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April 6, 1992. Chinua Achebe with his daughters Chinelo, (L) and Nwando (R), in Annandale-on-Hudson, New York. Photographer: Mariana Cook. #ChinuaAchebe

2019-05-23 18:31

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April 6, 1992. Chinua Achebe with his daughters Chinelo, (L) and Nwando (R), in Annandale-on-Hudson, New York. Photographer: Mariana Cook. #ChinuaAchebe

“No one is, or should be, so naive as to believe that all the problems of the world will be solved by goodwill and civility alone. Indeed it may well be true that the road to hell is often paved with good intentions. But it is at the same time inconceivable that the road to the other place will be paved with bad intentions.” - #ChinuaAchebe, 1996, speaking at the Bates College commencement ceremony. Here he is pictured with Peter Gomes ‘65. At right are President Donald Harward and famed ornithologist Edmund Wilson. (Marc Glass ’88/Bates College)

2019-05-19 16:38

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“No one is, or should be, so naive as to believe that all the problems of the world will be solved by goodwill and civility alone. Indeed it may well be true that the road to hell is often paved with good intentions. But it is at the same time inconceivable that the road to the other place will be paved with bad intentions.” - #ChinuaAchebe, 1996, speaking at the Bates College commencement ceremony. Here he is pictured with Peter Gomes ‘65. At right are President Donald Harward and famed ornithologist Edmund Wilson. (Marc Glass ’88/Bates College)

Flying (for Niyi Osundare)
_____________________________________
Something in altitude kindles power-thirst
Mere horse-height suffices the emir
Bestowing from rich folds of prodigious turban
Upon crawling peasants in the dust
Rare imperceptible nods enwrapped
In princely boredom. 
I too have known
A parching of that primordial palate,
A quickening to manifest life
Of a long recessive appetite.
Though strapped and manacled
That day I commanded from the pinnacle
Of a three-tiered world a bridge befitting
The proud deranged deity I had become.
A magic rug of rushing clouds
Billowed and rubbed its white softness
Like practiced houri fingers on my sole
And through filters of its gauzy fabric
Revealed wonders of a metropolis
Magic-struck to fairyland proportions.
By different adjustments of vision
I caused the clouds to float
Over a stilled landscape, over towers
And masts and smoke-plumed chimneys;
Or turned the very earth, unleashed
From itself, a roaming fugitive
Beneath a constant sky. Then came
A sudden brightness over the world,
A rare winter’s smile it was, and printed
On my cloud carpet a black cross
Set in an orb of rainbows. To which
Splendid nativity came–who else would come
But gray unsporting Reason, faithless
Pedant offering a bald refractory annunciation?
But oh what beauty! What speed!
A chariot of night in panic flight
From Our Royal Proclamation of the rites
Of day! And riding out Our procession
Of fantasy We slaked an ancient
Vestigial greed shriveled by ages of dormancy
Till the eyes exhausted by glorious pageantries
Returned to rest on that puny
Legend of the life jacket stowed away
Of all places under my seat. 
Now I think I know why gods
Are so partial to heights—to mountain
Tops and spires, to proud iroko trees
And thorn-guarded holy bombax,
Why petty household divinities
Will sooner perch on a rude board
Strung precariously from brittle rafters
Of a thatched roof than sit squarely
On safe earth.
_____________________________________
 #1973 #ChinuaAchebe #NiyiOsundare #Poetry #Nigeria (Btw the TNF’s @niyiosundare is temporarily inactive but will return in October).

