By Mel Cooke, Freelance Writer
A-dZiko
WESTERN BUREAU:
SHEENA JOHNSON introduced A-dZiko Simba, Tuesday night's guest at the monthly Poetry Society of Jamaica fellowship, with the poet and storyteller's own words: "We are the artists. We are reflecting earth and sky."
Simba skipped between stone and full moon fleetingly, as she skipped down the steps of the amphitheatre at the Edna Manley College of the Visual and Performing Arts, dancing to the drumming of M'Bala, who was already in place among his instruments in the performance area.
Elegantly and simply dressed in a green tie-die outfit, A-dZiko Simba's smile seemed to embrace all the members of the massive audience which turned out for the launch of her album Crazi Ladi Dayz.
The rhythmic applause that totally eliminated any clutter from nearby Arthur Wint Drive, St. Andrew, paused as M'Bala's drum patter changed and Simba stepped to the microphone. "I got one good poem in my head/in amongst the riot of words-," she began, enunciating clearly and expressing emotion in voice and body, without being excessive with either. The audience went along on Simba's journey of a poet trying to get the "coagulated words gushing out," applauding as she ended somewhat plaintively about the poem "trying to make itself good and whole/this one good poem/I got at least one."
The format of her presentation, alternating live performance and recorded tracks from the album, was established early, M'Bala still maintaining a presence on disc as he played guitar to Simba's musings on a "moon day".
Back into the performance, Simba advised "Mr. Bush, don't push," personifying herself as "an Afghan woman picking through the what leave of my life" and "a Native American with serious reservations". The poem ended with a controlled yet cacophonous, extended quizzical babble, from which the poet emerged to ask "who the hell are you?"
Simba's hands became wings as she urged "fly!" to the sound of the drums; her voice became that of a child as she expressed her need to sometimes "suck thumb" in her closing poem and album title track, Crazi Ladi Dayz
There was also a touch of singing, and an urging to "live to the brim, live to the full" on To The Full and Overflowing.
Simba expressed her gratitude to Poetry Society of Jamaica president Tommy Ricketts, the Society's public relations officer Sheena Johnson, Atiba Wilson, musician and "walking library" and "this person who keep following me around. People tell me sey him jus' stick on pon yu."
"Him beg fi play pon de album, no true?" someone shouted from the audience.
"Y'nuh! In the end I just had to say 'M'Bala come'," A-dZiko Simba said, the musician and poet making his lop-sided way forward with a smile and a rattle from the cymbal strapped to his left foot to accept the applause of the crowd and a hug from Simba.
FIREWORKS
Earlier, steamy stanzas were delivered by a succession of poets in the open mic section, so much so that before making his contribution Abebe said: "I hear some fia a bun from night. I waan see if I can push a wood inna de fia." He proceeded to throw in a huge log, dismissing those who 'space out like Star Trek', advising 'no watch no face, face a surface', concluding that the purpose was to 'straighten out a bway who a tongue twister'. There were howls of applause.
One poet criticised the political process by commenting "dem live inna Missa Gordon house/cause dem naa do a damn ting fi de poor people dem"; Damali described the United States president "waving and playing golf while you die"; one young lady reading for the first time described the first love feeling and prayed "mi head no get too fuzzy and me walk ova de bridge"; Samuel Gordon spoke of love in "orgasmic ganja moments", standing stock still and intoning into the microphone "the tears in our eyes are not for parting but our returning to our place of beginning".
Lynch of Jah Children ended the open microphone section with a poem that spelt out Ivan, commenting that "I don't really write event poems. De I only stare pas' Jahmekya/so yu cyan sey Jahwreckya," he began. In covering the events and implications of the hurricane, Lynch said "a de fus me eva see house a swim."
There was laughter and applause at the monthly fellowship.
