Sudan, a land rich in history, culture, and complexity, has inspired countless poets to capture its spirit, struggles, and resilience. From ancient Nubia’s legacy to the challenges and triumphs of modern times, Sudanese poets offer unique perspectives that resonate deeply with readers worldwide. This exploration delves into the work of K. Eltinaé, a Sudanese poet of Nubian descent, whose verse provides an intimate look at identity, memory, and the enduring connection to the homeland. His poems weave together personal narrative and collective history, offering poignant reflections on themes central to the Sudanese experience.
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sudan poetry encompasses a vast landscape of voices and styles, reflecting the nation’s diverse heritage and often turbulent history. Eltinaé’s work stands out for its blend of vulnerability and historical weight, inviting readers to connect with the emotional undercurrents of displacement and remembrance.
The Weight of Heritage: Analyzing “heirloom”
In “heirloom,” Eltinaé immediately confronts the difficult history embedded in the Sudanese identity, particularly referencing the Nubian experience. The opening lines evoke a mass displacement, people forced from their land towards rivers and unbuilt dams – a likely allusion to historical events like the flooding caused by dams in Nubia, displacing communities and submerging ancestral lands.
The reference to “Ninety thousand men, women and children / dragged their dust to rivers” is a powerful image of forced migration and the physical toll it takes. The landscape itself becomes a repository of history: “Under six cataracts / lie the bones of my ancestors.” This grounds the poem geographically in the Nile cataracts, significant features of the Nubian landscape, and emotionally in the deep connection to ancestral burial grounds now submerged.
The poem ties this grand historical trauma to personal inheritance: “Under my bed is the cane / they mapped the miles with”. This cane is a tangible link, a symbol of the journey, hardship, and perhaps the tools of survival passed down through generations. The brutal honesty about the reason for their enslavement – “slaves because the sun charred their skin / and made raisins of their hearts” – speaks to the cruelties of racism and the dehumanization faced by those whose labor built empires.
The final lines shift towards a collective act of mourning and remembrance. “Together we part the waters” suggests a communal effort to revisit this painful past, perhaps metaphorically or in memory. Weeping with “mermaids / who playback voices / of those we left behind” introduces a mythical element, blending reality and folklore. Mermaids often inhabit watery realms and are associated with loss or transformation. Here, they serve as keepers of the voices of the displaced and lost, emphasizing the enduring presence of the past and the unresolved grief tied to the land and its submerged history.
People herding animals in a dusty, vast landscape under a wide sky
Navigating Identity and Belonging: Examining “forget”
“forget” explores the complexities of identity, particularly for those living away from their place of origin. The speaker’s struggle to answer the simple question “where I’m from” is profound. Alluding to “birthmarks and scars” instead of a straightforward geographical answer highlights how identity is etched into the body, marked by experiences of migration, trauma, or difference, making the present life feel “make-believe” in contrast to the weight of the past.
The contrast between the speaker’s actions and the friend’s casual return to their “yours” (implying a stable, unquestioned home) after lunch underscores the disparity in their realities. The speaker’s act of doing laundry while listening to the iconic Egyptian singer Om Kalsoum – specifically a verse about “smoldering wine from her lover’s hand” – reveals a search for solace and connection through cultural touchstones. This specific verse, evoking intense emotion and longing, parallels the speaker’s own internal landscape, dreaming of a “clean slate,” a yearning for an uncomplicated existence free from the burden of history.
The friend’s reaction to the speaker’s apartment – laughing at the “incense and smoke” – points to cultural differences and perhaps a lack of full understanding from the outside. Yet, despite this, they share a common experience of navigating the city. Wandering “like pigeons” suggests a restless, rootless existence, constantly moving but often returning to familiar spaces. The comfort comes not from finding new places, but from encountering others like themselves, grateful “to hear our names being remembered somewhere.” This simple act of recognition provides a sense of belonging and validation in an otherwise disorienting environment. The poem captures the feeling of being simultaneously present and absent, physically in one place but emotionally tethered to another, finding community in shared memory and displacement.
Finding Strength in Adversity: Interpreting “zemiru ዘምሩ”
The title “zemiru ዘምሩ” itself is significant, combining the Arabic word for “sing” with the Amharic or Tigrinya (Ethiopian/Eritrean languages often shared in border regions or by diaspora) transliteration, subtly hinting at regional connections or perhaps a broader East African context for singing or resilience. The epigraph, “Distance yourself from evil and sing to it,” an Arabic proverb, sets the tone: finding a way to confront or process negativity through expression, specifically singing.
The poem opens with the challenging idea that “The problem with language begins with love / we bury in children forever.” This suggests how early emotional experiences and the language used around love can become complicated or suppressed, potentially impacting future relationships and self-expression. The subsequent imagery of placing a “compass / between your lips and my footsteps” is complex. It seems to describe a moment of separation or conflict, where the speaker’s path diverged from someone who lied. The compass highlights direction and truth, and its placement suggests using this divergence to reveal who was truly lost or misguided.
Memories of “gardens” existing only in “worn-out stories” signify loss and nostalgia for places that are no longer physically accessible but live on in narrative. Their sadness is so “rooted” it physically impacts the speaker, causing them to “dent sofas” when recalling past emotional intensity. The act of throwing “envy into the ocean” is a powerful, almost cathartic image of trying to rid oneself of negative emotions directed at another. The waiting for waves to stop and the heart floating “pale and dizzy / carried away by birds” portray a lingering vulnerability and emotional upheaval following such release, suggesting the difficulty of truly escaping the impact of past hurts.
The final image, “Your face / that broken plate I keep / to remember how to sing,” is striking. A broken plate is typically discarded, but here it is kept as a reminder. The “broken face” could represent a damaged relationship or a painful memory associated with the person. Keeping this painful reminder is paradoxically linked to the ability to “sing,” to express oneself, perhaps suggesting that strength, resilience, and poetic voice are forged through experiencing and processing brokenness and difficulty. It aligns with the epigraph’s idea of singing in the face of evil or pain.
Conclusion
K. Eltinaé’s poems offer a compelling entry point into understanding the emotional and historical complexities of being Sudanese, particularly from a Nubian perspective. Through vivid imagery, personal reflection, and engagement with themes of heritage, displacement, identity, and resilience, his work contributes significantly to the broader landscape of sudan poetry. By analyzing poems like “heirloom,” “forget,” and “zemiru,” readers gain insight into the lasting impact of history on the present, the challenges of navigating identity in a globalized world, and the enduring power of memory and expression in finding strength amidst adversity. His voice is a vital thread in the rich tapestry of Sudanese literary expression, inviting deeper engagement with the country’s past and present.