative ways of poetry.
Any parting remarks?
I would like to thank the
team of Babishai Niwe Poetry Foundation for giving an
opportunity to African emerging poets to interact and learn from each other.
Thank you Maria
I AM NOT SORRY ANYMORE.
I am not sorry
anymore, world.
The internet you
shoved down my throat
And the grotesque
knowledge you dropped
Onto my stunting
spine taught me that
To be a woman, my
forte would be,
Not a sharp mind
but a sharp tongue.
That I had to
spit-
Lewd and rude
from pretty lips with lipstick mounted on them.
It is you,
You who taught me
that-
Woman was acronym
for; War Over Males ANew!
That we had
adopted new tactics against men.
The strength of
womanhood placed on a weighing scale,
Would be measured
by the kilogrammes of
How many pillows
I had lain on
And how many
men’s mattresses had dipped with the weight of my body.
That the coveted
for trophy would be presented to me,
With the measure
of how many drops of tears my cup of vanity had collected,
And how many
hearts my overgrown fingernails had scoured.
Isn’t it you who
taught me-
To scrub the
melanin off my skin?
For the fire in
me would be revealed
Through the
beauty of my newly acquired light skin.
Isn’t it you who
whispered
That my
femininity was evidenced by
The number of
Instagram followers
Who unlike the
disciples to Jesus, would hang onto the gospel…
Of the edges and
curves of my body
And the wit of a
sexually induced mind?
How dare you
change your mind then?
And tell me that
the price of femininity had changed…
That I had to
grow the branches of a discerning mind and heart…
That ladies like
Maya Angelou and Malala Yousafzai…
Had taken the
mantra from the hands of women
Whose nudity and
sexuality was weightlessly carried through
The air for all
to see….
How dare you turn
your back on me
Seeking to
un-teach all the things;
That you had
buttressed into my being?
Kakinda Maria Birungi
Uganda
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