Biography of Nkululeko Mdudu
Nkululeko Gilbert Mdudu is a goat herder who grew up in the villege of Shiloh near Queenstown in the Eastern Cape. He was largely influenced by his grandfather, Simon Gilbert Mdudu who; along with his wife Beatrice Mdudu(my grandma) and the magic of the legendary true stories of their lives have shaped me. I am mad about my culture'and the world is a diamond', they said; but mainly about the story of how man creates his own Universe. All my poetry is from a place I call 'Ireshire' which is my world and soul. I have been called many things, but sadly not a poet. this could be due to the fact that poetry has always been a part of my life, only not as much on paper as on the tales that bind me to that place....the things one can do in dreams(like have two birds in the hand but wake up only to find a closed fist) , yes I have always been haunted, and helped by my dreams and the messages that lay hidden within them. Maybe I was not meant for this world for it is far too limiting, but from my limitations I have learned to fly inwardly to the planet of my soul. It all sounds mythical, as do I, sometimes, but a voice is what I'm looking for, not in language but in life. I struggle to understand the burdens I carry but I'm drawn to carry more; not as possessions but as pals.
Nkululeko Mdudu Poems
! ! ! -My Love Has Loved You Best~! ! !
I knew what you did to me, But I didn't know why; So I labelled It Love, And I let It lie...
! ! ! Does Black Ink Ever Turn Grey?
When this head of black strings turns grey When this spring September turns to chilly May When all you enjoyed becomes dull and boring When the only noise you make is when you're snoring
$! Who Said.....
Who said........This is poetry? Who said........That the words are free? Who said........This is you and me, not us or we?
A Letter Over The Phone
There will always be something wrong today; That might have been right yesterday, But who are we to decide what is wrong and right, For today or any other day or night?
! @~zihla Ngamqala Mnye~~
</>Awu! Inkomo kabawo Yalalis’ uphondo! Umelusi wayo Yayingumfo wakwa Sipongolo.
And though I write these saddened words On the white sheets of forest abhorition Owing their malice to both industrial And to aboriginal organisations of destruction
! ! Something To Smile About `_;
You tell me I've changed, I can see you are right. Your tongue do restrain, I do not want to fight.
***! ! The Kid Inside Me*#
Behold, a marvelous sight! A handsome Boy from morning to night, Self-reliant, self dependant and oh so brave. No one's king and no one's knave.
! ...Written On Sorrows' Page
We tend to reduce things: Books to pages, Sentences to words, Eaons to ages.
@-Why Should I Write-
</>Why should I write an English poem, When the English write their own? Why should I seek the symbol's hope, When I've never met the pope?
Miles of sand and stone. A sight alone. Mountains of mist. Alone I list. The sights I see. Only me. With no other. None to call brother.
~the Brief Moment(When She Was There) !
Young man, why do you look so old? I'm not sure; it must be my beard, Or the many strange stories I've told. No; it must be this hat, it looks weird.
Shh.....silence sweeps the crowd of anxious faces waiting to see A singing legend As marvelous as he.
12: 11: 12
I remember days when I sat alone In the dark, with savage beasts Dancing beside me. All the while my greatest hazard
It starts off as an ordinary day,
four alarms ring at fifteen minute intervals and I lay
there half awake between thought and dream.
Like a maid or mother she knocks loudly on the door...
'Wake up it's late! '
And truly it was- the dream had died till another night,
a species extinct in the world of thought.No habitat
on waking hours for this creature of the night,
so he hides himself as an imperfect plan