Nomakhwezi Becker – Drago dijete moje budućnosti (Mili Dueli 2023 – Grand Final)

Drago dijete moje budućnosti (Montenegrin)

Drago dijete moje budućnosti,
nestrpljiva sam da te upoznam:
da ti pričam o mjestima iz kojih ćeš se roditi,
o duhovima koji će prebivati u tvojim venama,
o istoriji koju ćeš nositi u svom biću,
o pričama koje počivaće ti na dlanovima,
koje će teći kroz tvoje prste
i preplitati se sa budućnošću koju ćeš stvarati.
Oblikuj, piši i stvaraj onime što ti ostavljamo.

Drago dijete moje budućnosti:
mnogi jesu i pokušaće ti pričati o ovom kraju,
o mjestima iz kojih ćeš se roditi
i, kada to činimo,
nemoj zaboraviti slušati ono što već jeste u tebi.

Kada ti pričamo o bubnjevima
koji su nam budili duše iz poraženih snova
i vodili nas u mnoge vrste bitaka,
nemoj zaboraviti srčani ritam svog pradjeda:
stalni podsjetnik na zvuk njegovih koraka na tabanima tvojih stopala
koja odmaraju i još uvijek kucaju tamo, tako da nikada nećeš poći u bitku sam.

Kada ti pričamo o zori civilizacije, bibliotekama, piramidama
i Velikom Kraljevstvu Kush:
nemoj zaboraviti da nisu bili potrebni ni kruna ni institucije
da tvoji hvalospjevi postanu knjiga istorije,
da zvijezde postanu karte i proroci;
da tvoja baka nahrani čitavu zajednicu
iz onoga što se činilo samo sjemenom, pričom i molitvom
sve dok njena veličina i malo pomoći odozgo nisu to pretvorili u život.
Kada ti govore o zemljama trećeg svijeta,
nemoj zaboraviti ko je prvi govorio o beskrajnim svjetovima:
ko je znao iz sna, lastavica, suše, pjesme kitova, koze ili pčele
da samo jedan svijet, jedna stvarnost nikada ne bi mogla obuhvatiti prostranstvo ovog života
i sve svjetove koji žive i dišu izvan toga.

Dijete moje budućnosti,
mnogi će pokušati pričati ti o ovom kraju,
o mjestima iz kojih ćeš se roditi
i, kada to činimo,
nemoj zaboraviti slušati ono što već jeste u tebi.
Slušaj pjesme koje odzvanjaju noću,
dok vode duše sigurno prema rodnom kraju, ali nas drže među živima
prije nego što nas zažudjela tuga tamo otprati.
Slušaj glasove tih tetki koje govore i smiju se najglasnije
kako bi se postarale da znaš da su još uvijek ovdje!
Sjećaćeš se njih dugo nakon što odu.

Ako ikada ugrizeš jezik i osjetiš metal u krvi,
sjeti se zveckanja limenki na ulici koje još uvijek tamo prebivaju,
zvuka djece dok stvaraju ritmove iz dosade
igrajući se dok riječ prestane postojati za njih.
Sjeti se gipkih jezika svog naroda
koji su uspjeli uzeti strane i tuđe riječi donesene na brodovima;
ukrasiti ih fonetikom, značenjima i tonom koji su podsjećali na dom
da bi te riječi pretvorili u jezik sopstvenog naroda.
Slušaj kada putuješ ovim kontinentom i pronađeš tragove svog maternjeg jezika
rasute u neočekivanim ustima, grlu i stiscima ruku,
domaćinima sa licima poput tvog oca, sestre, strica, komšije.

Sjeti se svega toga i mnogo čega još
što se ne može uklopiti samo u jednu pjesmu.

Drago dijete moje budućnosti,
nestrpljiva sam da te upoznam:
da ti pričam o Africi iz koje ćeš se roditi,
o duhovima koji će prebivati u tvojim venama,
o istoriji koju ćeš nositi u svom biću,
o pričama koje počivaće ti na dlanovima,
koje će teći kroz tvoje prste
i preplitati se sa budućnošću koju ćeš stvarati.
Oblikuj, piši i stvaraj onime što ti ostavljamo.

