By: Laura Moreno
The brand new poetry collection by Cianga, “Congo, seen from the heavens,” contains 18 intriguing poems, including highly innovative poetry forms. This chapbook of poems delivers dramatic, exhilarating, tragic, sardonic, but always creative.
The title poem, for example, is an ode of sorts to the rat who was the first resident of the Congo to go to space: “from the troposphere, every human is a rodent.”
Be forewarned, however, the subject matter is heavy. The poems reflect the brutalities of Congo’s almost constant state of war since the Belgians barbarously enslaved its people, committing endless atrocities while the world averted its eyes.
We still do. The 24 hour “news” ignores Africa: the Second Congo War (1998-2003) resulted in 5.4 million deaths and untold “forced disappearances” in the mold of Obama’s illegal, unconstitutional National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA) in the US, signed in 2011.
The Congo is where systematic torture and rape was perpetrated by the park rangers of the x-Prince Harry’s charity, African Parks, while Harry was the Director.
With this inhuman backdrop, war (glorified vandalism) and the warped mentalities it leaves in its wake figure prominently in this groundbreaking book.
In the poem “the good soil we own(ed)” we see the point of view of an avenger against a man guilty of no crime other than living in Congo while white, a hard-working man browned by the sun, a mere “2 shades lighter.” Intent on murder amid pleas and wails, there is a sudden realization that the real reality does not fit the narrative that skin color determines who the colonizer is. Plan averted. Numb. “unloving, unhating.” The reality just didn’t fit.
The cleverly named poem “hemo/phobia” is beautiful, with a telling reference to Genesis, one of my favorite books. Cain’s jealous rage. The soil soaked in blood, still:
“when this land forgives
as one would welcome death,
no corpse alives themselves home.
then all our blood,
vengeful platelets clotting graves—
where does it go?”
Of particular interest is “the monolith: a psalm.” It conveys spoken word performance art with Congolese drum (Ngoma), annotated as a simple musical score. Rich and full of meaning, but instead of a sacred psalm of praise, this sacred poem is a glimpse into want so cruel it distorts the mind:
♦………………………………………
surely. this desire. unsheathes a machete.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
to want. a home.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬◦◦◦◦○○○●
unbloodied. unbodied. i want.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
and want. dagger nails. crawl taut.
♦………………………………◦◦◦◦○○○●
i burned the monolith.
♦………………………………◦◦◦◦○○○●
and its maker.
♦………………………………◦◦◦◦○○○●
and spit.
♦………………………………◦◦◦◦○○○●
a choir.
At times, the language conceals. One of the last poems, “running to[ward],” feels different from all previous poems. It works up to an apology, but the subject matter remains opaque. Like an abstract painting, beautifully constructed:
pain/full
break/age
so/raw
Author D’mani Thomas said of this collection: “In between moments that some might call a graveyard, are reminders of triumph. The difficulty in finding joy, or a joy adjacent, can feel impossible at times….It’s hard to find the words to accurately describe the space this collection occupies when this collection takes the reader soo, soo many places: To space and beyond. It is a privilege to have read these poems, and an honor to witness them enter the world.”
Cianga is one of two inaugural winners of the 2023 Evaristo Prize for African Poetry (along with Feranmi Ariyo for “He Reads a Cancer Booklet”). The awarding committee noted “an arresting economy and density of language” in the poetry, “and an ear for the multiple directions in which a single word can gyrate.”
The multi-talented poet-artist is based in California and is currently an MFA candidate. Their work has been published in Foglifter Journal, Rappahannock Review, and EcoTheo Review.
excerpt from “the anger of man”:
i spit a new world when she calls.
i name the ocean between us a child,
capricious; we must learn to discipline
our rage. no one says
i’m so angry i could kiss you.
but i am.
so angry
it’s melancholic. to bandage a tongue;
sharpen a feather. as one would a machete.
forget a blade can be windborn. believe
each call is a fight. and all we have left.
“Congo, seen from the heavens” by Cianga, Foglifter Press, is on sale now: $12, https://foglifterjournal.com/product/congo-seen-from-the-heavens-by-cianga/
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