What becomes man when art is lost!

The corncob has a moralist sanctuary pumped in their ventricles as a seeping moon appearing on the dimensionless sky. The acute remarks of looking for the veins which the corn holds and the hands they grip firmly on. This sourceless medium can be soughted out when the opaque sky is whipped by the mouth of jasmine-words, a great penetration is attained on vulva of the eternal abode. What becomes man when art is lost! The whereabouts of supply that nourished the soul, and paints the spirit of depressed heart to surge self in laughter. Beyond the sill of window pane I have stand waiting for the sunless rays of my soul to have a cornice of successive praises to my maker. Each time this art is done I found the art that makes me a man. The parody of life, gets exhaustive in me and I seek always the renewal of this painting as a breathe in me. There are dozen of thoughts jutting in me, and ordering the enduring contentment of sound of the night and briskly of a new day. I sighed often when the curtains of a new day unveils the opaque sky to visit my roof first, I can see the sun in the art of becoming a living everyday. Men cannot do without art and art without men weeping songs became peculiar everyday.
(c) Martin Ijir 2020

Book Review: Literal Appreciation of Elocuencia de Silencios by Francisco Munoz Soler

Appreciation of Elocuencia de Silencios

Francisco Munoz Soler delves into the drums of Eloquence of Silence with a magnanimity of words mowing the forage that held the echoes of words from fasting and feasting In them through silence. The book provides a tendency of focusing on meditations as one decipher the words that upshot from the art of silence. A therapeutic edifice of attaining enlightenment. It should be known that one must be eloquent enough in other to withstand this zephyring but warm atmospheric moisture released by the art of obeying command and writing, being provided and commended by the spirit of silence lying in a soul of an adept who becomes an initiate. He proves to be a learned adept in the field of silenceness, in this poetic discourse ” Elocuencia de Silencios”. He further broaden my Spanish quest as it opens the lines with famous lines of great thinkers and poets, like Rilke, Blake, Colinas, Szymborska etc.

The translanguagation makes one to become a rodent as it decipher the messages encased in the nut. Lines that implores my soul to master Spanish as my third working language quickly, which I am being self taught.
In order not to deviate from this appreciation of this great work written by the scenting poet Francisco, I would state categorically how the poet understands the words silence provides. In “MY SOUL HAS THE MOULD ” the lines ran:
MY SOUL HAS THE MOULD
of the horizon of its dawn
everything in me is created
in the intangible eternity
of its untouched presence in me
I grow in the absence of caresses
in the breath of the fertile transparency
of our unforgettable love.
One cannot rise above the softies of silence if there is non conformity with the waves, rising the tides in the eternity of beingness. The poet tells it as he encounters the creation innately before its physical manifestation. We that are of free spirit understand the mystery of “intangible eternity” or are trying to understand the brimness of this. I see there is no form of sentimental fallacies in this book, which most poets based their writing upon, through sublimation of material imagination. Rather, I saw the enclavement of an adept wearing the disk of an initiate through the eeries of silence. Making me recall my personal encounter. Using my words: and “I buoyed through the eeries of silence” as encountered. I fully understand the telepathic fibre released here. The poet tells the beingness created in silence.

Furthermore, in “AN IMPOSSIBLE DESIRE” he opens the harp that is held captive, when you struck the rock instead of talking to the rock, the repercussion against obeying the voice of silence is dead. Here, the poet obeys. The lines ran:
AN IMPOSSIBLE DESIRE
occupies my days
it forges a pain so sharp
that illuminates the dense night
in the hollow of my footsteps,
an impossible desire
surges with her absence,
it goes through me weaving
the silence of caresses.
An avid reader of the holy book will recall Number 27: 14 this marks the foundation, beginning and willingness of killing the egos in us. The Freudian tea that will make a savour offering to humanity and mother earth and the universe. The ability to overcome this self desire makes the poet a poet.
In ” I remember the young people of my adolescence” the poet ends the point and notions to racial discrimination and all form of humanstreaming experience globally on geometric progression. He opens and ends the lines with:
I REMEMBER THE YOUNG PEOPLE OF MY ADOLESCENCE
in their own times,
with the original colour of their hair,
.
.
.

with the turn of the page
far from all time,
I remember them as if in a dream.

