Golden gates opened up,
To allow the luxury car,
That slided through the driveway,
Upto the great mansion,
A miniature replica,
Of The White House,
That stood on arid land,
As large palm and date trees,
Shaded the path, With no breeze,
And the humidity engulfed the living,
As it vanished inside the building,
And air-conditioners worked non-stop,
To cool the lives of the wealthy,
Once courageous nomads,
Who wandered freely in deserts,
In search of oasis sanctuary,
Now, oil hath changed their lives,
With Permanent Dependance,
On imported artificiality.
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Reviews of "Permanent Dependance"
Reviewed by M. B. (Reader)
Reviewed on February 18, 2005
PERMANENT DEPENDENCE speaks a loud voice and offers a glimpse of the wealthy oil culture in the countries of arid sands. I truly like the word weave of this piece and the ending is a slam dunk.
Now, oil hath changed their lives,
With Permanent Dependance,
On imported artificiality.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
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Now, oil hath changed their lives,
With Permanent Dependance,
On imported artificiality.