Ogou bears a thousand wounds, Ogou of the drums, Ogou of the dancing machetes. Ogou heals a thousand wounds, Ogou of the scars. He cuts the straight path through the sugar cane. He chops the image and the memory. Ogou forges the iron knife for the birth, so that the child comes, even if the mother bleeds. Papa Ogou opens up the body. Papa Ogou knows the rhythm of blood, of the heart. The twelve tones strike upon the anvil accompanied by sparks and voices. The fiery glow lies round his neck like a mouswa. No-one holds a hammer as my Papa does. I put military insignia ready for him and the blue and red of the soldiers. His machete slices through the smoke. The blade is cool upon my hand. Papa Ogou lays his forehead against mine and nothing in the world can stop me now *Transl. Kevin Cook. Publ. in: ROOTS & MORE // The Journey of The Spirits, (Afrika Museum 2009), catalogue, p. 180 (ISBN 978-90-71611-18-6) mariavandaalen/vodou/
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 21:09:32 +0000
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