Ácida é a raiz das palavras
neste tempo.
Numa paisagem duramente
violentada pelo sol,
os corpos aluem sem fragor.
Nítido e sem contorno
desenha-se, no céu, o voo das aves de rapina.
Aves, pássaros de metal,
prenúncio da nossa morte próxima.
Corpa encostado à terra,
o horizonte fech-se na linha de mira,
onde pequenos deuses de guarda-chuva aberto,
se vulnerabilizam.
Bocas de fogo silabam
a sua estranha canção de morte.
Ácida é a raiz das palavras
neste tempo.
Jorge Viegas, "Ácida é a raiz das palavras" in 50 Poetas Africanos, ed. by Manuel Ferreira (Lisbon: Plátano, 1986) pp. 417-418.
One of the things I find most interesting when studying poetry is looking for common motifs, themes and symbols within an artist's body of work and the work of their contemporaries. In Renaissance poetry, for example, the motifs include fire and burning, illness, landscape, and mythological figures characterised by fatal ambition. One of the motifs that I have seen emerging in 20th century Mozambican literature is that of birds and flying. Mia Couto refers to them constantly in his 'contos', and even makes them central characters in a couple of stories, the most obvious of which is 'O embondeiro que sonhava pássaros'. Generally they are positive motifs; they are symbolic of freedom, flight and beauty. However, whenever they emerge, they also seem to be embued with tragic qualities. Perhaps this is because, although they are free, they are not in touch with the earth with which so many Mozambican poets have such strong and sensual feelings. Indeed, many Mozambicans fled the country during the independence struggles and in the subsequent internal conflicts; they were 'free', but they had lost touch with their land, their roots, their anchor. In 'O embondeiro', the birdseller's beautiful wares are caged and perhaps become a symbol of the degrading effect of colonial exoticism.
In this poem Viegas's birds are predatory and threatening; omens of approaching death. The illusions of freedom in Couto have turned against their subscribers, just as the illusions of freedom afforded by the postcolonial Marxist regime became uncanny echoes of the oppression suffered before the independence struggle. Like many of his contemporaries, Viegas was disillusioned by the Marxist regime and sought to criticise it on its own terms, to enter into a dialogue; here it appears that, possibly, he has used its own symbols to illustrate his discontent.
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I find your last paragraph very interesting. I am doing (I believe I've mentioned this before) some extra credit on colonialism, specifically in Zimbabwe, and I was so amazed at how the much the postcolonial regimes resembled the ones that were overthrown.
It's usually especially relevant to women; I'd be interested to see where Zimbabwe stands on this (I know a shameful amount about African history outside the Lusophone countries!). The Marxist regime in Mozambique gave them the same financial and legal status as men, but through refusing to acknowledge the differences between men and women it actually just backed them into another corner. Perfect example of ideology standing in the way of realism and pragmatism. What's also interesting is the way that even the terminology of the Marxist regime became similar to the Estado Novo fascist regime in Portugal.
In Zimbabwe imperialism basically replaced colonialism. The people placed in charge who were supposed to help and free the previously oppressed did not. The land grabs in Zimbabwe are just appalling, as are the "reeducation camps," which eerily resemble concentration camps.
Yep, there were Marxist 'reeducation camps' in Mozambique too. We watched a good film that highlighted the irony of that - a women who was tortured under the colonial regime for promoting the Marxist cause is released from prison on the first day of independence, and then promptly arrested again by the Marxists and sent to one of these camps because she is mistaken for a prostitute! Fiction, obviously, but symbolically very powerful.
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