Showing posts with label #bnp2015. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #bnp2015. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

ADEEKO IBUKUN FROM NIGERIA WINS THE #BABISHAI2015 POETRY PRIZE



PRESS RELEASE: ADEEKO IBUKUN FROM NIGERIA TAKES THE #BABISHAI2015 POETRY PRIZE
On Friday 28 August,  at the close of the three day first ever poetry festival in Uganda, Professor Remi Raji, Babishai Poetry board member and President of Association of Nigerian Authors, announces Adeeko Ibukun from Nigeria,  the overall winner of the #Babishai2015 Poetry prize.  From over 2,000 poems, the judges, Professor Antjie Prog, Mildred Barya and Richard Ali, selected a long-list of 45 and then a shortlist of 15, whose poems can be read here. http://www.bnpoetryaward.co.ug/download/bnpa_2015_shortlist.pdf.

Adeeko Ibukun won for his poem, A Room With A Drowning Book, which the judges agreed unanimously, was befitting. Professor Antjie Grog says of the winning poem,
“The winning poem is a good example of a very sophisticated way of presenting
content: the choice of a two line stanza creates a sense of simplicity, this is strengthened by the use of a sesure (a kind of pause due to the comma or fullstop in the middle of a line) creating a calm atmosphere.”

In second place was Sheila Okongo Omare Nyanduaki from Kenya, for her poem, The Ghost of Jevanjee and in third place was Nick Makoha from Uganda, for his poem, LHR. In 4th place was Famia Nkansa from Ghana for her poem, Elixir and in 5th was Arinze Ifeakandu for his poem, Like Scented Mangoes.
The overall winner receives 1,000 USD and the top five will receive autographed copies of anthologies and collections namely A Thousand Voices Rising, Boda Boda Anthem and Other Poems, A Nation in Labour by Harriet Anena and copies of Professor Raji’s poetry collections. All the fifteen shortlisted poets will participate in poetry mentorship programs beginning the end of 2015. They will each attend poetry and literary festivals around the continent too.

The #Babishai2016 Poetry festival takes place from 24 to 26 August at The Uganda Museum and from June 10 to 13 in 2016, we’ll be experiencing a Babishai Poetry On the Mountains of The Moon in Kasese, Uganda. Next year’s call for poetry submissions will begin in January 2016.

You may read the winning poem here:

A ROOM WITH A DROWNING BOOK  by Adeeko Ibukun (Nigeria)


Somewhere in the room a book is drowning, the floor
is shivering with pages. You said the spine is the balance

to our two winged hearts. Sometimes it’s the light knitting
its letters to our hearts. I see how things hold us in their lights

so we aren’t here or there like you’re here and somewhere
a lover holds you in her heart, light in water teaching these lessons.

Sometimes something holds clearly what we couldn’t say in words.
We face it to learn our silence and that again becomes part of

our languages. Places own us like this, light bounces off them,
turning their spears at me. Our hearts beat now and vision takes

its shapes—the stream of consciousness, nuances as water turn,
streamlet as novella lost in our undercurrent.  I’m lost in a story now

or a story’s lost in me. Perhaps we should hang on words so that
we do not drown. Remembering makes living its anchor. So I asked

if it’s us you wanted to save insisting everything  is placed this way
and that way of our anniversaries, each moment  achieved  as light

buried in water—so it’s here or there, past or present, our chairs and tables,
dresser and records becoming the dykes. The mirror’s at an angle

to the world so it does not yield all its light at once. Everything’s our
subject before we become their subject, relying on memories to endure.



Sincerely,

The Babishai Poetry Team.

Tel:  +256 751 703226
Twitter: @BNPoetryAward



Tuesday, August 4, 2015

PROFILING NICK MAKOHA (UGANDA) #BABISHAI2015 SHORTLIST






Nick Bio:Nick represented Uganda at Poetry Parnassus as part of the Cultural Olympiad. A former Writer in Residence for Newham Libraries. His 1-man-Show My Father & Other Superheroes debuted to sold-out performances at 2013 London Literature Festival and is currently on tour. He has been a panelist at both the inaugural Being A Man Festival (Fatherhood: Past, Present & Future) and Women Of The World Festival (Bringing Up Boys). In 2005 award-winning publisher Flippedeye launched its pamphlet series with his debut The Lost Collection of an Invisible Man. Soon to publish his 1st full collection The Second Republic from which his poem Resurrection Man was shortlisted for the Flamingo feather poetry competition 2013.He was a joint winner of the 2015 African Poetry Brunel Prize.


