INVITATION
come into my parlour,
said the spider
to the fly;
never mind the cobwebs,
just come in and don’t
be shy;
find a wealth of gourmet
to suit your palate’s
choice;
let not my smile deter you
or the silence of the noise
face it —this is heaven,
leave the air’s thick fog,
and rest;
enter my conditioned net
to bask in
delicatesse
come into my parlour,
said the spider
to the fly;
I release no more than
poison of
the adder’s tongue
at least
your comfort will be
unique
and your diamond eyes
will bulge
at the sparkle of
my weave —
that strangles truth
and love
come into my parlour,
said the spider
to the fly;
outside you live to life;
in here you die
Gwyneth H. C. Dawes
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
“The back is bared!”
“Aha!” Then shoot!”
“Beat!”
“Mock!”
“Jeer!”
“Destroy and pull the hair!”
You wrote the stage directions
in a plot of script;
collected royalties;
danced its lies
across a dim-lit
crypted
cyclorama
Hungry claws applauded
lauded
called for more
encores;
manacled leered
you bowed
Did you not read the Scroll?
The writing on the wall?
Hear the prophet’s call?
Ask not for whom the curtains close
beneath the rubble of the pit
you have bull-dozed.
They close for you.
BIRD-WATCHING
(For Chochоo)
dove
swallow
weaver
eagle
falcon
Five
gliding gently in the calm;
flapping bravely in the storm;
a lark appears
upon the wind.
Acceptance.
Six
dipping low
soaring high;
fraternity in flight.
Gwyneth H. C. Dawes
LITURGY
(FOR Kwame)
SON:
“And she sang mournfully
her voice shaking deeply,
regret mixing remorse,
sorrow with recollection.
She trembled,
the whole room trembled,
the door cried
the chairs bent slowly
looking for him
hoping for him
not seeing him.
Then we all went aside
splintered points to a circle
linked by a single cord:
sorrow, like the gray clouds
and we wept alone
together**”
Kwame N. Dawes
DAUGHTER:
There were no drums
no call upon the spirits,
no dance, no adinkras swirled
no antiphonal songs
no damirifas heard
no goat was killed,
no libations poured,
no celebrations for the
passing of the soul.
Away from the village of
her kin,
on caribbean shores
where two once played the tune,
she sang alone.
Gwyneth H. C. Dawes
IN MY HEART
(For Aba)
MORNING SONG:
My heart is closest to you
in this dark hour
of morning
My heart remembers
pulling threads of memory
through shadows
Until I think I see you
curled under soft quilt
dreaming of me and God*
EVENING SONG:
My heart is closest to you
in this bright hour
of evening
My heart remembers
pulling streamers of laughter
through sorrows
Until I know I see you
whirled above hard silt
entwining me with God *
- Kwame Dawes,
- Gwyneth Dawes
NOTES ON THE METAPHYSICS OF CREATIVITY
(PART I)
a note on the metaphysics of design
the design of a building should not be
a mere translation of program into
uninspired if functional spatial agglomeration
there has to be a central theme:
a major idea that seeks to celebrate an aspect
of site
or light
or climate
or programmatic requirement
or material
or technology
or spatial relations
or geometry
or place
or time
or circumstance …
that seeks to explore the opportunities inherent
in the relationship of parts to the whole
and to one another
that seeks to resolve these myriad of
conflicting and/or complementary determinants
into a transcendental oneness.
and by transcendental oneness
what I mean is
a quality or phenomenon where the totality is –
an entity unto itself –
larger than the sum of its parts
— Olumide Okunsanya
of art and craft
… the existence of an informing philosophy –
conscious or subconscious, articulate or otherwise –
is the singular distinction that sets artists apart
from craftsmen in general and architects apart from
draughtsmen in particular
— Olumide Okunsanya
PART II
a note on the metaphysics of aesthetics
my philosophy of aesthetics holds that
sentiment can be expressed without
sentimentality and pain
expressed without self-pity
and if sentimentality it must be
let it be advanced to the point of
soppy or gooee or outright banality
in which case it becomes a parody
whatthat means is
parody is
banality elevated to an art
… can you dig it?
— Olumide Okunsanya
of mind and celebration
… real creative insight will invariably
be bought only at the cost
or rigorous intellectual enquiry
for the heart will not
be inspired to possibilities
the mind does not understand
— Olumide Okunsanya
PART III
of vision and actualization
the architect is a philosopher
albeit the language of form
rather than the language of words
from this it follows
a critical standard of measure
of a building as a work of art
is the degree of congruency —
in the face of circumstantial contradictions
of programmatic requirements –
between intention and actualization
or approximation between vision
and the skills or capability to realise it
… and from this it follows
another standard of measure
is the empirical validity of that vision or intention
both in terms of romantic idealism
and unquestionable practicality.
— Olumide Okunsanya
of rationalism and architecture
I dislike the merciless rationalism
of architects who seem alive
only from their necks upward
I dislike the picturesqueness, and blatant
expressionism
of architects who are emotional to the point of
sentimentalism.
I like that architecture which is born of artistic
intuition
in constant dialogue with functional and technical
reason
I am for that order of creativity
(be it in art or life or living or loving)
which is a coming together
of the heart and the mind –
an accomodation of the tensions
between rationality and intuitiveness
between that which is cognitive and
that which is sensory
between intellect and sensibility
— Olumide Okunsanya
Source: ArchiviNG (Nigeria Magazine, Jan. 1, 1987)