The Making of the Drum / Atumpan

Lyrics

Brathwaite's reading of these poems can be heard on SoundCloud or by opening this annotation The Making of the Drum1The Skin First the goat must be killed and the skin stretched. Bless you, four-footed animal, who eats rope, skilled upon rocks, horned with our sin; stretch your skin, stretch it tight on our hope; we have killed you to make a thin voice that will reach further than hope further than heaven, that will reach deep down to our gods where the thin light cannot leak, where our stretched hearts cannot leap. Cut the rope of its throat, skilled destroyer of goats; its sin, spilled on the washed gravel, reaches and spreads to devour us all. So the goat must be killed and its skin stretched. 2The Barrel of the Drum For this we choose wood of the tweneduru tree: hard duru wood with the hollow blood that makes a womb. Here in this silence we hear the wounds of the forest; we hear the sounds of the rivers; vowels of reed- lips, pebbles of consonants, underground dark of the continent. You dumb adom wood will be bent, will be solemnly bent, belly rounded with fire, wound- ed with tools that will shape you. You will bleed, cedar dark, when we cut you; speak, when we touch you. 3The Two Curved Sticks of the Drummer There is a quick stick grows in the for- est, blossoms twice year- ly without leaves; bare white branches crack like light- ning in the harm- attan. But no harm comes to those who live near- by. This tree, the elders say, will never die. From this stripped tree snap quick sticks for the festival. Its wood, heat-hard as stone, is toneless as a bone. 4Gourds and Rattles Cal- abash trees' leaves do not clash; bear a green gourd, burn copper in the light, crack open seeds that rattle. Blind underground the rat's dark saw-teeth bleed the wet root, snap its slow long drag of time, its grit, its flavour; turn the ripe leaves sour. Clash rattle, sing gourd; never leave time's dancers weary like this tree that makes and mocks our music. 5The Gong-Gong God is dumb until the drum speaks. The drum is dumb until the gong-gong leads it. Man made, the gong-gong's iron eyes of music walk us through the humble dead to meet the dumb blind drum where Odomankoma speaks: AtumpanKon kon kon kon kun kun kun kun Funtumi Akore Tweneboa Akore Tweneboa Kodia Kodia Tweneduru Odomankoma 'Kyerema se Odomankoma 'Kyerema se oko babi a oko babi a wa ma ne-ho mene so oo wa ma ne-ho mene so oo akoko bon anopa akoko tua bon nhima hima hima nhima hima hima ... Funtumi Akore Tweneboa Akore Spirit of the Cedar Spirit of the Cedar Tree Tweneboa Kodia Odomankoma 'Kyerema says Odomankoma 'Kyerema says The Great Drummer of Odomankoma says The Great Drummer of Odomankoma says that he has come from sleep that he has come from sleep and is arising and is arising like akoko the cock like akoko the cock who clucks who crows in the morning who crows in the morning we are addressing you ye re kyere wo we are addressing you ye re kyere wo listen let us succeed listen may we succeed ...