Ọbáfẹ́mi Thanni
Ọbáfẹ́mi Thanni is a genre-bending writer whose poetry was the third-place winner of the Nigerian Newsdirect Poetry Prize 2020. He is a reader at The Masters Review and is currently making attempts at beauty while applying for a citizenship in Lucille.
You can find him on Twitter and Instagram @obafemithanni and read his previously published works at obafemithanni.com |
Alternate ending with bloodless dress
after Safia Elhillo’s ‘Vocabulary’ and Tjawangwa Dema’s ‘Homonym’
The Yoruba word ọta means bullet
The Yoruba word ọtá means enemy
What should our memory hold of October
Our mothers prayed may the bullet not stray towards my children
or
Our mothers prayed may the enemy not stray towards my children
Our mothers prayed against the gun
or
Our mothers prayed against the state
To say body you say ara
To say thunder you say àrá
Teminikan recalls that night, I ran my fingers over her body
or
Teminikan recalls that night, I ran my fingers over her thunder
Teminikan recalls a memory
or
Teminikan recalls a myth
To cause a thing to fly you cast the spell fò
To cause a think to break you cast the spell fọ
The feather floating above the drowned boy sings O you should have seen him fly
or
The feather floating above the drowned boy sings O you should have seen him break
The feather wanted the boy to be free
or
The feather wanted the boy to be remembered
In my mother’s tongue meanings are breaths apart
Take a breath and say rí and it means saw
Take a breath and say rì and it means sank
A voice points to a wound and says she was the only one who truly saw me
or
A voice points to a wound and says she was the only one who truly sank me
The voice belongs to a boy
or
The voice belongs to a ghost
The Yoruba word ọta means bullet
The Yoruba word ọtá means enemy
What should our memory hold of October
Our mothers prayed may the bullet not stray towards my children
or
Our mothers prayed may the enemy not stray towards my children
Our mothers prayed against the gun
or
Our mothers prayed against the state
To say body you say ara
To say thunder you say àrá
Teminikan recalls that night, I ran my fingers over her body
or
Teminikan recalls that night, I ran my fingers over her thunder
Teminikan recalls a memory
or
Teminikan recalls a myth
To cause a thing to fly you cast the spell fò
To cause a think to break you cast the spell fọ
The feather floating above the drowned boy sings O you should have seen him fly
or
The feather floating above the drowned boy sings O you should have seen him break
The feather wanted the boy to be free
or
The feather wanted the boy to be remembered
In my mother’s tongue meanings are breaths apart
Take a breath and say rí and it means saw
Take a breath and say rì and it means sank
A voice points to a wound and says she was the only one who truly saw me
or
A voice points to a wound and says she was the only one who truly sank me
The voice belongs to a boy
or
The voice belongs to a ghost
Commentary
Ọbáfẹ́mi on “Alternate ending with bloodless dress”:
I am—along with many African writers—of a bilingual heritage. Whether it is in the Yoruba language I share with Logan February or the Arabic or Setswana I eavesdrop on in the works of Safia Elhillo and Tjawangwa Dema, respectively, there are always implications to the recurring translations and migrations in meaning.
This poem experiments with the same intent as the ones it is written after, considering the implication of alternate meanings in the conception of longing, grief and state-inspired violence.
Editor-in-Chief Christine Taylor on “Alternate ending with bloodless dress”:
When this poem came our way, the editorial team was impressed by Thanni's clever, creative, and deft handling of the dualities that are present in language and how alternate interpretations impose meaning on our lives and circumstances. The form of the poem engages the reader from beginning to end, and overall, the poem continues to ask questions, prompting the reader to return to it again and again.
I am—along with many African writers—of a bilingual heritage. Whether it is in the Yoruba language I share with Logan February or the Arabic or Setswana I eavesdrop on in the works of Safia Elhillo and Tjawangwa Dema, respectively, there are always implications to the recurring translations and migrations in meaning.
This poem experiments with the same intent as the ones it is written after, considering the implication of alternate meanings in the conception of longing, grief and state-inspired violence.
Editor-in-Chief Christine Taylor on “Alternate ending with bloodless dress”:
When this poem came our way, the editorial team was impressed by Thanni's clever, creative, and deft handling of the dualities that are present in language and how alternate interpretations impose meaning on our lives and circumstances. The form of the poem engages the reader from beginning to end, and overall, the poem continues to ask questions, prompting the reader to return to it again and again.