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

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

The Night Dance

The whooshing sounds of the river ripples in joy, as we hold ourselves atop the hills in other to test how real our love is, a committal approach to life. We have avow to die for each other as we elope from our home. To nowhere we walk in the still night as it dances in total darkness. We submit our heart in childish thoughts as we curled our hands towards the stream. The fear of the chirping insects and the prowling bats intensify our togetherness that forever we shall be one. We rolled at the empty music of the night as the ten hours moon shone across our faces, kisses gunned down on our lips and we embrace each other to keep the cold night warm. Our primal eyes sees what was missing, it was lack of understanding from our parents and their cultural notions to chose who they want their heart to be in other for ours to incline and succumb to it. A notion to heart enslavement, for my heart sees you as a divine soul mate. The still night bears happiness as I am with you. A feeling I wish will never end even though their is barrier to our involvement, in this our love grows like raspberries waiting for we to press as we suck it juices. You’re the juice my heart declared and deserved to have. You rejuvenate my dying soul with endless breathe. I have come to observed that without you this night wouldn’t dance with stars that shine forth as a brook of water flowing the sieve sands. A swimming fish on the tides of my heart. Whenever the day breaks into the wild forest our heart shall go, picking all the date fruits as Adam and Eve, forgetting those whose notions to slavery imprisoned us. For abundance liberty our soul deserved and wish to bring a paradise of beauty in you my love as we dance tonight heavenly bodies will touch the heart of our oppressors to know what it takes to love and be loved, my love.
(c) Martin Ijir 2018