Lastly, the book is segmented into five, having great themes and marvellous poems summing up “Elocuencia de Silencios” running in free verse as encountered. A story he opens at “Poets, at times” marvels me because it upholds the first law of poetry, making it easier to read through.
POETS, AT TIMES
because of their uncertainties
feel tempted to comprehend
the human condition,
they try to capture echos,
the eloquence of silence,
the radiation of kisses,
and the endless exchange of looks,
without the scientific knowledge
of going back to the origin of our souls.
One must reflect on the mirror of being here, and seek the vehicle which will board us into the abyss of our root. The origin lays the quintessentiality of a soul, our ability to forge back in a purer form makes us to gain eternal life or eternal strife, both of these eternity, none of our part dies. In a succinct and apt line I would say Soler understands how to tap to the songs of silence, diving into the stream of existence as a master, conversing with his visitor and ending his long suffering.

Thank you for this masterpiece.
With LOVE
Martin Ijir
© Martin Ijir 2020

Review of Eeries of Silence: Stylistic Expressionism in Martin’s Poetry

Expressionism in art in its clearest sense is a unique stylistic feature and distinctive color. Stylistic expression is the mother of all contemporary artistic trends. In revolutionary visions, issues, and objections, this is the moral expression. Although expressiveness exists in art, the dominance of moral expression and its manifestation is clear, and although stylistic expression is found in literature, the dominant aspect is the emergence of its moral dimension.

Martin Ijir is a Nigerian poet with extensive literary experience, through which he was able to combine originality and innovation in style in his writings, which is very difficult, and he brought us objectionary, revolutionary, and unique literature on the level of meaning and issue and on the level of style and form, especially in his collection ” Eeries of Silence ” which is a collection of horizontal narrative prose poems, and these recent practices and experiences signify unquestionably aspects of stylistic expression.

Creativity in Martin’s poems depends on achieving his goals with a profound impact on the recipient and on achieving the tremor within him through the pursuit of salvation and revolution on reality and distinct vision, and this is also achieved through stylistic expression; according to a distinct method and a message that cares about the reader. The poems would not have achieved what it had accomplished without shocking method, along with the question of searching for salvation and revolution on the ground. Martin’s poems have taught us that achieving a real and non-repeatable literary personality is that the text is expressed in two expressions, moral and stylistic, and what we see prevalent in most poets is meaningful expression, but they do not approach stylistic expression but rather write according to what the audience wants without attention to the truth that this cannot be real, and even welcomed by official cultural institutions. Rather, there must be two forms of expressionism, moral and stylistic, and this is what was actually provided in Martin’s poetry, which adopted the narrative horizontal prose poems in a distinctive style.

Literary analysis has moved from the middle of the last century to a greater accuracy in terms and concepts, and it is no longer acceptable to speak in broad terms, and stylistic criticism has succeeded, to a large extent, in crossing criticism towards scientific approach, and it became true that we describe the era of literature at the end of the century as the era of scientific literature. Stylistics has made great progress in this regard by presenting objective models and tangible material formulas for literary idea and analytical concepts, and here we will try to shed light on stylistic aspects of expressionism in poetic texts of Nigerian poet Martin Ijir.

In the poem “DUST” Martin says:

(My body dies, my spirit becomes dust then my soul transcends unto pillaging bed of refurbishment. The bequeathed sky above, whistles the work of my hands, bands of life and its enchanting buoying songs I refute to singing; will I recite on the day of my recurrence. I am single out like a simpleton upon a water floating in the sea of silence. My silver cloud turns into melee ice as I melt as dew encountering my first sun.)

We do not need much talk to refer to the expressive moral in the text as he asked for salvation and revolutionary in the title of the text and in each of its sections and the text is charged with the message of alienation and sadness and the request for change.