2019-05-14 21:01

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Flying (for Niyi Osundare) _____________________________________ Something in altitude kindles power-thirst Mere horse-height suffices the emir Bestowing from rich folds of prodigious turban Upon crawling peasants in the dust Rare imperceptible nods enwrapped In princely boredom. I too have known A parching of that primordial palate, A quickening to manifest life Of a long recessive appetite. Though strapped and manacled That day I commanded from the pinnacle Of a three-tiered world a bridge befitting The proud deranged deity I had become. A magic rug of rushing clouds Billowed and rubbed its white softness Like practiced houri fingers on my sole And through filters of its gauzy fabric Revealed wonders of a metropolis Magic-struck to fairyland proportions. By different adjustments of vision I caused the clouds to float Over a stilled landscape, over towers And masts and smoke-plumed chimneys; Or turned the very earth, unleashed From itself, a roaming fugitive Beneath a constant sky. Then came A sudden brightness over the world, A rare winter’s smile it was, and printed On my cloud carpet a black cross Set in an orb of rainbows. To which Splendid nativity came–who else would come But gray unsporting Reason, faithless Pedant offering a bald refractory annunciation But oh what beauty! What speed! A chariot of night in panic flight From Our Royal Proclamation of the rites Of day! And riding out Our procession Of fantasy We slaked an ancient Vestigial greed shriveled by ages of dormancy Till the eyes exhausted by glorious pageantries Returned to rest on that puny Legend of the life jacket stowed away Of all places under my seat. Now I think I know why gods Are so partial to heights—to mountain Tops and spires, to proud iroko trees And thorn-guarded holy bombax, Why petty household divinities Will sooner perch on a rude board Strung precariously from brittle rafters Of a thatched roof than sit squarely On safe earth. _____________________________________ #1973 #ChinuaAchebe #NiyiOsundare #Poetry #Nigeria (Btw the TNF’s @niyiosundare is temporarily inactive but will return in October).

Nigeria: Christmas in Biafra
________________________________________
This sunked-eyed moment wobbling
down the rocky steepness on broken
bones slowly fearfully to hideous
concourse of gathering sorrows in the valley
will yet become in another year a lost
Christmas irretrievable in the heights
its exploding inferno transmuted
by cosmic distances to the peacefulness
of a cool twinkling star…. To dead-cells
of that moment came farway sounds of other
men’s carols floating on crackling waves
mocking us. With regret? Hope? Longing? None of
these, strangely, not even despair rather
distilling pure transcendental hate…. Beyond the hospital gate
the good nuns had set up a manger
of palms to house a fine plastercast
scene at Bethlehem. The Holy
Family was central, serene, the Child
Jesus plump wise-looking and rose-cheeked: one
of the magi in keeping with legend
a black Othello in sumptuous robes. Other
figures of men and angels stood
at well-appointed distances from
the heart of the divine miracle
and the usual cattle gazed on
in holy wonder…. Poorer than the poor worshipers
before her who had paid their homage
with pitiful offering of new aluminum
coins that few traders would take and
a frayed five-shilling note she only
crossed herself and prayed open-eyed. Her
infant son flat like a dead lizard
on her shoulder his arms and legs
cauterised by famine was a miracle
of its kind. Large sunken eyes
stricken past boredom to a flat
unrecognising glueyness moped faraway
motionless across her shoulder…. Now her adoration over
she turned him around and pointed
at those pretty figures of God
and angels and men and beasts-
a spectacle to stir the heart
of a child. But all he vouchsafed
was one slow deadpan look of total
unrecognition and he began again
to swivel his enormous head away
to mope as before at his empty distance….
She shrugged her shoulders, crossed
herself again, and took him away.
_____________________________________
 #Poetry #ChinuaAchebe #Biafra

