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Erinola
- Rate Ksh. 18
- Response 1h
Ksh. 18/hr
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- Creative Writing
- Literature
- Poetry
Experienced and published writer teaches creative writing and poetry at home in Ibadan or online!
- Creative Writing
- Literature
- Poetry
Lesson location
About Erinola
The Monologues
Its in your loss that you learn the alphabet of silence
—Gbenga Adeoba
My mother taught me how long to grieve.
The threshold is often when friends begin to roll their eyes.
At which point we translate the anguish of our bodies into grief sounds
that seem like groanings—things that cannot be uttered.
Not loud enough to be heard, not so quiet that they would not
keep us up all night trying to describe them,
to whisper to the mind what it doesnt yet know
but aches to hear.
Out here, we talk only to stars, to their monopoly of speechless eyes
that look like they demand our attention.
we whisper our translations of grief into the wide ears of
absence, hoping that the absence would listen to us somehow.
we lose count of all the dawns we spent while we sat learning to mime
the posture of our mothers minuscule lips as they tried to clap.
How we tried so hard to bear her unfinished songs
like they were the commandments of some new religion.
Isnt this how we learnt to speak?
Listening to mother talk only to broken dishes
or the night, in dark lulls and sighs—those intimate conversations
between broken things, conversations about weathering.
Watching father latch his lips around bisque tobacco pipes
to kiss his secrets in a vague idiolect of whiffs,
in the odour of charring nicotine…
You better not tell anyone this,
that I was young when I learnt the right measure of air
in the fluid craft of weaving a dying fathers
name into tender explosions of bland sighs,
that I was too young when I learnt the language of loss—
how our dried voices now pitch sounds no one else can hear,
speaking silence that outlives the tenure of ears.
See more
About the lesson
- Lower Primary
- Upper Primary
- Lower Secondary
- +10
levels :
Lower Primary
Upper Primary
Lower Secondary
Senior School
Adult Education
Masters
Diploma
Doctorate
ACCA
CIMA
Advocates Training Programme
MBA
Pre-Primary
- English
All languages in which the lesson is available :
English
The Monologues
Its in your loss that you learn the alphabet of silence
—Gbenga Adeoba
My mother taught me how long to grieve.
The threshold is often when friends begin to roll their eyes.
At which point we translate the anguish of our bodies into grief sounds
that seem like groanings—things that cannot be uttered.
Not loud enough to be heard, not so quiet that they would not
keep us up all night trying to describe them,
to whisper to the mind what it doesnt yet know
but aches to hear.
Out here, we talk only to stars, to their monopoly of speechless eyes
that look like they demand our attention.
we whisper our translations of grief into the wide ears of
absence, hoping that the absence would listen to us somehow.
we lose count of all the dawns we spent while we sat learning to mime
the posture of our mothers minuscule lips as they tried to clap.
How we tried so hard to bear her unfinished songs
like they were the commandments of some new religion.
Isnt this how we learnt to speak?
Listening to mother talk only to broken dishes
or the night, in dark lulls and sighs—those intimate conversations
between broken things, conversations about weathering.
Watching father latch his lips around bisque tobacco pipes
to kiss his secrets in a vague idiolect of whiffs,
in the odour of charring nicotine…
You better not tell anyone this,
that I was young when I learnt the right measure of air
in the fluid craft of weaving a dying fathers
name into tender explosions of bland sighs,
that I was too young when I learnt the language of loss—
how our dried voices now pitch sounds no one else can hear,
speaking silence that outlives the tenure of ears.
See more
Rates
Rate
- Ksh. 18
Pack prices
- 5h: Ksh. 90
- 10h: Ksh. 180
online
- Ksh. 18/h
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