The poet here relied on stylistic expressions and formulas, including (narrative), as the text was based on the narrative style, and this is a distinction and contrasting to the prevailing poetic writing based on fragmentation even in prose poetry in the free poem. Also, the narrative here was not a storytelling narrative, but rather an expressive narrative with the intent of living and symbolizing and maximizing the energies of language. There is no doubt that (prose poetry), and with this force in which prose manifests itself with its techniques, is a style different from the music and formal harmony in which the prevailing poem is concerned.

In the poem ” ALONE ” he said: ( I traveled through the galaxy, in a chimera wagon, a steamy light appears like the steeds of fogs, poised in a disheveling position, my clogs pores on the shore of hydroponic merriment, this must be home, I longed long for, this must be home, no this is not a home, a voice contradicts my thoughts, I grunt upon him or is it her as they confused my intuition. The path to home is narrowed I learned. Now I am about to finish my learning and long suffering.)

We find another stylistic expressive side, which is (freshness) accompanying a sweet symbolic text and high poetic art, and this also distinguishes and contrasts with the prevalence of the modernist symbolism, which is usually characterized by estrangement, and transcendence. Also, the poet adopted the special vision of things and assets in (expressive and apocalyptic), which is a different method and distinct from the deliberative on which the written rule depends.

In ” Distance Sky ” Martin said: (I saw her stretch wings, with leathery feathers bearing my flavor of silver, so close your distancing appears. As my wings fluttered upon the musk of air, a fingertip that pierces the altar of iceberg tears our conversation. Inside me I reach what’s hidden and awaken the dust that hinders my transcending. I closed my eyes and watched the melting sun decays as dew flowing from tendrils of exaltation, a harmonious power that controls earth, elements and shell of my body.)

The poet intends to a narrative passage that is purely expressive in message and it is a model for literary expression. Such a reduced text filled with questions, appeals, descriptions, alienation and delusions, which ends with an expressive combination of certainty and legend achieves remarkable expressive distinction.

Dr. Anwer Ghani

The Review of Eeries of Silence: A poet with eternal vibes

I came in contact with poet Martin Ijir through his prose poetry though they were fleeting glances. They caught my attention at once but alluded after sometime in flood of poems upon social media. When I perused through his collection of prose poetry “Eeries of Silence“ in much personal mode it was a novel moment for me. Words appeared warm even in winter ,such a catchy choice was there.
In a mischievous moment prose poetry has been defined as “A poetry set at ninety degrees”. It has been written in horizontal block. Blocks compressed traditional verse in such a revoltic way that instead of distortion it got melted away in magical form retaining every essence of poetry except its outer outline though lines were unbreakable. Prose poetry is of varied types like POSTCARD, FACTOID, DEADPAN NARRATIVE AND SURREAL NARRATIVE. Collection “Eeries Of Silence” is not a particular type but it is a beautiful blend of varied hues of prose poems.
In literary stylistic analysis also called New Criticism, the main focus remains entirely on the text ,the words on the page , that are in front of you. Here it is examined how the poet expresses his theme and tone through the stylistic devices like imagery, alliteration, assonance, rhyme, point of view. It simply squeezes all possible juice out of the poem and how they are arranged, without regard to the poet’s life or times.
In the poem “Night“ he says “stuttering clicks of whispering voices foretold how dark souls became when night comes”. His use of imagery is magical, as the pitch of sound ascends in silence at night.
He says “I can decipher her voice like a lady sobbing the loss of her groom“. The Poet’s probing eyes glances so deep. He feels pain at an abstract level.
In the poem “Distance Sky“ he says “one must be blind outside, and be able to see inside the stairs of our soul that one can walk upon the distant sky”. A perfect promulgator of surrealism! The poet has used surreal narrative in a wonderful way as he tells about iceberg tears, glimpses of melting sun with closed eyes, etc.
In the poem ”Dust” he says my body dies, my spirit becomes dust then my soul transcend unto pillaging bed of refurbishment. A metaphysical, vicious cycle of destruction and renovation !
The Poet uses many metaphors, similes, and imagery like in “eternal Ivy” an exalted seat of soul , pearls of gold found in Persian rivers, glamorous rose with whitening effeminate qualities etc.
Overall it could be said that poets has deep philosophical fire burning deep inside . A philosopher is like a dry desert where there is always a lack of limpidity of poetry. But a true poet must always be a philosopher.The Poet’s efficiency depends on how meticulously he hides philosophy in the core of seed and gives a multiple layering of magic which sucks out all dryness in its magical touch .
Poet has proved it indeed !