2019-05-11 16:07

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Nigeria: Christmas in Biafra ________________________________________ This sunked-eyed moment wobbling down the rocky steepness on broken bones slowly fearfully to hideous concourse of gathering sorrows in the valley will yet become in another year a lost Christmas irretrievable in the heights its exploding inferno transmuted by cosmic distances to the peacefulness of a cool twinkling star…. To dead-cells of that moment came farway sounds of other men’s carols floating on crackling waves mocking us. With regret Hope Longing None of these, strangely, not even despair rather distilling pure transcendental hate…. Beyond the hospital gate the good nuns had set up a manger of palms to house a fine plastercast scene at Bethlehem. The Holy Family was central, serene, the Child Jesus plump wise-looking and rose-cheeked: one of the magi in keeping with legend a black Othello in sumptuous robes. Other figures of men and angels stood at well-appointed distances from the heart of the divine miracle and the usual cattle gazed on in holy wonder…. Poorer than the poor worshipers before her who had paid their homage with pitiful offering of new aluminum coins that few traders would take and a frayed five-shilling note she only crossed herself and prayed open-eyed. Her infant son flat like a dead lizard on her shoulder his arms and legs cauterised by famine was a miracle of its kind. Large sunken eyes stricken past boredom to a flat unrecognising glueyness moped faraway motionless across her shoulder…. Now her adoration over she turned him around and pointed at those pretty figures of God and angels and men and beasts- a spectacle to stir the heart of a child. But all he vouchsafed was one slow deadpan look of total unrecognition and he began again to swivel his enormous head away to mope as before at his empty distance…. She shrugged her shoulders, crossed herself again, and took him away. _____________________________________ #Poetry #ChinuaAchebe #Biafra

Achebe’s ‘Christmas in Biafra and Other Poems’ (1973) feels more “like an American version” (E.C. Ukwu) of ‘Beware Soul Brother’ (1971). 7 new poems appear with the 23 of the earlier text, re-written or revised. “The odd thing about these poems written by the Nigerian novelist of note is that there is so little of Africa in them. The author has apparently assimilated an alien literary tradition as much as is possible: the central referents and symbols are those of western culture (Christianity, World War II); even the poems about the tragedies of war have more the detached tones of an restrained observer than the passionate bitterness one might expect from someone who worked in the Ministry of Information of ill-fated Biafra.” - Kirkus Review.

2019-05-11 15:57

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Achebe’s ‘Christmas in Biafra and Other Poems’ (1973) feels more “like an American version” (E.C. Ukwu) of ‘Beware Soul Brother’ (1971). 7 new poems appear with the 23 of the earlier text, re-written or revised. “The odd thing about these poems written by the Nigerian novelist of note is that there is so little of Africa in them. The author has apparently assimilated an alien literary tradition as much as is possible: the central referents and symbols are those of western culture (Christianity, World War II); even the poems about the tragedies of war have more the detached tones of an restrained observer than the passionate bitterness one might expect from someone who worked in the Ministry of Information of ill-fated Biafra.” - Kirkus Review.

“The only thing we have learnt from experience is that we learn nothing from experience.” Let sleeping dogs lie, let us turn our attention to the matter at hand, Nigeria is a cesspool of corruption. How do we bridge art, literature, social-media into active social-political discourse, rather than nail our differences to the cross over and again because of a White Man’s Prize?
_____________________________________________
March 10, 1974. Visiting professor in English and Afro-American studies Achebe Chinua laces his fingers while speaking as he sits behind a desk in an office or classroom. He is at the University of Mass. for the Chancellor's lecture series, Alumnus V/2 : A/M '74 feature". Courtesy of the Univ. of Mass. Archives. All Rights Reserved.

2019-05-08 22:44

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“The only thing we have learnt from experience is that we learn nothing from experience.” Let sleeping dogs lie, let us turn our attention to the matter at hand, Nigeria is a cesspool of corruption. How do we bridge art, literature, social-media into active social-political discourse, rather than nail our differences to the cross over and again because of a White Man’s Prize _____________________________________________ March 10, 1974. Visiting professor in English and Afro-American studies Achebe Chinua laces his fingers while speaking as he sits behind a desk in an office or classroom. He is at the University of Mass. for the Chancellor's lecture series, Alumnus V/2 : A/M '74 feature". Courtesy of the Univ. of Mass. Archives. All Rights Reserved.