Molitvo moja
u svojoj slavi, bolu, revoluciji, sramoti i iskupljenju,
neka ono što ti ostavimo
bude predivno. Budi predivno, budi predivno…

Translated to Montenegrin by Anđela Turukalo Dabetić
…………………………

DEAR CHILD OF MY FUTURE (English)
Dear child of my future
I cannot wait to meet you
To tell you about all the places you will be born from
About the spirits residing in your veins
The histories carried in your being
The stories resting in your palms
That will flow through your fingertips
And intermingle with the future you create
Carve, write and mould with what we have left for you.

Dear child of my future
Many have and will try to tell you about this land
To tell you about the places you will be born from
And when we do
Do not forget to also listen to what already is in you

When we tell you about the drums
that awakened our souls from defeated slumbers
And led us into many a kind of battle
Do not forget your great-grandfather’s heartbeat,
a constant reminder of the sound of his footsteps on the soles of your feet
Resting and still beating there, so you may never walk into battle alone

When we tell you about the dawn of civilization, libraries, pyramids
and the Great Kingdom of Kush
Do not forget there were no crowns or institutions necessary
For your praise names to become a history book
For the stars to become roadmaps and diviners
For your grandmother to feed an entire community
from what seemed to be just a seed, a story and a prayer
Until her greatness and some help from Above turned it into life
When they tell you about third world countries
Do not forget who spoke about infinite worlds first
Who knew from a dream, swallows, a drought, the song of whales, a goat or a bee
That just one world, one reality could never encompass the expanse of this life
And all the realms that live and breathe beyond it

Child of my future
Many have and will try to tell you about this land
To tell you about the places that you will be born from
And when we do
Do not forget to also listen to what already is in you.
To songs ringing out through the night
Guiding spirits safely to their ancestral home, yet holding us in the land of the living
Before our longing grief follows them there.
Listen to the voices of those aunts who speak and laugh the loudest
Making sure you know that even after everything, they are still here!
And you will remember them long after they have gone

If ever you bite your tongue and taste metal in the blood
Recall the clanging of tin cans on the street that still reside there
The sounds of children making rhythms out of boredom
Playing until the word ceases to exist to them.
Remember to listen to the flexible tongues of your people
Who managed to take strange and foreign words carried to them on ships
Decorate them with phonics, meanings and a tone that felt like home
To turn those words into a language of their very own
Listen when you travel through this continent and find traces of your mother tongue
Scattered in unexpected mouths, throats and handshakes
Home to people with faces like your father, your sister, your uncle, his neighbour.

Remember all this and so much more
That I alone cannot fit into just one poem

Dear child of my future
I cannot wait to meet you
To tell you about the Africa you will be born from
About the spirits residing in your veins
The histories carried in your being
The stories resting in your palms
That will flow through your fingertips
And intermingle with the future you create
Carve, write and mould with what we have left behind for you

My prayer
In all its glory, sorrow, revolution, shame and redemption
May what we leave behind for you
Be beautiful, be beautiful, be beautiful

I took my first steps on stage while my mother was performing and the family joke is that this must have been the prophetic moment that the arts would always call to me. I continue to feel like I’m taking my first steps as I embrace the interdisciplinary spaces that allow me to merge my theatre background with performance poetry, the written word and storytelling as I also am invited into spaces to collaborate with dancers and filmmakers. It is a joy to expand in these ways while also holding on to the legacies my culture and artistic family have passed down to me. As a child of two countries, South Africa and Germany, the ocean is my place of joy and breath – it connects me to both my lands as an in between space that allows me to feel at home and pant my roots in the water.

The inequalities that we have inherited from our past have for a large part been swept under the carpet and the result is anger that has finally boiled over in many of our people. The exhaustion and desperation means that so much anger manifests itself in violence, robbing especially our children and women of their safety. My favourite poetry quote says “This is poetry as illumination, for it is through poetry that we give name to those ideas which – are until the poem – nameless and formless, about to be birthed, but already felt” – Audre Lorde. Pain can often take time to articulate and I believe that it is through poetry that we can give and reclaim language to identify the wounds that still need cleaning and caring for. Through extended the poetic form into more art forms, it can become increasing accessible and stir up conversation and instigate action from our most primal spaces – the depth of our bellies, the parts of us that insist we cannot be still in the face of pain and injustice.

YES