In the tradition of Eastern and Western patriotic and pastoral poets (Elisheva Bikhovski, Darwish, Frost, Bejan Matur, Tagore, and Tennyson) poet-playwright Tsegaye Gabre-Medhin’s seminal work እሳት ወይ አበባ Esat woy Ababa Blaze or Bloom (2007) is replete with references to human ecology. A cosmopolitan himself, Tsegaye’s center is essentially rural; his sponsoring a monument to rural folk on the grounds of the National Theatre in Addis Ababa attests to this fact. Indeed, a close reading of his works would suggest a de-centering and corrupting influence of urbanization. The poems, ‘a hunt for legs’ እግር እንይ eggir iniiy (p.103)—a Sixties urban youth pastime—and my hands are too soft to wield the plow እጄ እርፍ አይጨብጥም e j erf ayechabTem (p.92) point to the dangers of uncritically absorbing foreign cultures. In Tsegaye’s parlance, rooted-ness preceded progress, not the other way around.
Ethiopia is a largely agrarian society. Tsegaye (1936—2006) was born in the west-central plateau in Boda, Ambo of ‘holy springs, groves and ridges’ (p.90) and remained firmly rooted in that world. Ironies of life relatable to the present task are worth mentioning here. One is that the poet died in New York, after a long illness, miles from his beloved homeland where he was duly laid to rest. His death then became a rallying point and a protest against current ethnic politics which he had denounced publicly. Luxuriant verses were composed overnight, not few echoing the poet’s unique meter. A rather lengthy and somber verse obit equated the poet’s demise to ‘a shady branch lopped off the warka (tree)’. Another point of interest is that one of his poems, ተወኝ tawagn ‘leave me alone’ (p.194) was composed in
1965 likely on his first visit to New York! Obviously, the poem is about unrequited love with the opening line ላታስታምም አትመመኝ latasTaMam at Mamagn as its plea: don’t get me (sick) if you won’t be by my side. Whether the plea could be taken for the poet’s love for his country shall remain beyond the scope of this write-up!
Tsegaye was prolific to the end. And as poet-playwright, he undoubtedly continues to be the preeminent cultural force in the country. His observations are photographic and shaped by a unique physical and social history which in turn shaped a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural Ethiopian identity. Esat woy Ababa is an invitation as well to gaze at the butterfly, the lion, the vulture, the primeval fig tree, reeds and ponds, the fearsome bird of prey, and the mighty Nile sinuously moving toward Egypt and on to the Mediterranean Sea. Not infrequently, one is also confronted by the presence of those on the margins of society: the piercing glance of a nomad or a seer of some distant lore or a funeral procession of the untouchables attended by a festive eskista–a veritable pronouncement on the pretentiousness of those in the center (p.123). It is no accident therefore that Esat woy Ababa opens with a poem addressed to “a brother I took no notice of but who knows me fairly well.” ይድረስ ለወንድሜ ለማላውቅህ፤ ለምታውቀኝ-ለማላውቅህ (p.21)
Tsegaye is interrogator and interpreter par excellence! In fact, one could safely sum up his works as a grand project to create and resurrect words to light up a new way of looking at the world and one’s place in it. To this end words often are transmuted or born conjoined to take on a novel meaning. Thus, gadaa ገዳ, Oromo word for a system of governance becomes, respectively, Ka Adaa ካ አዳ to mean (Egyptian) god and (her) religious order. Suuma ሱማ morphes into aka-suuma አካ ሱማ to aksuuma አክሱማ (the northern ancient city of Aksum) and so on.
**** For both Tsegaye and Tennyson rivers symbolized permanence in a rapidly changing terrain. In Tennyson’s The Brook for example the brook is the teller of its own story; I come from haunts of coot and hern… I chatter, chatter as I flow … for men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever…. In Tsegaye’s Awash አዋሽ (p.96) however, the poet is the interpreter entreating the resplendent river to divulge the mystery of its meanderings and later vanishing inside Ethiopia’s sandy borders without making it to Gulf of Tadjoura. In twelve refrains the poet inquires, How long, Awash,
will you keep us in suspense? እስከ መቸ ይሆን አዋሽ? EskaMachee yiHon Awash? In Abay አባይ (p.159), the mighty Nile is presented as the source of all life, indeed, as a multiple-breasted woman birthing and sustaining the human race. In አብረን ዝም እንበል Abran Zem Enebal Let Us Pause (p.196), waterfalls at Koka hydro-dam are laments riding, as it were, swift celestial horses. የቆቃን ሰቆቃ ሰምተን … በሰማይ ፈረስ ተጭኖ ከአፅናፍ አፅናፍ ሲንደረደር His evoking horse and rider are reflective of the warrior Oromo culture the poet is steeped in. Incidentally, ደንገላሳ dangalasa, is the same word for spilling liquid/water and for speed between the trot and a gallop.
Once more the scene changes to winding roads–a harbinger for lofty mountains, tablelands, and gorges. Crags of Ankobar town are the abode of beings and baboons (p.106). The steep road to Lima Limo (p.114) is but the gateway to a forbidding region between heaven and earth (probably heaven and hell) and a metaphor for human ingenuity. Dogali on the eastern escarpment (p.165) is a lookout, a place of birth pangs and ‘bitter cup’ ምጥ-ፅዋ mit tsiwa (on account of invading Ottoman Turks). GaeRa town is a cluster of flames (p.161); ጌራ ነበልባል ዘለላ. Rich rain-drenched earth is “irrigated reddish womb” (p.170). Nights grant cover for inconsolable men to weep unabashedly (p.202). Vulture wings are clouds above the town square (suggesting severe drought and dead bodies; p.206)! Maqdala fortress (p.210) in the north-central is a place of decision—whether to live in servitude to the “Christian” British invader or to die defiant and free. Harar in the east is “a walled human container” (p.174) የግንብ አጥር ማኅደር yaGinb atir mahdar. The poet turns out to be a trusted guide into the wonders of Nature as it bears on our identity, humanity, and community. Let us hope successive generations would take up the challenge to explore, to nurture and bond within those shared spaces.
Here I offer my translation of ምነው አምቦ? (p.90) Minau Ambo What happened Ambo penned over half a century ago when close to 40% of Ethiopia was covered by forests (today down to 15%). President Trump’s reneging recently on the Paris Climate deal followed by a novel pandemic (COVID-19) has presented us with a state of affairs none could have imagined a year ago. There is no telling what the fallout of our irresponsibility will look like especially in developing countries and in light of the inequitable distribution of resources within every society and between nations across the globe. But we need not lose all hope. The fact that Ethiopia’s Green Legacy Initiative managed to plant “four billion” trees in June, July, and August of 2019 is evidence of a collective resolve to turn back the tide of destruction. I would like to think that the initiative, though not intended, is a deserved tribute to the patriot and pastoral poet Tsegaye Gabre-Medhin.
What happened Ambo?
What happened Ambo, primal amba of a thousand plateaux?
Reservoir of natural beauty, you once were clothed with dignity;
A cast of wellsprings and border ridges,
Showers of bumper crop, holy waters;
Year in year out contentment,
Balmy air, seedling, green environment;
Meccia to the heart of river Awash,
Dandee to Wanchee in flowing ebbing rush;
As though you never were the Guardian—
Beacon of the realm, canopy of Earth’s shrine;
What happened your mid-day shade shrank,
Those full breasts now are slack,
Your old self is on the retreat, your freshness effete,
Your glory muted, beat up, twisted; oh,
So, what happened Ambo?
Poet: Tsegaye Gabre-Medhin (1936–2006); Translator Mitiku Adisu © 2019
Main image: Kibret Mekonnen
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