ALFRED TEMBO [13.198]

Alfred Tembo 

(Zambia, 1991)

Alfred Tembo es un periodista que estudió artes. Trabajó con intenciones de convertirse en un artista antes de realizar estudios de los medios de comunicación (Diploma). 

Tembo pertenece a una nueva raza de Pan, escritores creativos de África; tratando de encontrar placer en la creación de la nueva literatura progresista. 

Sus obras literarias se ha publicado en Zimbabwe y Zambia. En las revistas zambianas Sunday Times, The Sun, The Business Express y sitio web Poesía Bulawayo (Zimbabwe), entre otras publicaciones. Algunos de sus poemas aparecen en una antología de poesía Alemania, "Whispers across the Continent" (Forthcoming 2012). Alfred realizó lecturas públicas en Gweru y Bulawayo (Zimbabue), Chipata, Lusaka y Chingola (Zambia)

NOTAS DE PIE DE TIEMPO

Una costilla izquierda rota, mis recuerdos de las elecciones

La violencia de matones militantes

Ojo derecho ciego y párpado asustado

El día que jóvenes militantes irrumpen

Reunión del partido de oposición

Labio inferior hinchado, era un año bisiesto del 21,

Al este de la ciudad capital, fuerzas de seguridad del estado

Confundieron una reunión familiar con una política

La unidad de patrullas de piernas lisiadas me emboscó

Y me dio un discurso sobre el toque de queda

Traducción de León Blanco

Fadzai

When the spirit was at its apex 

Love. She felt a burning like in the hearth

Deflowered in her blooming youth sloping upwards 

Crystal showers of day dream turns into tears 

The gay world she traced her dreams escaping 

Into the arms of artist wannabes 

She stopped at all dreary points

The heifer's divine cradle perishes 

And loses memories of sweet Hosanna melodies

Sarudzai's heartbroken and efforts youth is laid behind in an unmarked grave 

Steeped into a thousand virtues' hated pathways (for a while) 

Flowered with incomplete tedious vain expense 

Behind life's wasted remains abandoned in regrets 

And selfish expenditure, plans and blown away chances

Home Coming

  

Here they come back to home

To cuddle healing wound of home

In suits and new fashion,

Trace after dust prints of the ox-carts

They are like shinny petals of in the country yard

Color, pride and prestige all are change

Returning home where mother and father are

Returning where grandmothers buried the umbilical cords

Journeyers they were in other land

Foreigner they were also called other names

                                     Makwererekwere, Mazezure –

                                         

Return

Home is where traditional festivals calabash was passed

From one hand to another appeasing ancestors

He who drinks African water lives to return

Together

We stood firm together and survived the war against all odds

Mothers’ arms gathered her nest jealously

Father watched against buried land mines

Children took turns with house hold chores

 Everyone had a responsibility in the long chain

During full moon we danced to traditional songs

Played in each other’s eye sight

We survived because we had each other

We survived because we had mothers

We survived because we watched each other’s back

Together we can

Together we are alive