It is certainly not for nothing that that veritable master of the written word, the eminent monarch of the imaginative universe, Professor Femi Osofisan, agreed to lend his illustrious imprimatur to this new collection of poems by the journalist, essayist, scholar, poet and politician, Dr. Tunde Olusunle, by penning its most pungent and incisive foreword. In the words of Professor Osofisan, “These new poems reveal a voice that has matured over the years, grown wiser if somewhat more somber now, chastened by experience and adult disillusionment. The long silence of course must have been difficult for the poet, although serving in a political post, it was inevitable. But it seems to have served as a period of useful incubation, and it is a relief that Olusunle has reconnected with his muse again, and recovered his voice”. Continuing, Professor Osofisan writes, “Certainly it is a return worth celebrating. The poet has attained a firmer control of lexicon and syntax, of pulse and kinetics, tension and concatenation – all these nuances of verbal logistics that make for fluid syncopation and melodic ease”.
This collection which runs into 78 pages is divided into four sections, namely, ‘Wandering Echoes’, ‘Sombre Echoes’, ‘Angry Echoes’ and’ Earthy Echoes’. The first section is the longest and has 16 poems. It shows the poet as a widely travelled cosmopolitan citizen of the world with a keen eye for observation and an uncommon sensitivity to the sounds, scents, smells, history and occurrences of any environment in which he finds himself both within and outside the country. The descriptive vividness of this section can, of course, not be surprising to those who are familiar with the poet’s career as one of the most perceptive, observant and imaginative feature writers of his generation during his period of journalistic practice. On his several trips across the country on various assignments for the defunct Daily Times newspaper, the author wrote vivid feature articles on the various towns and cities he visited painting vivid portraits of the geographical outlay and social life of such places as Kaduna, Kano, Ibadan, Ilorin, Jos, Enugu, Owerri, Markurdi among several others.
In the most interesting first section where he reports poetically on various historic places both within and beyond Nigeria that he has visited, Olusunle comes across as a meticulous chronicler of the lives, strengths and foibles of diverse peoples across time and space. Writing on Istanbul, Turkey, for instance, the poet rhapsodizes: “Istanbul:/Your stone-locked streets/Ascending, then descending/Rising, then sloping/Narrow, narrower still/Than London streets./Where hotels and taverns/Microtels and motels/Adorn the cityscape/Embracing the world, all the world/In one oriental honeypot”. Continuing with his graphic lyrical portrait of the ancient city, the poet continues “Istanbul:/Intriguing mosaic/Of a million Mehmettan relics/Splashed, splattered/Across the medieval cityscape:/Churches and chapels/Museums and mausoleums/Mosques and minarets, palaces, parks/Voyeurs and locals/Savour the evening wind/In sky top clubs and wooden cafes”.
No less fascinating is Dr. Olusunle’s poetic depiction of the city of Chicago. Here, he invites the reader to: “O, come with me/To Mag Mile/Jaw-dropping continuum/Prodigious panoply/Of glittering steel/And shimmering glass/Rock-hard concrete/And the snaking run/Of Chicago River”. Capturing with photographic accuracy the competing gigantic and iconic structures that define the city’s landscape, the poet calls on the reader: “O, witness this eyeful duel/Of skyscraping gladiators/ Where century-high Willis Heights/Casts an imperious stare/Down the metallic visage/Of the gleaming Trump Towers/Aon Centre and John Hancock’s/Twin bemused contenders in the steeple/To graze the calm-faced skies”.
There is a hint of sadness and pain in the poet’s offering on Tinapa, in Cross River State. Here the governor of the state between 1999 and 2007, Mr. Donald Duke, had conceptualized an ambitious project designed to make Tinapa and by extension Cross River State a touristic centre, which would be the equivalent of Dubai in Nigeria. This does not appear to be a dream shared by his successors Thus, the poet reports of the Tinapa dream: “You lie lifeless, ghostly/Desolate, derelict/This Calabar noon day/Your Metalled frameworks/Rusted/Concrete driveways/Parched and dusted/Lawns, landscapes/Weedy, disheveled/Your aggregate visage/A canvass of caked spyrogyra/Echoing sad memories of Ajaokuta/Itakpe/Oku-Iboku/Taraku/And the brimful harvest/Of monuments and treasures/Dreams slaughtered/On the butcher’s slab/Of our collective amnesia”.
