Poetry’s charm comes not from the exposure of human failings, but from the expansion of sympathy for those failings.
This could be why poetess Hawa Na Poetry’s charm comes not from the exposure of human failings, but from the expansion of sympathy for those failings.
This could be why poetess Hawa Najobe Kimbugwe played fast and loose with love when she made her maiden appearance at Rock Comedy last Tuesday.
Like a fabled siren emerging from the rivers, she stepped onto the stage and proclaimed her ideal love.
It wasn’t the usual wish-list of features that comprise a lady’s checklist of what the perfect man must be made of. No, it was more.
With the verbal acrobatics of a lyrical trapeze artist, she refused to be another “tragic daughter of passion.”
And demanded that her man should be in possession of singular affections that canonize her feelings with saintly emotions.
A man willing to die for a passion that never dies, for she is not willing to be any married man’s “side dish.”
After her exquisite opening lines, Philip Matogo “The Outlaw Poet” stepped onto her lonely stage and he declared, “But I am not married.”
Before he undressed Hawa with his eyeballs and extravagant words dripping with lust, she pushed him away.
Then belittled him in a manner that left him looking like a pygmy who took a misstep into the balled fist of her rejection.
After that, Matogo stooped his shoulders and walked away with his tail between his legs,Only for Hawa to have a change of heart and declare her love for him!
This turn of events was too much for Matogo to stomach.
And, in the face of a hot and cold poetess, he told her to go to hell as the crowd cheered him on.
Lus The Poet was, as usual, the stand-out performer whose soul seems to walk between poetry and perfection with the sheer vehemence of passion.
With words made for music, his verses almost sing across the meadows of magnificence.
If his poetry was made of colors it would be red, yellow and black smoothed with the cold steel of the mists at the dawn of a new era in Uganda’s poetic history.
Is he the best poet in town? I think the real question is: is there a better poet in town?