Rashid Pelpuo: I obtained my PhD in African Studies
(Development Policy) from the University of Ghana, Legon. I am a member
of the Wala Royalty in the Upper West Region and have been representing my
people in the Wa Central Constituency in Parliament since 2005, having so far
served 4 terms. I was appointed Minister of Youth and Sports in 2009 and later
became deputy leader of the Parliament of Ghana. From 2012-2016 I was Minister
for Private Sector Development. I write poetry as one of the ways I convey my
thoughts. I first started writing poetry in 1982 whilst in secondary school and
had them published in my school magazine. My first poetry collection was
"The True Meaning of Life," and I have received various awards for my
poems including an Icon of Peace Award by the World Union of Poets in Italy and
the Pride of the Globe Award in Poetry by the World Writers Union from
Kazakhstan.
DV: What was it that inspired you to be a poet, of all
things?
RP: I got my inspiration for poetry in secondary school whilst I was studying English Literature. I read poems by African writers and sometimes felt they were writing what I was experiencing myself. Their story or imagination was to my thinking not different from mine. I started writing as if I had been a poet all the time.
DV: How long do you think it took you to become a
"mature" poet"? More or less right away or only after some time?
RP: I was already 18 years when I started my poetry. I
had clear thoughts about what I wanted to bring out in my writings. I was
sufficiently inspired by other writers especially African poets and novelists
to write my own poems.
DV: Can you share any of your early poems?
RP: Here are two of my poems I wrote in 1984:
RP: Here are two of my poems I wrote in 1984:
SONNET TO THE DEAD LIVING
The dead living, you know well what you are:
One leg in the living world, the wise world,
Peopled with children who know everything;
Another in the world peopled with dead souls
Caught in the old intervening slumber.
Beyond your nose you conceive nothing bright
That would spur you on for a happier life
But keep brooding over useless bygones
To break your swollen heart with more distress.
Oh, you dead living, I grieve for your lot.
Ought you not know that hopes outlive the man,
That a striving for the future builds life?
You are dead living, man, when you slumber
To the thought of the future: Wake up now!
IGNORANCE THE BARRIER
If unity can’t break our boundaries,
If knowing ourselves can’t bridge our differences,
We can unite at heart and soul,
Though we may sit at the two ends of the globe,
Imitating some alien tongues,
Locked in the depths of ignorance of self-liberation
Ignorance is the barrier,
Ignorance our education –
Into which we plunge headlong,
Washing away our imaginings
Knowing not where we head for.
We do not understand!
It is all ignorance.
We must learn the truth
About who we are
When the story is told it must be to say:
We fail because we are ignorant.
The dead living, you know well what you are:
One leg in the living world, the wise world,
Peopled with children who know everything;
Another in the world peopled with dead souls
Caught in the old intervening slumber.
Beyond your nose you conceive nothing bright
That would spur you on for a happier life
But keep brooding over useless bygones
To break your swollen heart with more distress.
Oh, you dead living, I grieve for your lot.
Ought you not know that hopes outlive the man,
That a striving for the future builds life?
You are dead living, man, when you slumber
To the thought of the future: Wake up now!
IGNORANCE THE BARRIER
If unity can’t break our boundaries,
If knowing ourselves can’t bridge our differences,
We can unite at heart and soul,
Though we may sit at the two ends of the globe,
Imitating some alien tongues,
Locked in the depths of ignorance of self-liberation
Ignorance is the barrier,
Ignorance our education –
Into which we plunge headlong,
Washing away our imaginings
Knowing not where we head for.
We do not understand!
It is all ignorance.
We must learn the truth
About who we are
When the story is told it must be to say:
We fail because we are ignorant.
DV: I notice that a lot of African poetry expresses extreme moral seriousness
rather than more personal commentary. Is this a misperception on my part, or do
you think there is some underlying impulse behind it?
RP: Your observation is largely right but if you
understand the historical experience of Africa it would not be surprising.
Remember Africans have come all the way from slavery to colonial rule to
independent imperial governments coupled with misrule and development failures.
The poetry would often capture the effects of all these ills on society. Yet
lots of writings too are deeply personal emotive poems that tell about the
personal life experience of the poet. See for example these poems which I am
associated with:
Sonia you vandalise my soul
With your gift of charm
That tore my breath apart
My heart in drumming throbs
To seek shelter in my cares
I could spend a full life
Seeking comfort in those eyes
On route your sacred heart
To relish in your beckoning gait:
The contours of your serenity
But reality closes in behind me
To tell me it can’t be
So do me this eternal favour
Don’t take my hand to high heavens
And keep my love angels in the rain
I may not, like salt, melt away
But I would be lost in the ashes
Of burnt love and broken vows
With your gift of charm
That tore my breath apart
My heart in drumming throbs
To seek shelter in my cares
I could spend a full life
Seeking comfort in those eyes
On route your sacred heart
To relish in your beckoning gait:
The contours of your serenity
But reality closes in behind me
To tell me it can’t be
So do me this eternal favour
Don’t take my hand to high heavens
And keep my love angels in the rain
I may not, like salt, melt away
But I would be lost in the ashes
Of burnt love and broken vows
From Sonia
Time will undo my knotty disposition
Through these impassive longings
You beckon me at the edge of time
I see in those kind eyes
That seek calm my unyielding desires
I see it in your wondrous dreams
Through these impassive longings
You beckon me at the edge of time
I see in those kind eyes
That seek calm my unyielding desires
I see it in your wondrous dreams
I could buy you with the world
I could keep you in the depths of time
And I could drink of you a life time
But true, the barriers are alive with current
I could keep you in the depths of time
And I could drink of you a life time
But true, the barriers are alive with current
The times are hurrying
Though in chilling uncertainty
Our hopes will transform our petty dream
And transcend these wasteful relics
And settle us in wining times
Though in chilling uncertainty
Our hopes will transform our petty dream
And transcend these wasteful relics
And settle us in wining times
MY SLEEP
I
Do not let it known to Bouguma
Or she would break her head
Crying behind shut doors
Tell her if she must know
That I am on this bed lying down
In a stream of sound sleep
A sleep sweeter than ever I experienced
But bitterest ever she knows.