His shortlisted poems for the #Babishai2015 Poetry Award are below:
LHR:  by Nick Makoha (Uganda)

An airport is a room. I keep talking as if my body is elsewhere. 
In full sight of a crimson God as children we were burdens,
coffins with eyes. A professor steps into the light to educate us.
You can't kill the dead twice. Has he seen the militia slide down
a mountain like goats, or a beatingheart explode on to a barrack wall?
Even the coffee I brought back in hand luggage when poured in a cup
is an eye, a past dark itching for light.Therefore, I cannot be the memory
of your death, let me bend the waya river does, all shadow and sound,
around a hill, towards a village I once recognised. There are days
when this unplanned landscape speaks its music, above a ribbon of stars,
below a wall of torn out tents and beyond a river waiting as one would
the apocalypse. On other daysyouare a name on a list, given to armed men 
at a roadblock. Guns held loosely by their waist. Hovering as catfish
in a shallow pool. Before roads led to you, or Livingston's maps found you,
before the mountains grew their backs, before sight was tempered,
before the revelation on a skies blank page in this perfect chalice of night
you are not the first pilgrim to ask the oracle what will I become me.
If I could  stop the sky from stretching its arms across the horizon, 
or the serpent Nile opening it's mouth toward a sea, or star blinking
in a midnight constellation as god watches your wife wash silk in a stream
would I not stopped our countries screams. I have the luck of Caesar 
his robe his crown and quest for immortality but soon this course
of blue and the way it bends  will have no need of me.


                        Death-fall    by Nick Makoha (Uganda)

Before Koni, before Museveni, before Obote’s second term, before now
there was me. We were in deep Shit! Bridges couldn’t be fixed with gaffer-tape.
America stopped lending plasticine to fill pot-holes. I quit playing refugee.
Who among you was going to pay our country’s light bill?  Well? You uninvited guests
like Rome, you will know where we put the bodies in their tunics and kangas. My sins,
both real and imagined, into the trap. To my brother my rival, when he comes
don’t let him tap the glass (idiots), devise his death. You stable-god,
a month’s worth of grain for the paratroop regiment won’t purge you. 

New wives and shoes and a move to State House while we live in huts.
Home will see your troubles cursed. By the way, your Chief of Police,
into the trap. You who believed in Churchill’s prophecy. You innocents
ruled by a spinning earth, your tears will quench the barns we set fire to.
You who call your guns She.You papiermâché martyrs with north Kiboko accents.
You shadow soldiers who dig dead men from their graves. You in the motion of battle.
You who search the airwaves for the British World Service, who stare
spirits in the face but can’t stand heights, the rules say, into the trap.

I will not forgive the clan who sheds blood for party politics. Your god might.
The one with his hands up as he waves, ask the firing squad to send him
with the widowers, orphans and motherless sons, into the trap.
All you disciples of empires.Mr Men ministers who paraphrase over PA systems,
into the trap. Wrecked after five days of being held under decree nineteen.
Why riffle through your Yellow pages in search of Heads-of-state? Into the trap.
The executioner who lets you watch his navel after bare-knuckle fights, into the trap.
 You who played The Bard on screen and stage, or quoted Aristotle, into the trap.

Your second tongue, into the trap. Lumino-boy with that Yankee
dialect, into the trap. It makes no difference to me, you sun worshiper.
Name your Icarus and fly, into the trap. You who abandon your wife’s thighs
for the cradle of a servant girl, into the trap. You at The Uganda Company Limited
(Trojans), because you gave us cotton but took our land, follow me with your horse mask,
into the trap. Those who offer me your skins as a fig leaf, let me carve a map
on your backs to Ithaca. You can hitchhike for all I care, into the trap. Take your stand
with the soothsayer in her snake dress. The ones who hesitate, into the trap.

