Keorapetse Kgositsile was born on September 19, 1938 in Johannesburg, South Africa. In 1961 Kgositsile was one of the first young members of the African National Congress (ANC) who were instructed to leave the country by the leadership of the national liberation movement.
After a year in Tanzania, where he worked on the Spearhead Magazine as Frene Jinwalla’s editorial assistant, Kgositsile got a scholarship to study Literature and Creative Writing in the United States. Since his first post at Sarah Lawrence College in New York in 1969, he taught Literature and Creative Writing at a number of universities in the United States and on the African continent, including the University of Denver, Wayne State University, New School for Social Research, University of California at Los Angeles and the universities of Dar es Salaam, Nairobi, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia and Fort Hare.
An omelette cannot be unscrambled. Not even the one prepared in the crucible of 19th century sordid European design.
When Europe cut up this continent into little pockets of its imperialist want and greed it was not for aesthetic reasons, nor was it in the service of any African interest, intent, or purpose.
...
Beware, my son, words
that carry the loudnesses
of blind desire also carry
the slime of illusion
dripping like pus from the slave's battered back
e.g. they speak of black power whose eyes
will not threaten the quick whitening of their own intent
what days will you inherit?
what shadows inhabit your silences?
I have aspired to expression, all these years,
elegant past the most eloquent word. But here now
our tongue dries into maggots as we continue our slimy
death and grin. Except today it is fashionable to scream
of pride and beauty as though it were not known that
'slaves and dead people have no beauty'
Confusion
in me and around me
confusion. This pain was
not from the past. This pain was
not because we had failed
to understand:
this land is mine
confusion and borrowed fears
it was. We stood like shrubs
shrivelled on this piece of earth
the ground parched and cracked
through the cracks my cry:
And what shapes
in assent and ascent
must people the eye of newborn
determined desire know
no frightened tear ever rolls on
to the elegance of fire. I have
fallen with all the names I am
but the newborn eye, old as
childbirth, must touch the day
that, speaking my language, will
say, today we move, we move ?
...
A while back I said
with my little hand upon
the tapestry of memory and my loin
leaning on the blues to find voice:
...
We now know past any argument
that places can have scars
and they can be warm
or cold or full of intrigue
...
If destroying all the maps known
would erase all the boundaries
from the face of this earth
...