200 word story (more or less): There it stood, stalwart!

I listened to an old podcast from 2012 called "Writing challenges" today. It was an episode entitlted: Beginning at the beginning. The writing challenge was to take the first sentence from a short story as the starting point for your own 200 words. I own but one anthology of short stories, The Daily Assortment of Astonishing Things and Other stories, published by the Caine Prize for African Writing 2016. I have picked out ten starting lines randomly and started with the one I considered to most difficult. It turned out to be quite fun. So thought I could post it here. 

The first line is from the short story 77 steps by Kafula Mwila. 

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There it stood, stalwart! Resolute in its intent to remain upright, refusing to surrender. By all accounts the old ruin should have been little more than a pile of rocks after the pounding it had received from the local school’s war club, who had practiced their skills on it the previous day. And yet, against all odds, it remained clear that a sturdy building with thick walls had once crowned the hillock.

She turned to see Phoebe still gazing horrified at her as she advanced in the clearing. Even from the distance of thirty meters, she could see the fear etched on her friend’s face. Comparable of the obstinacy of the old ruin to prostrate itself in the onslaught of the war club’s games, was the determination of the club’s master to flatten the ruin for once and for all. White men did not brook resistance. Certainly not from an old ruin, a mere pile of ancient bricks clinging precariously to some kind of structured formation. How dare relics of the past thwart the will of these boys and their master? Antonia reached out and touched the wall, which was at least still double her height.

“Our past is not so easily brushed aside,” she murmured.  
[207 words]

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It is about how history cannot be obliterated as easily as some think. 

It is about toxic white masculinity which seeks to dominate, including what it does not approve of in its own history. 

It is about the indominability of those who are not white nor male.  

Dinner Guest: Me

by Langston Hughes

I know I am
The Negro Problem
Being wined and dined,
Answering the usual questions
That come to white mind
Which seeks demurely
To probe in polite way
The why and wherewithal
Of darkness U.S.A -
Wondering how things got this way
In current democratic night,
Murmuring gently
Over fraises du bois,
"I'm so ashamed of being white."

The lobster is delicious,
The wine divine,
And center of attention
At the damask table, mine.
To be a Problem on
Park Avenue at eight
Is not so bad.
Solutions to the Problem,
Of corse, wait.

From: Randall, Dudley (Ed) (1971) The Black Poets

Comment: It is now 2020 and we have not really progressed that much, have we?

A poem to start the year

I ended 2019 with a poem, and I find myself starting 2020 with one too. Yes, it is a bit lazy, but that might also depend on one's goals.

I am currently reading The Black Poets by Dudley Randall and this is one by the editor, which has an important message (as all good poems should, having said which, see the HML principle).

Black Poet, White Critic 
by Dudley Randall

A critic advises
not to write on controversial subjects
like freedom or murder,
but to treat universal themes
and timeless symbols
like the white unicorn.

A white unicorn?

Was wondering if I should comment on the poem, but realised that would be whitesplaining.

So will leave the poem to speak for itself.

To end the year

December 31st
by Richard Hoffman

All my undone actions wander
naked across the calendar, 

a band of skinny hunter-gatherers,
blown snow scattered here and there,

stumbling toward a future
folded in the New Year I secure

with a pushpin: January's picture
a painting from the 17th century,

a still life: skull and mirror,
spilled coin purse and a flower. 

From poetry.org

Here is to 2020.