Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

The Bavino Sermons
The Bavino Sermons
The Bavino Sermons
Ebook127 pages1 hour

The Bavino Sermons

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

Born in Orlando West, Soweto, in Johannesburg, Lesego Rampolokeng is a poet, novelist, playwright, filmmaker and writing teacher who rose to prominence in the 1980s, a turbulent period in South Africa s history. Originally published in 1999, The Bavino Sermons includes such memorable poems as Lines for Vincent , Riding the victim train , To Gil Scott-Heron , Crab attack , Rap Ranting and The Fela Sermon .
LanguageEnglish
PublisherDeep South
Release dateJul 23, 2019
ISBN9781928476313
The Bavino Sermons
Author

Lesego Rampolokeng

Born in Orlando West, Soweto, in Johannesburg, Lesego Rampolokeng is a poet, novelist, playwright, filmmaker and writing teacher who rose to prominence in the 1980s, a turbulent period in South Africa’s history. He is the author of several pioneering collections of poetry including Talking Rain (1993), The Bavino Sermons (1999), Head on Fire (2012) and A Half Century Thing (2015). He is also the author of three novels, two plays, screenplays and has collaborated in performances and recording with several musicians.

Related to The Bavino Sermons

Related ebooks

Poetry For You

View More

Related articles

Related categories

Reviews for The Bavino Sermons

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    The Bavino Sermons - Lesego Rampolokeng

    I

    RIDING THE VICTIM TRAIN

    Lines for Vincent

    they pulled out his teeth

    with a pair of pliers before he died

    wrenched out his nails

    ’cos they wanted his manhood denied

    they cut off his genitals

    with a butcher-knife

    while he bled they skinned him

    & let the blood flow with the wind

    i got the full blow of the message

    in the red rage of a storm

    whipping hard at the back of my shame

    & still the shack of memory rattles its bones

    let’s put it in perspective

    no one i know saw vincent’s corpse

    & the condolences were dry cleaned

    by a military-man who lived

    for the struggle to be human

    yes the man in command made a demand

    for his pounds of blood & flesh

    we buried an empty coffin to symbolise

    they say a jackal carried away his skull

    was found choked on the bullet lodged in the brain

    legend would have it

    they waved his head in the air

    & the bones would have made a throne

    for the president

    they mutilated & sodomised his dead body

    vincent was my cousin killed by bravery

    & a nation’s homicidal glory

    i showed him my first pubic hairs

    & in the season of my confusion

    he pointed out the path & how to walk it

    but took a knock on the shock of mortality’s discovery

    on his feet with fog for a blanket

    crept thru smog of a cannon’s fartblast

    to die in komatipoort

    site of the seal on the settlement of deathexcrement

    justice took a hit in the killing fields

    vincent on a hill of scarlet

    with the chill wrapped around him

    it was a whirlstorm within

    tucked under a blanket of fear

    as murder’s recognition grew

    & still the wind of torment blew

    at night i drown in sweat

    with the sight of a death-grin

    with a gun aimed at my brains

    & they call that figment

    of a fevered imagination

    & still

    i see the made up faces on the news

    tremble as i watch them tuck into chicken at luncheon

    in limosine whip thru function after

    cameraflash function

    & want to get their views

    on why lives were compromised

    but my questions are lobotomised

    it’s no use

    stirring the grail of revolution

    when all it can yield

    is a landful of maggots in convulsions

    the mother couldn’t stop shaking her head

    so they certified her mad

    & locked her inside her solitude

    the bomb bullet blade poison

    or just silence

    can ease the itching sore in my mind

    as my tongue twitches

    i know i might encounter the death

    of speech

    but it’s said memory is a long road

    made worse by the heavy load

    of violence

    Riding the victim train

    I

    blight on the site of the death-staple diet

    at gunshot midnight

    the leper cast out in the desert & cold

    without snout or paw in the pot of gold

    but warm & sane on the wisdom train

    i’m beyond the boer factor in the kaffir sector

    if it makes me suffer

    rougher i come tougher

    break its neck ’cos acting kaffir

    is not being black

    cry nazi riding tracks of the third reich

    they stand back from the battle track

    back up the second coming of the groot trek

    herd themselves like cattle in the colour kraal

    wearing the victim label

    everyone a sufferer

    pretending there was never a biafra

    can’t see ethiopia for myopia

    kick up a rat racket

    they pick up a rot packet

    wearing skin like a wallet

    riding a technic of pigment

    moving from depth to platitude

    selling attitude

    each one a racial prostitute

    the victims vie for martyrdom

    blood is mud we trudge

    call on history they reverse the charges

    not jud suss but the birth of a nation

    brutal equation

    the mein kampf syndrome takes hold

    my pain is deeper than yours

    chained to history’s flaws

    from the root of the old

    the fruit takes hold in the throat

    then they wonder why some feed on the seed

    of the dead

    II

    blight on the site of the death-staple diet

    at gunshot midnight

    the leper cast out in the desert & cold

    without snout or paw in the pot of gold

    but warm & sane on the wisdom train

    i’m beyond the boer factor in the kaffir sector

    if it makes me suffer

    rougher i come tougher

    break its neck ’cos acting kaffir

    is not being black

    but shame contained at dawn of conscience’s end

    old wounds dusted off          shown off

    atrocity flags flown high

    casualty squad on scar-parade

    past afraid made present dread masquerade

    achievement charade

    relevant rule of the moment

    tears dried out at birth

    gorgon stoned blind eye devil faith

    tears seen own corpses on the morgue slab

    dr jekyll’s back in the lab

    dreams besieged in withering fright

    vampires in blood hot night

    unleash blistering storm on tattered flesh

    rain of fire wash souls of ash

    lives to the stake

    a slice of civilisation power cake

    bedrock of solomon

    dread lock of samson

    life’s art strife’s fart

    beast to diseased heart

    slow painstrain

    death-flow-rain

    hope in abortion

    riding the victim train

    A bavino love story at wet sunset

    maybe she said i’m impure unclean there are moans & whores

    make the most noise or give blows to the head of manhood

    he said I come in molten lead striking a gong

    when it can no longer claim to be long or strong or even a dong

    maybe she guides him into her inner sanctum out of the storm

    & he said when I pulled out to the surface I said shit & it was

    holding tight when she compressed her sphincter passage

    I could neither axe it nor run to the exit

    maybe he said open the sluice-gates here comes the juice-flood

    she said there’s not a pole here anymore but a mole wriggling

    around in the muddy hole & conquer was not an issue

    the search was for the toilet tissue ... (wipe away shame’s traces

    of aborted explosions when mossy walls of flesh layered purple

    folded straightened out to fossilise shrinking shrivelling

    in embraces of deep silences awaiting the final affirmation

    in the after-mission)

    maybe she said this is not right she tried a hold on the cold

    in the heat & the night first she said let it be the last

    but the genesis revealed her later splaying saying

    stay

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1