composer poet percussionist educator broadcaster conflict resolution consultant creative leadership consultant
Eugene Skeef
fragments of people
to string
as blessed beads
you are the
bead
by which
the mother’s head
is finally borne noble
eugene skeef 120977
(Created on 12 September 1977 – the day Biko was murdered by the racist South African regime. I was woken from a dream of his death by another friend, the flautist Abbey Cindi, knocking on my door to bring me the devastating news.)
we turn with the wheel
but as scattered spokes
we have no axis
seek not to be sought
for in our abundance alone
shall we be found
then…
we will be
the centre
of all turning things
we shall turn things
always
eugene skeef 151277
(song for gaza)
this morning
i woke up to the ululation of the multitudes
i peered out of my window
and saw a race of all shades
braving the suffocating fog…
together they gathered
every barb
of the scattered white frozen feathers
each held one to their heaving heart
in silent vigil
i watched as the icicles of fear
melted…
slowly in a rhythm of unified syllables
they bore the bird
whose blood now flowed
in the vanes of their own wings…
eugene skeef 100109
where there is love
there will always be pain
pain is the seed
of the sacrifice
from which love grows
without pain the love is shallow
and will never last…
eugene skeef 010809
the sun has been rising
and setting
the same way for billions of years
i don’t hear anyone
complaining that
it’s about time it did this
in a more contemporary way
the sun is as contemporary as shit
eugene skeef 170411
(bearer of knowledge and wisdom)
this morning
a solitary bird entered my soul
through a crevice in my heart
once inside its thirst for unfulfilled dreams
was quenched by my glacial tears
frozen through countless decades
of tuned silence
the ancestors of my muted melodies
moved in their deep sleep
stirred by the inconsolable winds
burdened with the song of this harbinger of happiness
held like flying ants
in the unfolding promise of rain
the wings of ucilo* spread
like a portentous heaven of dark clouds
distilling my memories
into a turbulence that stole the glory
from the lips of the ensuing thunder
termites emerged
from the buried mounds
whose domes stored the waters
of the seven seas
witness now these choristers
with their naked bodies covered
in the secret pigments
excavated from the grotto of our dreams
see how they consecrate the resurrected earth
with the flowing colours of their bleeding
as the heavens come asunder
to cleanse the seasons
of every stain
of the receding nightmare…
*a tiny South African bird (species of lark) associated with luck
eugene skeef 020109
our song is one
(for joseph naytowhow, cree first nation seer)
though we are but mildew
beneath the feet of giants
who worship the whiteness of their pus
silently we grow into the sap of their bones
our song is one
we are joined at the seams of history
my speech locked in the cavities of your thoughts
your creviced tongue struggling to emerge
like a somnambulant salamander
from the fire of my silent rage
no chain can restrain the dogs of hunger
growling in our bellies
our unified smile belies
the bearing of the skyward horns of the buffalo
in its dance of death
like spores from the unshaven hide of the slaughtered beast
we are inhaled with false innocence by the victorious hunter
to fulminate in his inflated torso
i know we will hold the poisoned arrow in our heart
and let our flowing song
fill the tide of love to overflowing
for no cello can sound sweet without the resin of pain
eugene skeef 311008