blackmail press 37
Landa wo
Angola Cabinda

Mere & Child - Penny Howard
Landa wo is an Angolan Cabindese poet who lives in Germany having previously lived in Ireland, France, Gabon, Congo and England. A poet from the Diaspora, Landa wo writes mainly in English and French with the heart oriented to the unknown, dreamed and surely idealized land of Angola and Cabinda. His work has won a number of awards including 1st prize in Metro Eireann writing competition 2007 , 2006 Eist poetry competition, 2005 Feile Filiochta international poetry competition.His poetry appears in literary journals in Ireland, New Zealand, UK and US (Boyne Berries Literary Magazine, Nashville Review, Ropes, Poetry New Zealand, Weyfarers).

Landa wo’s work has appeared in a number of anthologies including "Landing Places Immigrant Poets in Ireland" (Dedalus Press, 2010), "Longtemps je me suis…" (Iroli Editor, 2009).

To the dead of the hills

"When a man can’t live on the land of his ancestors,
he settles down in the land of his imagination."

-Ngondo Moyula

The wind no longer roams
Still and icy element
From the depths of the forest a sound rises
The sound of the wind which lashes the trees and overturns the termite hills
The sound of the wind which carries bad news
The sound of the wind which hurts the child’s ear
The sound of the wind which chills the mother’s heart
The sound of the wind which shakes the certainties of the wise old man.
The wind no longer roams,
Cool spirit of mahogany limbs.
From the shadow of a night of tribal genocide
Emerges a headless fœtus,
Last survivor with guts exposed.
The wind no longer roams,
From the heart of the Mbongui a low roar is heard
A cry of hatred born in the breasts
Of paternal uncles; of widows and of mothers
Vengeance! Vengeance! Vengeance!
From the bottom of the abyss is heard the dark laugh of a betrayed foetus
Calling out for a stifled peace.
The wind no longer roams
Day breaks on bloodied hands,
Hands of shame because hands of Man
The wind no longer roams,
The civilised nations have fallen silent,
The hills of Rwanda cradle their dead.

Ngondo Moyula: Escaped convict from history
Mbongui: Guardroom, meeting place for the village discussions and debates.

A man without religion is a God

"A bruised people is not healed by becoming brutal in its turn."

- Ngondo Moyula

To remove the Christian lump
Which has fled to my stomach
A breath of indifference son of Gao
Harp of the past

A man without religion is a God

At the heart of doubt
A rain of green questions
From interrogations to ignorant
A question to the ancestor
An answer from the priest
And disbelief is born

A man without religion is a God

Africa, centuries have wiped out
The history, the dream, the magic
Haïti, 300 years have wiped out the memory
The melons of the ocean
Gorged with sons of the land of Africa
Carry off the cult of the ancestors
Behind the wall of the blue sea
Far from the graveyard of beliefs
In the wave of the resigned
In the pains of new gods
To be free and create one’s own world
An uncultivated man
A happy man

A man without religion is a God

In the chest of doubts
A key for each religion
No key opens my heart
A heart without door and without lock

His gaze glassy
A man leaning on the balcony of the world
Watches the young orphan girl
Sitting on the edge of sorrow
She is repairing her heart
With a wooden needle
And Pounou songs to hand

A man without religion
Offers her the elixir of peace
A man without religion
Teaches her hope again
A taste of hope borrowed from the dead

A man without religion is a God
Kayimuinda Ndjo
I am that man
I am God.

Kayimuinda Ndjo -> Dried up steam