Today’s prompt for day six of NaPoWriMo was to find a poem from Poetry International in a language you don’t know and then, “read the poem to yourself, thinking about the sound and shape of the words, and the degree to which they remind you of words in your own language. Use those correspondences as the basis for a new poem.”

Because isiZulu was listed as a language, I of course went there. It is a beautiful language spoken by the father of my 5 children, Mbuso Cele. I know only enough to recognize when it is being spoken. I posses a small vocabulary and can sometimes identify the subject a Zulu speaker is speaking of, but not the details. I spent almost a year in Pietermaritzburg, and regret not having learned more. I was able to get by with English such that I didn’t attempt Zulu for fear of making a mistake.

In 2015, composer and friend, Dan Lis wrote the piece, The Places of the Past. and dedicated it to Mbuso. It was written for the student string orchestra at the Music School at Sound Crossing. Dan incorporated the poem, Umlando Yinto Enzima (History is a Heavy Matter) by Gcina Mhlophe into the composition and recorded Mbuso reciting a portion of the poem. I have held onto that recording just as I’ve held onto the fondest of my memories of the time Mbuso and I were married and raised our children together.

The bittersweet inevitably draws the poet’s heart. I’ve included the recording of Mbuso’s recitation below.

Iqiniso (Truth)

Of course that would be the poem I find 
on the sixth day. 
“I miss his voice” she said when you left so suddenly
A parent’s voice is planted deep.
History is indeed a heavy matter.

And this, these words,
they capture more than just the timbre,
low, sweet and rich.
You still have a captivating voice
so I played it over and over for her 
that winter.

Did your worst memories leave you so 
perplexed, speechless?
Your voice is still golden to her.
Khumbula, don’t forget 
to honor your sweet maiden, nkosazana yakho
with the sound of your voice.

The words rise and fall like the beat of drums.
izigubhu, zithi gu gu! Gu gu!, they say gu gu!
a click of the tongue here and there
I’ll play it for her when she gets home today.
I am still thankful for such 
places of the past.