Do not let it known to Bouguma
Or she would break her head
Crying behind shut doors
Tell her if she must know
That I am on this bed lying down
In a stream of sound sleep
A sleep sweeter than ever I experienced
But bitterest ever she knows.
II
She may have come to know it
When the shadows have fallen back
And grown thinner and taller
From the daily dying sun
She may have come to know it
When the shadows have fallen back
And grown thinner and taller
From the daily dying sun
My poor dumb state
Would add to her woes
For this long sleep has grown
An eternal wedge
That keeps us apart
And transports me to distant grounds
Would add to her woes
For this long sleep has grown
An eternal wedge
That keeps us apart
And transports me to distant grounds
RP: I often write about the need for fair play and I love to write to expose some ills of society often either ignored or perpetuated by a system driven by politicians. But my poetry is diversified. It goes beyond politics. In my anthology I just published I have seven themes and Politics is one thematic area.
DV: How did you get onto the international poetry circuit?
DV: How would you describe the current state of Ghanaean poetry?
DV: In the US poetry is usually derided as well. But that's deceptive.
Actually, poetry in some form is more prevalent than most people realize. Young
men still write love poetry to their beloved. Rap (and other songs) are
poetry set to music. An enormous number of books, magazines, and websites
contain poems, and the number of titles keeps growing. But, even so, many
people still insist that poetry is "too hard" or "not
relevant." I suppose the situation in Ghana is much the same. As an
MP, do you think the government has any obligation to promote poetry, or any
solution to the lack of interest?
RP: As you observe, poetry well practiced as an economic commodity can be very productive. Indeed in Ghana poetry is sung and rapped with lots of fun and wide patronage. The challenge however is when poetry is in print and has to be read and appreciated by a student or a casual reader. The use of figures of speech and other literary devices are often a distraction to people who are only used to reading or listening to mainly prose. It gives the impression that poetry is difficult. This is very pronounced in Ghana though poetry is studied in all schools in Ghana as a necessary part of the curriculum. Given the huge potential and possibilities in poetry as a vehicle to achieve economic ends apart from its primary artistic function, I have no trouble advising the Government to support poetry writing, recitals, and performance as a project.
DV: The UK and the US have formal "poets laureate" with official or semi-official roles. Does Ghana have anything like that? What other specific programs does your country have to promote the art of poetry?
RP: There is no formal state/government approach to supporting or
motivating poets. Nor is there any promotion of a poet laureate in Ghana. What
exists is a laureate of the best music producer and artists of the year
in various areas. Poetry is not one such area. Poetry recitals only occur at
gatherings by poets on their own and at schools by students who join clubs that
promote poetry writing and/or recitals. The state broadcaster, Ghana
Broadcasting Corporation (GBC), however, has a small slot for poetry recitals
which is often utilized by those who are eager to perform their poems,
especially on Ghana Television. I used to publish my poems on one or two
of the state newspapers. Also in my secondary school days I joined the drama
club and when I entered the university I joined the writers club, but these
clubs did not promote poetry enough to select laureates in any form. RP: As you observe, poetry well practiced as an economic commodity can be very productive. Indeed in Ghana poetry is sung and rapped with lots of fun and wide patronage. The challenge however is when poetry is in print and has to be read and appreciated by a student or a casual reader. The use of figures of speech and other literary devices are often a distraction to people who are only used to reading or listening to mainly prose. It gives the impression that poetry is difficult. This is very pronounced in Ghana though poetry is studied in all schools in Ghana as a necessary part of the curriculum. Given the huge potential and possibilities in poetry as a vehicle to achieve economic ends apart from its primary artistic function, I have no trouble advising the Government to support poetry writing, recitals, and performance as a project.
DV: The UK and the US have formal "poets laureate" with official or semi-official roles. Does Ghana have anything like that? What other specific programs does your country have to promote the art of poetry?
DV: If your party ever returns to power, would you be
willing to sponsor legislation to create a national poet laureate?
DV: Meanwhile, since you are now in opposition, how does that affect your time schedule? Are you busier, less busy, or it doesn't affect the legislative pace? Do you have more time to reflect and write than if you were a leading member of the ruling party?
Fishlike, he shies at shadows,
his own following him, nose to the ground,
like a blind bloodhound.
he feeds the sterile steer, and cows of no desire,
on the mast of bitter grapes.
He shades his eyes against fireflies;
and his own life, which once burned bright,
is now yellow tallow.
and then go out, in a wavery line, like beagles in search of rabbits.
Like a gull crying with a tired voice, he looks back often into the fog.
Each night he holds his stone head between
his hands
while his elbows sink into the tabletop.
while his elbows sink into the tabletop.
I realize that you are still very much
involved in politics, but I would appreciate your thoughts on whether, or how,
this poem resonates with you, as a public man.
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