‘The Arc of Sight’: Poetic Voice and Displaced Desire in Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike’s “Guitarist on the Landing” ~ Ismail Bala
REVIEW BY ISMAIL BALA
Guitarist on the Landing
By Uchechukwu Peter Umezirike
she strums her Cellotaped guitar, slight woman who sings on the landing at afterwork hours; her jacket bleached, sneakers frayed, hair jumbled, face rucked, eyes a hint of distance, & voice like sand but –
you rarely pause to hear her sing, always in a dash against the push of bodies, until forced this evening to idle on the landing a moment;
…train momentarily delayed
the loudspeaker voice chafes your ears, sighs of commuters like gnats, odours treacly you nearly spit; should you Facebook or Instagram?
her song is what grips – energy of the wind on which a hawk glides, your body unclenches to its currents, prodigious in their sweep; outspread as the hawk, you climb past the arc of sight, above what she sings about:
a father whose mind is a raft on the sea mother who sees shrapnel in her sleep daughter who seeks love in syringed arms son whose desire draws blood wherever he goes –
you’re soaring above butterflies bright…
Guitarist on the Landing
By Uchechukwu Peter Umezirike
she strums her Cellotaped guitar, slight woman who sings on the landing at afterwork hours; her jacket bleached, sneakers frayed, hair jumbled, face rucked, eyes a hint of distance, & voice like sand but –
you rarely pause to hear her sing, always in a dash against the push of bodies, until forced this evening to idle on the landing a moment;
…train momentarily delayed
the loudspeaker voice chafes your ears, sighs of commuters like gnats, odours treacly you nearly spit; should you Facebook or Instagram?
her song is what grips – energy of the wind on which a hawk glides, your body unclenches to its currents, prodigious in their sweep; outspread as the hawk, you climb past the arc of sight, above what she sings about:
a father whose mind is a raft on the sea mother who sees shrapnel in her sleep daughter who seeks love in syringed arms son whose desire draws blood wherever he goes –
you’re soaring above butterflies bright…
