Chinua Achebe ~ Refugee Mother and Her Child
No madonna and child could touch
that picture of a mother's tenderness
for a son she soon would have to forget.
The air was heavy with odours
of diarrhoaea of unwashed children
with washed-out ribs and dried-up
bottoms struggling in laboured
steps behind blown empty bellies. Most
mothers there had long ceased
to care but not this one; she held
a ghost smile between her teeth
and in her eyes the ghost of a mother's
pride as she combed the rust-colored
hair left on his skull and then -
singing in her eyes - began carefully
to part it...In another life this
must have been a little daily
act of no consequence before his
breakfast and school; now she
did it like putting flowers
on a tiny grave.
Achebe writes this poem so graphically as if we are looking through the lens of his camera. Of course, these are images we have often seen flashed across the television screen, in magazines, and on posters with a call for financial action. In this poem, the devotion of this mother is so incredibly stunning and striking as she douses her child with daily tender care and dotes as if he were a newborn infant. Achebe notes that other mothers had long ceased to care. Yet, this one gives undying care in the face of inevitable death of her child and she seems oblivious to her own impending death.
As I have read this poem on several occasions, I not only see the literal message, I also see a metaphysical message. During my menopausal passage, I felt forced to examine my roles in relationships as a mother, a daughter, a friend, a wife and a member of many organizations. I see myself as I see other women devotees to our relationships with the same level of passion for whatever we believe in. My mother was my first example of passionate devotion which she gave to investing in family and a home. Secondly, I saw women in the baptist church where I was raised giving tirelessly to organizations to keep church programs vibrant. While bringing babies and children with them, other women also shared in this caring. Now I see my daughter an erudite student committed to being an expert in her field. Women in recent years are creating sister circles for intimacy and centers of wellness to refresh the feminine spirit. We give and give tirelessly, it seems, as an investment in the greater good. And oh, let me not omit grandmothers who are again serving mothering roles to their grandchildren, whether out of need or desire.
I am influenced by this poetic art to look more deeply at the term 'refugee'. Also by beginning the poem with madonna and child, I am inspired to consider the slight similarity between this mother and Mary (mother of Jesus/Yeshua) who also had a son who suffered through a dying state.
Of course, this poem can also be viewed from the perspective of poetry and the basic structural elements of this art such as theme, metaphor, meter, rhyme, free verse, symbolism, meter, image, irony, tone, alliteration, simile among others. What impresses me the most is imagery. He clearly paints the picture using all the senses of sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch. Secondly, the last line a simile; it also feels like a metaphor.
As you interpret this poem, what are your memories and experiences? What personal insights do you glean from this poem? Does the poem bring to mind not only experiences also other writings or poems with a similar message? Have you had any circumstances or situations that influenced you to take a look at your roles in serving others? What do you believe to be the most poignant line and why? Other commentary is also welcome.
that picture of a mother's tenderness
for a son she soon would have to forget.
The air was heavy with odours
of diarrhoaea of unwashed children
with washed-out ribs and dried-up
bottoms struggling in laboured
steps behind blown empty bellies. Most
mothers there had long ceased
to care but not this one; she held
a ghost smile between her teeth
and in her eyes the ghost of a mother's
pride as she combed the rust-colored
hair left on his skull and then -
singing in her eyes - began carefully
to part it...In another life this
must have been a little daily
act of no consequence before his
breakfast and school; now she
did it like putting flowers
on a tiny grave.
Achebe writes this poem so graphically as if we are looking through the lens of his camera. Of course, these are images we have often seen flashed across the television screen, in magazines, and on posters with a call for financial action. In this poem, the devotion of this mother is so incredibly stunning and striking as she douses her child with daily tender care and dotes as if he were a newborn infant. Achebe notes that other mothers had long ceased to care. Yet, this one gives undying care in the face of inevitable death of her child and she seems oblivious to her own impending death.
As I have read this poem on several occasions, I not only see the literal message, I also see a metaphysical message. During my menopausal passage, I felt forced to examine my roles in relationships as a mother, a daughter, a friend, a wife and a member of many organizations. I see myself as I see other women devotees to our relationships with the same level of passion for whatever we believe in. My mother was my first example of passionate devotion which she gave to investing in family and a home. Secondly, I saw women in the baptist church where I was raised giving tirelessly to organizations to keep church programs vibrant. While bringing babies and children with them, other women also shared in this caring. Now I see my daughter an erudite student committed to being an expert in her field. Women in recent years are creating sister circles for intimacy and centers of wellness to refresh the feminine spirit. We give and give tirelessly, it seems, as an investment in the greater good. And oh, let me not omit grandmothers who are again serving mothering roles to their grandchildren, whether out of need or desire.
I am influenced by this poetic art to look more deeply at the term 'refugee'. Also by beginning the poem with madonna and child, I am inspired to consider the slight similarity between this mother and Mary (mother of Jesus/Yeshua) who also had a son who suffered through a dying state.
Of course, this poem can also be viewed from the perspective of poetry and the basic structural elements of this art such as theme, metaphor, meter, rhyme, free verse, symbolism, meter, image, irony, tone, alliteration, simile among others. What impresses me the most is imagery. He clearly paints the picture using all the senses of sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch. Secondly, the last line a simile; it also feels like a metaphor.
As you interpret this poem, what are your memories and experiences? What personal insights do you glean from this poem? Does the poem bring to mind not only experiences also other writings or poems with a similar message? Have you had any circumstances or situations that influenced you to take a look at your roles in serving others? What do you believe to be the most poignant line and why? Other commentary is also welcome.
posted by "Adanna" Gloria at Monday, November 30, 2009
3 comments
