The Ofi Press Magazine

Mosquito Hymns

Seperewa tunes silenced my ears

as I danced Adowa with ancestral spirits

under that towering Awoonor’s tree

They sang somnolent hymns

and I was lost amongst the cityscape

Head…banging

Tongue…hanging

Feet…stamping

Hands…clapping

Was it a puff from my dead daddy

or a two-tone tune from an unknown pack

Let Handel handles his Messiah

and the bees hum Beethoven’s fifth symphony

The seperewa tunes remained silent to my censored senses

as my lagging legs gyrated to some mystical lyrics

that mutilated the tone of our village’s voice

Hands…clapping

Feet…stamping

Tongue…rolling

Head…trolling

Soul…striving

I paused to breath

to seek directions to the door

but here am I alone with some mosquito hymns

buzzing my mind in a relentless discord

of malfunctioning notes

Nana Fredua-Agyeman is a poet and writer by passion and an Agricultural Economist by profession. He was born in Suhum, a small town about eighty kilometres from Accra, Ghana. He has been writing poems since 1998. His writings have revolved around issues ranging from politics to nature.

Nana’s poems have appeared in several poetry magazines, anthologies, and literary sites including Sentinel Nigeria, Tuck Magazine, Munyori, Dust Magazine and the Look Where You Have Gone to Sit anthology. His Haiku have been published in Frogpond, Acorn, The Heron Nest and at online e-zines such as simplyhaiku.com, Shamrock Haiku Journal, and Mainichi Daily News in Japan. Writing gives Nana the opportunity to offer different views on same old issues. Currently, he works as a Budget Expert with the Parliamentary Centre in Accra, Ghana.

Artwork: Lucy Strutt for Elimu News. 

Himnos de zancudo  -- Nana Fredua- Agyeman (Ghana)

– Traducción al español de Carmen Rodríguez

Los aires del seperewa[1] me acallaron los oídos

mientras yo bailaba adowa[2] con espíritus ancestrales

bajo el imponente árbol de Awoonor[3]

Ellos cantaban himnos somnolientos

y yo me perdía en el paisaje urbano

La cabeza... estalla

La lengua... cuelga

Los pies... golpetean

Las manos... palmean

Fue acaso un soplo de mi papá muerto

o la tonada a dos voces de una jauría desconocida

Deja que Handel se encargue de su Mesías

y que las abejas zumben la quinta sinfonía de Beethoven 

Mis sentidos censurados continuaron sordos a los aires del seperewa 

mientras mis pesadas piernas giraban al compás de canciones místicas

mutiladoras de la cadencia en la voz de nuestra aldea

Las manos... palmean

Los pies... golpetean

La lengua... vibra

La cabeza... busca y rebusca

El alma…lucha

Me detuve a respirar

quise encontrar la puerta

mas, solitario estoy aún, mientras unos cuantos himnos de zancudo me acompañan

sesean en mi mente con la disonancia implacable

de sus notas defectuosas