Kevin
Ryan
Charnwood,
UK
he sits there behind the table
big, small, black, white,
everyone has their gaze
upon him
gentle, distinguished
haloed hair, of solid eye
his voice hints
towards America
African suns
an English education
deep, open, confident
laughter contained,
his presence grows
our questions flow around
his obsession -
how best to ridicule
to challenge
to see off
the powerful, weak,
dictators of all sizes,
even the ones
in our own heads,
......king baabu........
now watching his words
take shape before him
arms folded
breath constant
the players play
the pain of his imprisonment
unconvincingly
yet show us how to laugh
at tyranny
I watch his eyes
the rise and fall of his chest
and wonder
if he understands
these scottish, english, hybrid
actors and their
folksy, funny, accordion,
music hall,
carnival ways,
some people leave, angry
to see white skin, white voices portray
black words
but the black writer
in question
stays
to clap,
louder
than the rest,
he greets these errant players
with their subversive play
and carries off a souvenir
of yet
another
empire falling
last chord's echo -
the Nobel man
spins his plastic hat
(click
this)
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and Marjorie Buetnner
