Tutu / The Golden Stool

Lyrics

Brathwaite's reading of these poems can be heard on SoundCloud or by opening this annotation Tutu1And slowly slowly ever so slowly see how he slowly comes to his feet slowly slowly ever so slowly take care not to stumble you of the palanquin; see the bright symbols he's clothed himself in: gold, that the sun may continue to shine bringing wealth and warmth to the nation; mirrors of brass to confound the blind darkness; calico cloth to keep us from sin. For Gyata the lion, cracker of iron, Atakora Firimpong, who fought and seized kings, black rock where the battle axe sings Onoborobo with honour Onoborobo with honour Osai Tutu is coming 'Birempon Tutu is coming. Whispers of dark sasabonsam of darkness will forevеr fear his black rings of iron, the rings spiked with thorn. 2So slowly slowly еver so slowly prepare for his coming; bota beads, bodom beads proclaim his prosperity; red, I am wealthy, my wealth safe from termites; and the feather, red rooster, reminds us he watches; the first one who rises and the first one who sings. Spread the cloth in the path- way. Osee yei Osee yei Osee yei. The Golden Stool1Chiefs and people of the Asantehene let all be well All is well Chiefs and people of the Asantehene let all be well We are listening When the worm's knife cuts the throat of a tree, what will happen? It will die When a cancer has eaten the guts of a man, what will surely happen? He will die My people, that is the condition of our country today: it is sick at heart, to its bitter clay. We cannot heal it or hold it together from curses, because we do not believe in it. Like fighting cocks hungry for corn, the highest crowded perches, we are destroying our great nation. Mampong says his shrines sit heavier upon the snake, time's coiled misfortune, than those at Berekum; the Akyems will not care their own sum- an; it is the same at Juaben; their drums beat late on in the night, tall reeds of coward's darkness: hena beka, hena beka, hena beka hyen! 'Behind our wall, who dares to touch, who dares to touch, who dares to touch us now!' My people cannot collect tribute. 2So down in thunder from his heaven Anokye brought the Golden Stool. Not since the mighty rule of Nana Nyankopong began had such excitements happened in our town. Chiefs' sandalled feet that never once had known the ground, jumped from their palanquins and ran; stools overturned, noon's rule began; women, moon's servitors, cool water's thoughts, songs of before the forest, dried, vanished underground. Blood ruled and my cut tribe, wailing like flutes, whipped for their weakness, brought to this red town. For the tribe's sake, the priests cried: die: for the Stool's honour, shrine's wealth, lean slaver's health of money. Do not seek to find in the smoke's mask of battle, your own face, coward's eyes, truth of fear. For the tribe's sake, the priests cried: die. Let the tongues, lips' labials, rot; withering words in the hot wind. If you must speak, wear a black mask of silence; ask- ing no elder to lead you again through the branch- es, through the path- ways of prayer, to Onyame's now leafless air. 3For I am the life of my people. Like the cock I produce shocks of life like the hen I bear eggs when the cycle is ripe: white salt, tasteless soul body, red yolk where the meaty heart beats. And when the cycle is ripe I, giver of life to my people, crack open the skull, skill of shell, care- fully carved craft of bones, and I kill.