Dr Pragya Suman
copyright @pragyasuman 28 / 2/ 2020

The mad man

The mad man
Long before now, long before time was infused inside my soul. Before I was sent to the earth. Near the stream containing many shrubs I walk on, elegantly without fear, shame, and harm. I have seat my self in those sullen water, i guessed nine months or thereafter. I was threaded with the placenta of birth and death. Betrothed to life scorching sun, smiles of bitter rain and lustrous muses of scavenging for the nuts to nourished my body, unite my spirit and guides the soul to manage his genderless attributes back to where time wasn’t created. I have walked a million time to the stream, casting my net daily, catching nothing. Even the little tadpoles which a child catch without suffering I alone couldn’t lay my net on. I have lost none inched of a hope because I targeted the daily calmness of the stream. If i could not get hold of the beings on water at least I can pluck the flowers near the stream on terrestrial abode. I walk to the flower, with songs of conquest. She smiles as nature, baring the regalia of wild purple, waving her nectar in silent wickedness. The wilderness that separates the flower from the stream encamp countless bees that sleeps and enjoy their sun, conversing with the gloom of their wings as they chat. I fluttered myself into this trap. I was stung by the bees. I became a madman. Having no fishes, no shell, no pebbles, no gold, no flower. I am having nothing and carrying nothing inside my haversack bag, as I am going to be infused back into the cubits were time end as a soul.
(c) Martin Ijir 2020

The merchant

We have travel from shop to shop seeking for what holds breathing in human’s nostril. Each shop we visited stalls our conversation with groceries, butter, tuna fish and fired spreading meat. Always the can milk stared at me whenever I stepped to a shop. The glance at her eyes invites patronage like a whore showing the lameness of her beauty. I hated each ounce of the milk that trudge the premises of thinking. The long rigasa train where banditry sleeps waiting for merchants to kidnap, stood at the dim night as we speed pass. I held the rails tightly, for I have heard of the tempting water of those kidnappers, and wish not to be their honoured victim. For I am only a merchant seeking the house that helds countless breathe. Something inside me whispered, let go off your hands from the rails. And see the dynamic of an invisible shop waiting your arrival! There you would have answers to your cajoling question. Foolishly, I let go the rails. For I love the words in obey and command. I am left sobbing in bruised excitement and tapping drops of breath gaping behind my soul. Truly, this impracticable journey consumed whoever voyage her path calmly. I can’t be dead, I say…
(c)2020 Martin Ijir

Soul and the body

The soul doesn’t rest the body does
like the wrens the soul sings
music to the creator
Why then say rest in peace to a soul
when the journey became unstressful.

In joy does the freedom of the soul
occurs from the stained soil of the skin
the soul recall its body memories
using the experience to form new notes on lyre
may my body rest to free my soul from this hell
(c) Martin Ijir 2019

Celestial abode

In temple of my temple
you filled my soul
like air and water
your thirst I require.

In temple of my temple
i await your coming
& accompanying walk
unto your celestial abode.
(c) Martin Ijir 2019

My foolish foul

I am sorry for being an unjust dust,
I am so sorry for being your word rust,
so ashame for devouring your temple,
the seat of thy holy throne.

I am sorry for betraying your trust,
I am so sorry for falling your test:
shame on me, for not following your way,
tears fill my soul as i swing away:

find a day and revamp my soul
within i implore you clean my foolish foul.
(c) Martin Ijir 2019

She is your breathe

There’s someone that occupies your heart
Like the air in the sky she journey through you
She creates a new smile and erased your sorrows
Like ocean you heard her tides when she’s absent
There’s someone so special you feel her love
When the days became dark she brings a light
Like the moon she shines inside you in amorous posture
Like a pasture she feeds your troubling soul with love
She becomes like an oasis in your desert journey
She enchant your heart to call her name for she’s your breathe
(c) 2019 Martin Ijir