When they cried freedom, when the sweet
mingling of woodsmoke and jasmine
with dust – grass, granite, antelope
bone – gathered into wrists which turned
light the colour of blood, darkness
a memory of the colour
of blood – when their voices lifted
that song and sent it echoing
across Africa, I knew it.
Sibanda had taught it to me,
polishing the family's shoes,
squatting outside the scullery
door. We both wore khaki trousers
many sizes too big; no shirt,
no shoes. I spat on the toecaps
while he brushed: and while he brushed
we sang: 'Nkosi sikelel'
iAfrika…' over and over
till the birds joined in. August birds.
'… Maluphakanisw' udumo lwayo …' *
It comes back to me, this August,
now that the jasmine is blooming
and the air is stilled by woodsmoke;
how they cried freedom, and how I
knew their song. A lingering chill
pinches Zimbabwean sunsets
into the cheeks of my children
squatting beside me as I write.
It is their song too. I teach it
to them, over and over, till
my tired eyes are pricked with tears
held back, sweet smoke, dust and jasmine.
*"God bless Africa … Raise up her spirit."
John Eppel (1947--) is an African poet, born in Lydenburg, South Africa. His miner father moved the family to Colleen Bawn in Zimbabwe when Eppel was 4, and he currently teaches English in Bulawayo.
Flowers are a common image in Eppel’s poetry, as seen in this example from his 1995 collection Sonata for Matabeleland. He has meditated on different flowers in his ‘Flower Poems’ series, and often uses them as a symbol of hope or tranquility as in his poem ‘Star of Bethlehem’ where he recalls finding the eponymous flower as a soldier “and stuffed it in my combat / jacket on top of a phosphorous bomb.”
However, in ‘Jasmine’ it is not clear that the flower unambiguously represents hope. As we first delve into the poem there is a rush of images which impressionistically flow into one another: the ‘sweet / mingling of woodsmoke and jasmine’ morphs into ‘wrists [which turn] light the colour of blood.’ The images of darkness and violence all spring from the cry of ‘freedom’ which opens the poem but we are not allowed to make easy judgments about this cry, and are constantly unsettled by the shifting meter and enjambment.
As we are introduced to the main memory of the poem, however, the images solidify a little and a calmer meter takes precedence. ‘I knew it. / Sibanda had taught it to me.’ Assuming the speaker is white like Eppel, we are given an image of two lower-class boys, wearing identical clothes, sharing the work of polishing shoes. Sibanda teaches the speaker the pan-Africa anthem ‘Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrica’ and they seem to regard each other as equals. But we also know the relative privileges of each boy and the massive societal changes which will occur after this memory.
Is there a bitterness to the image of woodsmoke and jasmine mingling? The speaker remembers ‘how they cried freedom, and how I / knew their song.’ Implied is that this freedom never came to the speaker and even as he teaches, still speaks as that boy polishing the family’s shoes.
However, as the jasmine returns for the third time we see that it is still hopeful, and progressive. The speaker continues to teach the song of liberation and believes in the message of freedom for all: ‘my tired eyes are pricked with tears / held back, sweet smoke, dust and jasmine.’ Ending the poem, we see that the jasmine and woodsmoke have transcendental qualities which cross beyond memory, tying in the speaker’s experiences and his love for the people of Zimbabwe.
