Under the Harmattan Sky - Rob Taylor



Dust blows in from the Sahara,
blanketing the town.
We can hardly see each other
so we take no photos,
write no poems.

Under the Harmattan sky
we barely notice the fishing boats
lined with thin men whose
thick fingers haul the seabed
up and onto the deck
to rummage and pry,
turn over in calloused hands,
save the best parts for the market,
send the rest drifting back
down into the sea.



Photo © 2009 Marta Taylor

8 comments:

Adjei Agyei-Baah said...

The eyes that look are many but the ones that see are rare.Thanks for exposing the dark side of nature.That the harmattan not only suck grasses pale but also "blanket the town" etc even inhibit the creative powers of the poet.A good piece which bring nature's cunning moves to a limelight.

Adjei Agyei-Baah said...

The eyes that look are many but the ones that see are rare.Thanks for exposing the dark side of nature.That the harmattan not only suck grasses pale but also "blanket the town" etc even inhibit the creative powers of the poet.A good piece which bring nature's cunning moves to a limelight.

Darko Antwi said...

Gracious! This poem has clearly reconstructed the hazy force of nature. It has gone beyond description to tell us that; there are lessons to be learnt and a season to be hated and chrished. Welldone Rob.

daniela elza said...

my favorite lines:
We can hardly see each other
so we take no photos,
write no poems.

i like the juxtaposition of not wriitng poems and not seeing. and the second stanza can also be seen as the poets being the thin fishermen,barely noticed, who edit their catch of words to offer to the world.

Prince K. Mensah said...

I adore Rob's use of the Harmattan to capture the hazyness that defines certain stretches of human living. Sometimes, life becomes a labyrinth in which we lose direction and dexterity; we even lose the use of our ability to describe and define.

'Under the Harmattan Sky' is an apt description of a season of cluelessness. More grease to your elbows, Rob.

L S said...

The Harmattan is the Great Leveller. We have a saying in my language which goes like: the harmattan has eaten one's deep fried plantain. It does have the ability to dehydrate and turn one's skin to something akin to starched linen. Harmattan season is also when the price of nku(shea butter) goes up astronomically. Nothing beats the way the harmattan blows its dust around, not even tornadoes.If you ever get caught out in its tailspin, you'll find it takes days to wash that sand off.

But I suppose this is a poem about writing. The sparseness of the language brings to mind the Great Tang Poets: Wang Wei, Du Fu, Li Po and the rest. Also does anyone remember that Kwesi Brew poem The Dry Season?

God bless the Harmattan.

Rob Taylor said...

Thank you all for your comments - I would love to see other's takes on the Harmattan.

LS is right that this poem is in many ways more about writing than about the Harmattan itself - perhaps some of you can write poems that honour the Harmattan more directly!

Rob Taylor said...

To push the issue a bit, I have opened a call for submissions of poems on the Harmattan, in hopes of running a theme month of "Harmattan poems" later in the year.

View the "Submission Guidelines" page for more details.