The poet’s disappointment is no less evident as he ruminates on Lokoja, the Kogi State capital in the poem ‘Lokoja revisited’. In his words, “You lie there/Still/Stunted, stymied, squirming/Gazing helplessly into the/Melancholic sockets of the noon clouds/ Like the remains/Of a war-worsted fiefdom”. And what is the root cause of this lamentable fate that has befallen Lokoja? The Poet’s diagnosis puts the blame firmly on the shoulders of incompetent and visionless leadership. According to him, “You lie there/Spent/A failed harvest/Of primordial promise/Your fat, frittered and ferried/To foreign vaults by/Rogue-rulers, brutish bandits/You lie there/A humongous cadaver/The putrefaction of your carcass/Rousing the remains of Lugard/And the heroes of yestertimes/From the mortal recesses/Of deserved rest”.
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In poems like Makurdi and Port Harcourt, however, the poet sounds a more upbeat and optimistic note. Of the former, for instance, he literarily sings: “Makurdi beckons to me/This blistering noon/When the amber-faced sun/Sits sky-high in its luminous ate/Draped in the Zebra colours/Of the silky anger/Streams of sweat dripping down/Its torrid torso”. His ode to Makurdi gets even more melodious as the poet contemplates the local cuisines of the city with which he is obviously very familiar. As he puts it, “Makurdi drenches my ears/With the plodding, pounding acapella/Of busy mortars/Sweaty biceps strangle/The helpless necks of wooden pestles/Kneading balls and balls of luam kumen/Ah, my tongue dreams/A buffet with ashwe, and adenger/Garnished with nyam toho”.
In the poem, Port Harcourt, the poet captures the contrast between the vast oil wealth of the city just like other parts of the Niger Delta and the desultory living conditions of the people. Thus, he invites us, “Let us go to Port Harcourt/Long-necklaced the “Garden City/Where petro-dollars gurgle and gush/Beneath seedy swamps and breeding backhouses/Luring questing minds and quisling feet From across all the earth”. He continues in this vein: “Let us go to Port Harcourt/Oil-pampered, growth-deprived/Where thatched havens sit and squat/Upon the face of spyrogyra-ed waters/In stilted slums and squirming space/Atop infinite riches and wealth”. Even then, this does not stop the poet from contemplating and savoring the culinary delights of the Garden City as he writes: “Let us go to Port Harcourt/Where the enchanting/Lavender of roast plantain/And yam slices/Croaker and catfish/Titus and tilapia/Wafts and wanders/Through the thin neck/Of evening breeze”.
The perennial busyness of Nicon Hilton, now Transcorp Hilton, one of the most prominent hotels in Abuja and the delight of the cream of Nigeria’s socio-political and economic elite does not escape the attention of the poet. Capturing the going and coming of the elite in their assortment of luxury vehicles to and from the hotel, Olusunle writes: “Your portals, Nicon/Ever busy hosts/Of a myriad customized machines/Coming, going, going, coming/Through bump-dotted boulevards/ Like a tireless column/Of armoured-ants”. He notes further of Nicon Hilton that “Hitech shoes rap, tap a rhythm/On the sprawling mat/Of the marbled lobby/As the verbal chaos/Of lethal politicking, suicidal intrigue/And plots to lacerate our oil wealth/Rule the winds”. Olusunle reveals that “Nicon Hilton never sleeps/Liquors and lewd lyrics/Dance and prance and hawkers too/Swaying teats, juicy like apples/Swinging backsides, sculpted like artefacts/At Capital Bar and Safari Club and Nightcap/Roll each night into day/Each day into night”.
No less vivid and gripping in the first section of this collection are the poet’s depiction of places like Ibadan, 8115 Vilakazi Street, Nelson Mandela’s historic home in South Africa, Lagos, Iyuku, a community in northern Edo State, Argungu, a town in Kebbi State and Zuma rock in Abuja. The poem, ‘Penteconmen’ included in this section is a blistering onslaught on the phenomenon of Pentecostal superstar pastors. Olusunle is clearly not enamored of their antics. Thus, he bemoans “Psyche-manipulators, emotion-fiddlers/Penteconmen garbed in Pradas/Guccis and Kleins/Prance about the face/Of marbled pulpits/Spewing alien tongues/Hypnotizing gullible followers…/Alas/Will the scales of mass narcosis/One day fall off the visage/Of our credulous folks?”. This section of the collection also offers useful geography and history lessons as the poet gives detailed background information on names of places, personalities and historic events that the reader may be unfamiliar with.