The Marathon Song
prelude
Drag the hard skinned drum
to the centre of the yard,
Carry a spare string for that isiriri,
my friend
Bring out three-legged stools too
You mustn't break your back before I
get back.
Beat it modestly, mind the hide,
It mustn't burst before the refrain-
Till the last dancer, the last
stanza.
Bow the isiriri soft and
slow-
This isn't a quick pluck-and-go
This is a telling of the falling
feet
By the people of the lean legs
On the long winding road
Of legendary lungs
Enduring rhythm
unbroken spirit
This is it.
Beginnings
You better bet humble;
Or lose in a blind gamble.
So listen thee to the deep;
hearken now before you leap:
For the longest path lies quiet-
but shakes your bones the hardest yet!
So the runner's best bet
is to don a
sentinel's mood,
Sniffing for peril in this night
just begun;
is to put on a warrior's hood
To keep his scalp from the desert
sun.
The opening cords crack like rain in
March
Clapping the morning deaf.
In nervous jerk, the mob surges
Like a giant Marabou stock,
in a panicky abandonment of perch.
Nostrils seeking the air,
sneakers lapping the earth
And elbows flapping in-between.
but it is only the opening cords-
Quick and clipped
Then a tambourine's rattling shake
[Marathon… same stanza]
A hype and a clash…then
rumba,
Slower, comelier.
In the steadied tap of feet
In the mid-verse swing
Like spooked sparrows sway away
Together the strong and the
near-lame,
So the crowd seeking dream and fame
Stumbles ahead into clarity-
for each with his lot shall surely fall:
With the fools, the wind will fly
into folly,
With the eager, their haste will
come to waste.
But you, my friend, find my step -
stay
Find your beat; don't just dance
along,
The dance of distance is a long
song.
With the first smile-
That punishing strike of a willful
sun,
The unpracticed, un-tempered,
unsure-
Those made of much else but steel
Are on the roadside dump with woe.
The testy hang-ons too must fail the
ordeal.
But for those who'll toil
Nature finds a jolly spot in their
minds.
Like a fine fuel injecting into an
engine
comes the countryside free and wide
And all chambers are charmed with
life!
Green on tree-tops and green in the
undergrowth
The brown and gnarled, knotted and
knobby
The ragged rock and the plowed plots
the granite black and algae white
The red earth and the blue skies
All lost apart then found in your
eyes;
Is a beautiful song to see.
And you're dancing, unmindful
of distance lost behind you.
The quiet gathering of kilometers
underfoot,
The silent surgery upon the original
mob
Into a broken line on a narrow
trail:
You see less and feel more:
[Marathon… same stanza]
The heart beats in solid throb
The first sweat falls onto the road.
We are on.
The middle
The sweat on my forehead in this
heat,
The heat in my toes as I forge
ahead,
The swing of my hands
The weight of wind on my chest
The swish of my shorts, the fall of
feet
The gasp in my throat and the salt
on my lips
The lock of my joints, the jerk in
my hips,
The tension in my tendons,
And a stream of sweat down my spine,
a-step-at-a-time and I head along;
Am going fast and doing fine.
And I bow my head for Road, The
Master
Who can slight your endless length?
Who but you tastes the salt of my
labour?
In the sweat that you soak in?
Who knows my strain and gasp;
The urgency in my breath,
The weight in my stride,
The draw of my foot,
The drag on the climb;
Who?
I land with the heel, I spring with
the toe
Heel and toe, I step and go,
I keep the beat with a swing of
elbow-
I keep the time with sway of chin
Sowing drops of sweat by the
roadside.
I write with my feet, a new song
every season-
grating, crunching with rubber on
sand
As I scale the rises, as I deep into
streambeds
The crunch and grate are notes on a
scale-
Quick quivers cracking beneath my
feet
Where I sing them as I go
as I sing on the sand as I scale this run.
Because push carts and posh cars
Can't be ruining my music today,
[Marathon… same stanza]
Because Smoky Babu (the bus) and
boda boda
Shan't be chocking my breathing this
day,
Because yet that old wagon won't
stall Mid-road,
I shall have my music as I like it.
I shan't have to halt mid-line
I shan't have to slow down then
speed up
Or run off then into this good road,
this scale.
So, come ye all good players:
Come wind from the woods where this
path winds,
Come wind and fife by my ears;
Come Chief de Croak where this scale
dips by the muddy pond
Come Croak Prince- grate your
throat, bless my stride;
Come monkey, break a twig let it
fall, let it drum the earth,
Swing wide then leave your ghost
swaying the boughs,
Then laugh!
That laugh is The half-point
A landmark in the wind
That awakes my mind.
My skin is shouting from every old
blister-
Yet from here on I must sing faster.
Sweat is salting on my face, air's
tagging in my breast
But I must blaze through saline
heat, and never rest.
There's a quarrel in my calves,
shock in my waist-
But therein burns a fire- for the
homestretch braced.
The toes swim in liquid heat, but
they too must keep the beat.
And I must dance on.
The
road-side's endearingly great:
Patches grassy green hawk their
comfort in your face
Dare you look too long and you'll
break your pace;
Streams clean, welcomingly cool look
up
Begging you to drop into a trot, to
stoop and scoop;
And the canopied shades lined to
shelter
Broken bodies from an incessant sun
Blazing on your back, licking you
nape,
Straining your song, hoping you'd
stop
At the stream, under the shade, or
on the grass.
But you drone louder to drown
The noise in the mind, the voice in
the wind,
The startled onlookers' eyes trying
to be kind-
[Marathon… same stanza]
Those pitiful eyes that see and say
sorry
That stare in uncomprehending worry,
The voices that murmur in wonderment
why
A grown man leaves his beer to court
muscle ache,
A woman shamelessly breaks into a
sweat in public!
But onwards you trudge
And let none be your judge.
You swing your elbow and sway your
booty,
You let the rhythm of these remain
testimony
Of a will to live, of an ability to
carry,
Of an intention to keep, to improve
by use
A body born able, now chiseled and
apt.
And
so in the strained stanzas of straddled time
In the quieter song and louder puff
When the going has gone on and
gotten tough
In the last stretches of struggling
rhyme-
The human spirit approaches the
sublime:
Nerves converse with tendons
Dreams merge with the scenery
Fears fly into the dust forgotten
Courage speaks to the bones
Focus is reconstituted
Intentions revised
The spirit freed,
Flies!
Homestretch
Leashed to the neck, the isiriri screams
Restrained between thighs, the drum
rumbles
The burst of will is a flex of the
mind,
The back arches backwards
Knees rise to mark the beat
Toes curl and scoop
Palms open and slice the wind
The chin strikes up and out
Lips purse and hoard the last breath
sky bows and the earth cranes
They meet in a long kiss
In a dance
To the end-
To the drum
[Marathon… same stanza]
to the Isiriri
to the flesh
to the mind
To the end!
When they part and tag away
The twang of the final note hangs in
the air
The echo of the last thunder rings
everywhere.
The pant of a spent lung fades out,
freely
Sweat will gather and roll, eyes
Will roam and record the moment
But the feeling is forever.
Award Ceremony
Every child her thrill.
And I will give my life
to come home holiday-happy
With sweat for a souvenir;
With a spirit reborn;
With a body lean and lithe;
With a brand new song mine own.
