Episode #042 Manifesto On Ars Poetica - Frank Chipasula

Connor and Jack discuss Frank Chipasula's poem "Manifesto on Ars Poetica." They discuss the poem's historical context regarding Malawi, its contrast with Carolyn Forche's style of witnessing, the juxaposition of light and dark, self-reflexivity, and the tradition of ars poetica. Check out the poem below or at this link: https://theafricanbookreview.com/2014/11/27/frank-chipasula/ Read more about Chipasula here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_Chipasula Read more about Tracy Dale's With the Witnesses here: http://www.mqup.ca/with-the-witnesses-products-9780773550285.php Find us on facebook at: facebook.com/closetalking Find us on twitter at: twitter.com/closetalking You can always send us an e-mail with thoughts on this or any of our previous podcasts, as well as suggestions for future shows, at [email protected]. Manifesto on Ars Poetica by Frank Chipasula My poetry is exacting a confession from me: I will not keep the truth from my song. I will not bar the voice undressed by the bees from entering the gourd of my bow-harp. I will not wash the blood off the image I will let it flow from the gullet slit by the assassin’s dagger through the run-on line until it rages in the verbs of terror; And I will distil life into the horrible adjectives; I will not clean the poem to impress the tyrant I will not bend my verses into the bow of a praise song. I will put the symbols of murder hidden in high offices in the center of my crude lines of accusations. I will undress our raped land and expose her wounds. I will pierce the silence around our land with sharp metaphors And I will point the light of my poems into the dark nooks where our people are pounded to pulp. I will not coat my words in lumps of sugar I will serve them to our people with the bitter quinine: I will not keep the truth from my heartstringed guitar; I will thread the voice from the broken lips through my volatile verbs that burn the lies. I will ask only that the poem watch the world closely; I will ask only that the image put a lamp on the dark ceiling in the dark sky of my land and light the dirt. Today, my poetry has exacted a confession from me.

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