Two Poems
By Solomon Tsehaye
Abstract
Solomon Tsehaye is a leading novelist and poet in Eritrea. He was severely injured whilst fighting with the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) for freedom from Ethiopian colonisation, and was subsequently assigned to cultural work. The poems published here originate from the time of the liberation struggle, addressing the sacrifice of the fighters and the transformation of women’s roles during Eritrea’s liberation war, when a third of all the EPLF forces were women. The poems are translated from the original Tigrinya by Elsa Gebreyesus and Solomon Tsehaye. For more on the artistic work emanating from the Eritrean liberation struggle, see the review of Alemseged Tesfai’s Two Weeks in the Trenches in the book review section.
[Published in Leeds African Studies Bulletin 66 (2004), pp. 44-46]
Two Poems
Sacred Gift
I have won my case
I fought and I triumphed.
My plant,
plant of peace, tilled by the jagged edges of my bones
plant of prosperity, moistened by my sweet, dark marrow;
This plant of grace,
blossomed – fed by my body and soul
ripened – watered by my sweat and bood.
This harvest of peace,
is the fruit of my toil;
This endless, blissful sleep,
the resting place of my heart.
I am fine
underground,
The mound is my blanket
and the bush my neighbour,
My dust-bed is just like a mattress
Oh, how soft has become my stone-pillow!
Yet, mother, the wind carries
your melancholy voice to my soul,
a voice tinged with the sadness
of mournful hearts.
You ululate, then weep
You chant, then weep
You sing, then weep
You dance, then weep
You are proud, but weep
Two emotions from one heart.
My comrades, like the wheat stalks
overlooked while gleaning the harvest,
My comrades, like the raw seeds
left among the cooked;
Mother, they are watching your weeping face in pain
Please think of them, so they don’t grieve for their living.
As you don’t claim back
the sacred gifts you offer for grace,
I too, am an offering for truth;
Highest of all is freedom’s price
so please mother, accept my sacrifice.
Goodbye Kitchen!
When first
I saw the world
with my new-born eyes,
there were no cries
of celebration,
no drums, no ululation;
It was an unwanted birth
one without mention.
Tradition labelled me worthless
except in the power of birth;
Culture denied me freedom
destroying my sense of self;
This heavy burden
like a hump on my back,
stole my every breath,
Milked my sweat and blood.
But, a turbulent storm
swept my way,
carried my burdens
and miseries away.
I defied the imprisonment
of tradition,
I broke free from the chains
of custom;
No longer forced to
bow in submission,
No longer locked
in the confines
of the kitchen.
Having offered my life
as dowry beyond price
to my country’s service;
Dressed in shorts
and with rolled up sleeves
alongside my brothers,
I irrigate the soil
with my sweat,
I toil and toil
to make the land green and fertile.