March 9, 1988. Achebe Chinua, once a visiting professor, signs a copy of his book "Anthills of the Savannah" while attending a reception in his honor. Three unidentified women and an unidentified man look on. All Rights Reserved: Special Collections and University Archives, University of Massachusetts Amherst Libraries. 
_____________________________________
 #ChinuaAchebe #anthillsofthesavannah

2019-05-07 09:42

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March 9, 1988. Achebe Chinua, once a visiting professor, signs a copy of his book "Anthills of the Savannah" while attending a reception in his honor. Three unidentified women and an unidentified man look on. All Rights Reserved: Special Collections and University Archives, University of Massachusetts Amherst Libraries. _____________________________________ #ChinuaAchebe #anthillsofthesavannah

May 10, 1988. Professor Chinua Achebe with the great African-American poet Sonia Sanchez, who is associated with the Black Arts Movement, at Temple University. 
______________________________________________
Photo courtesy of Temple University Libraries’ Special Collections Research Center, All Rights Reserved. #ChinuaAchebe #SoniaSanchez #Poetry #BlackArtsMovement

2019-04-24 00:33

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May 10, 1988. Professor Chinua Achebe with the great African-American poet Sonia Sanchez, who is associated with the Black Arts Movement, at Temple University. ______________________________________________ Photo courtesy of Temple University Libraries’ Special Collections Research Center, All Rights Reserved. #ChinuaAchebe #SoniaSanchez #Poetry #BlackArtsMovement

1971. Filming ‘Bullfrog in the Sun’ starring Princess Toro, Johnny Sekka and Orlando Martins. The film was a combination of Things Fall Apart and No Longer at Ease.
_________________________________
Director: Hans Jürgen Pohland (@modernartfilmarchiv)
Screenplay: #ChinuaAchebe
Stars: Elizabeth of Toro,
Country: Nigeria | West Germany
Language: English
Duration: 1 hr 30 min (90 min)
Produceder: Francis Oladele, Hans Jürgen Pohland, Wolf Schmidt.
Cinematography: Michael J. Davis
Production Sound Mixer: Ivan Sharrock

2019-04-15 20:26

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1971. Filming ‘Bullfrog in the Sun’ starring Princess Toro, Johnny Sekka and Orlando Martins. The film was a combination of Things Fall Apart and No Longer at Ease. _________________________________ Director: Hans Jürgen Pohland (@modernartfilmarchiv) Screenplay: #ChinuaAchebe Stars: Elizabeth of Toro, Country: Nigeria | West Germany Language: English Duration: 1 hr 30 min (90 min) Produceder: Francis Oladele, Hans Jürgen Pohland, Wolf Schmidt. Cinematography: Michael J. Davis Production Sound Mixer: Ivan Sharrock

“You cannot plant greatness as you plant yams or maize. Who ever planted an iroko tree - the greatest tree in the forest? You may collect all the iroko seeds in the world, open the soil and put them there. It will be in vain. The great tree chooses where to grow and we find it there, so it is with the greatness in men” - #NoLongerAtEase #ChinuaAchebe

2019-03-12 21:54

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“You cannot plant greatness as you plant yams or maize. Who ever planted an iroko tree - the greatest tree in the forest You may collect all the iroko seeds in the world, open the soil and put them there. It will be in vain. The great tree chooses where to grow and we find it there, so it is with the greatness in men” - #NoLongerAtEase #ChinuaAchebe

“A basic element of [Nigeria’s leadership] misfortune is the absence of political thought of our founding fathers — a tendency to pious materialistic woolliness and self-centred pedestrianism.” #ChinuaAchebe #TheTroubleWithNigeria

2019-03-09 10:17

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“A basic element of [Nigeria’s leadership] misfortune is the absence of political thought of our founding fathers — a tendency to pious materialistic woolliness and self-centred pedestrianism.” #ChinuaAchebe #TheTroubleWithNigeria

That will do it. #RIPFela #RIPKen #RIPMandela ......... #RIPChinua

2018-12-28 08:07

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That will do it. #RIPFela #RIPKen #RIPMandela ......... #RIPChinua

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