**************************************************************

The #Babishai2015 poetry festival runs from26 to 28 August at The Uganda Museum in Kampala.
Tel: +256 751 703226
Email: bnpoetryaward@bnpoetryaward.co.ug


Monday, August 3, 2015

PROFILING ADEEKO IBUKUN (NIGERIA) #BABISHAI2015 SHORTLIST








Adeeko Ibukun lives and writes from Abeokuta, Nigeria. His works has been published in different journals and anthologies including the Sentinel Annual Literary Anthology (SALA, 2012). His poem, Breathing History, was awarded the second place in the Sentinel All African Poetry competition, 2012. He is currently working on his first book of poems.

His shortlisted poem is below:
A ROOM WITH A DROWNING BOOK  by Adeeko Ibukun (Nigeria)


Somewhere in the room a book is drowning, the floor
is shivering with pages. You said the spine is the balance

to our two winged hearts. Sometimes it’s the light knitting
its letters to our hearts. I see how things hold us in their lights

so we aren’t here or there like you’re here and somewhere
a lover holds you in her heart, light in water teaching these lessons.

Sometimes something holds clearly what we couldn’t say in words.
We face it to learn our silence and that again becomes part of

our languages. Places own us like this, light bounces off them,
turning their spears at me. Our hearts beat now and vision takes

its shapes—the stream of consciousness, nuances as water turn,
streamlet as novella lost in our undercurrent.  I’m lost in a story now

or a story’s lost in me. Perhaps we should hang on words so that
we do not drown. Remembering makes living its anchor. So I asked

if it’s us you wanted to save insisting everything  is placed this way
and that way of our anniversaries, each moment  achieved  as light

buried in water—so it’s here or there, past or present, our chairs and tables,
dresser and records becoming the dykes. The mirror’s at an angle

to the world so it does not yield all its light at once. Everything’s our
subject before we become their subject, relying on memories to endure.


The #Babishai2015 Festival runs from 26t to 28 August at The Uganda Museum.           
Tel: +256 751 703226
Facebook: Babishai Poetry Festival

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

PROFILING GBENGA ADESINA (NIGERIA) #BNP2015SHORTLIST



Gbenga Adesina, poet and essayist, lives and writes in Nigeria. His poems interrogate love and loss and the miles and more in between.
Some of them have been published or are forthcoming in Africanwriter.com, brittlepaper, Osiwa Anthology(cassava press), Jalada aand others. He was a 2015 Open society for West Africa Resident poet on the Goree Island, Senegal. His chapbook curated and edited by Kwame Dawes is set to be published in Spring 2016 in the New Generation African Poets series by the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Akashic books, NewYork.




JOURNEY INTO SONGS by Gbenga Adesina (Nigeria)
(On the Benin road)
i
The leaves are an imagination of green:
Self-preening Limbas, doting, motherly Guava trees unfurling their
arms on this road. The oaks and mahoganies loop like
map lines that lead to love.
And you, being you, find yourself in a state of desire
You want to touch and be touched. To fold yourself into a song, into a ballad
and give of it to this air. To re-listen to these places with new eyes, you
yielding to the road, the road yielding to you. Hugh Masekela cooing beside you;
the sheer thrush of self-surrender.
ii
But really, I’m thinking these greens, these twigs are opening sentences
I’m thinking, really, that roads are people and people are roads and
when we take them, navigate them, what we come into is a soft surprise
of songs. Some bright watermarks, some dark or maroon like love or loss
like these trees and their cheerful leaves beneath which there is a dying and a sighing
and a loving, like the red wound in Hugh’s voice as he twirls and twirls me into his space,
my hands trembling on the gear.
I press down on the pedal. Our car is a purr scissoring through the night.
iii
We are now at a junction where a slim, red-brown road on the left
slithers down the green into something we do not know
If I turn this wheel, careen down the road into its dusty insistence
Will I see her
My mother: a little Benin girl again making dreams in sand
or her father, Abulema, bare chested sculptor, his fingers
quick to love as to wood, nursing a bronze slap into a god
a waiting in his eyes, under this April sky relentlessly preaching
the gospel of rain.



**********************************************************************

The winner of the 2015 BN Poetry Award will be announced during the Babishai Poetry Festival, 26 to 28 August at The Uganda Museum.  #babishai2015