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Showing posts from March, 2020

Coronavirus Pandemic: Organizers suspend Lagos Art Festival

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Owing to concerns over the spread of the COVID-19 virus in Nigeria, organizers of the Tiwa N' Tiwa Street Art Festival have postponed the festival earlier scheduled to hold this month in Lagos to November 2020, when they hope that the pandemic would have been contained so all participants and guests could operate in a safe and conducive environment.
Organizers said that although the Nigerian Centre for Disease Control (NCDC) has not declared the need to close public gathering, the evidence suggests that the situation has the propensity to evolve rather rapidly. Because the festival is a community event, their priority is the safety of the community, the attendees and Lagosians.
They assured that while they understand the gravity of the situation for all the artists and creatives who through the festival have found a platform to support their talents, and the businesses that participate in the festival, they are by this postponement respecting and adhering to the guidelines and pro…

Poet-Today ~ Iquo Diana-Abasi ~ The Arts-Muse Fair

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BETRAYAL
The heart betrays, pretends to be stoic in its unfailing rhythms, yet reduces to inchoate stutters at the smell of perfume. Alien may be signature scent, but this heart falters at the memory of how you define and own this Thiery Muggler creation.
The nose is accomplice here, deciphering the scent's various components, perfume, alcohol, an 'other' smell; the indelible scent of you. the nose betrays at the aroma of food too...
Afang, spliced with Cameroon pepper or Nsukka yellow, and heavy helpings of periwinkles and dry catfish, escorted with baby-bum-smooth fufu. Achi-thickened Oha, sweetened with a slight splash of mfangadusa, but no ogiri. This nose perceives you instead of Abak Atama, spread lavishly, on soft rice. All with just a bit too much salt – the way you like it.
In this, the mouth is accomplice too, attempting to acquire your tastes in your absence, smiling that sardonic smile with each unsuccessful attempt, yet trying again.
The ears hear a note of your laughter in …

Poet-Today ~ Michal Musialowski ~ The Arts-Muse Fair

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A BALLAD FOR NAREHET
There was a time Sweet, sweat time Water turning into wine Spring aborting life Tame and shy
There was a time of a shadow and a cross hanging across the road on a bed of nails
And so Sybil said: "EineWahrheit, ein Land, einGott!" and we died like dogs "Beautiful dogs!" trying to understand and stand under the regime of middle-aged Gods while nervously sucking rotten milk from Madonna's breasts
When we took the sandy path the swarm was beyond Caronte flowing into the heart of darkness into the inferno like a muddy river of sperm mixing with the salty Mediterraneo
Among oil stains and fish we swam


ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TRAIN TRACKS
In the beginning was the Word That ripped the silence with violence; My beginning is screaming with my end Echoed among crossroads of alleys
The shades of me Lie in fragments and await Like an agonizing patient Cut by the injustice of a new dawn.
The moments will scar with the unknown Carried by raindrops of thunder
In my beginnin…

Book Review ~ Umar Dada Paiko's aphthongs ~ By Olu Jacobs

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The sound and fury of Silence  Or Is Sheikh Shakespeare?
Introduction Before he was forced to commit suicide in 399 BC for impiety and corrupting the youth, Socrates reminded his accusers that, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”
2. Sheikh Umar Dada Paiko seems to have reached the same conclusion in aphthongs, his first poetry collection. It is a finely crafted work, part warning, part epitaph. 
3. The book looks at our lust for life, the lies and illusions and vanities we pursue with such vigor and how they attenuate our vision, and concludes that we are on the path to perdition. 
4. I am immediately reminded of Shakespheare’s Macbeth in that famous soliloquy over the death of his wife, the infamous, irredeemable Lady Macbeth, when he said, all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. 
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,And then is heard no more. It is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying…