Simon Mol

Touching Ghosts

In that glittering, gliding infinity between
Now and Then,
Night and Day,
Here and There
And Life
and Death
Ghosts wait;
Their  wails and laughters
reach us here, now, now-and-then.
Their touch makes us brave; thus we breath forth art and freedom.
Warsaw, 02/09/06: 01:15a..m

Son of Efasamoto: I Stand Accused

Simon Mol.

‘Golgotha’, Christian Mystics hold, ‘is the mountain of victory’.

...it is the nature of ‘Man’ to have multiple faces. It adds thrill to the art of living. In this respect I have more than one face; there are those who like me as an artist and hate me as an African. There are some who like me as a footballer and hate me as a social critic. There are those who like me as a poet, and hate me as a journalist; the list goes on.
....yet, if I had a false face I would be in jail after seven years of sojourn here. For how long can one hide in a foreign land… particular in a place where you are not liked? I would have been exposed with delight by my enemies whose number seems to be growing by the hour. The real reason that can send me to jail here, if it’s a crime, is poverty… real and racially imposed, which I shoulder with the patience of a sacrificial lamb. In a nutshell, this is the prize for daring a system… an ideological tradition that feeds on the humiliation of ‘the other’. My ‘would-be-assassins’ are testing the ground. This, I can declare, adds thrill and further uncertainty to an already existing suspense.
‘Golgotha’, Christian Mystics hold, ‘is the mountain of victory’:-

Random Notes from my Diary

I would rather go to hell alone, knowing I was fully responsible for all my thoughts and actions. I won’t be able to live with myself in hell, if it so happens that I looked around me and saw a friend or several people who came alone with me to hell as a result of believing in what I believed in. Or that I convinced then knowingly or knowingly to follow the path I did; the path that finally landed me in hell.

Art Ambassador

Simon Mol (Moleke Mo-Njie)

(The Second Renaissance; World Forum of Cyframatics) Villa San Carlo Borromeo, Milan (Italy) Nov’ 29-Dec’ 5, 2005)

On ALITALIA flight nr. 555 from Warsaw to Milan last Tuesday, Noember 29th, I picked a copy of the Financial Times and flipped through to the space reserved for Art critics – on page 10. An article written by Samson Spanier tilted The Critics, captured my attention. Somewhere between Spanier states and I quote, ‘Giambologna, the great sculptor after Michelangelo’s death, was said to care nothing for money because he wanted only artistic glory’. True to this line of thinking, here is what Simone Fortuna wrote to the Duke of Urbino in 1581 about Giambologna: "He is the best sort of man one could ever want to meet, not greedy at all, as one can tell from his being so poor: all that he wants is glory and his greatest ambition is to rival Michelangelo.

THE OGONI EQUATION: Remembering Ken Saro-Wiwa

By Simon Mol

‘In today’s world only the powerful can pride themselves of a place called home. You can’t even say ‘Our World’ as there are those who own it, including you!’

Civilisation had indeed come a long way. Merely five years from the new millennium when the world was priding itself of great democratic achievements, the struggle for socio-political, economic and environmental justice was dealt a terminal blow when the Nigerian activist and writer Ken Saro-wiwa and eight others; BARIBOR BERA, SATURDAY DOBEE, NORDU EAWO, DANIEL GBOKOO, BARINEM KIOBEL, JOHN KPUINEN, PAUL LEVURA and FELIX NUATE, were hanged in broad daylight for lifting the voice of the Ogoni people of the Delta State of Nigeria. It was on the chilly morning of November 10, 1995. The world is still to come to terms with the ghastly act, which was perpetrated by a horde of self-declared Statesmen

My Humanity under Siege

By Simon Mol

September 9, 2005 pressed me to a crucial battle against forces plotting to snatch my humanity from its sacred sanctuary in my personality.

About a month ago I ran into two individuals at a shopping centre. It was close to midnight. We ran into a conversation and they said they were after work and were on their way home. They said they were scared to take a bus as it was too late. The previous day they had run into a group of young hooligans who harassed them. I offered them a lift to their destination, about fifteen kilometers away. On the way I realized that I was short of fuel and stopped at a filling station along Kondratowicza Street in Targowek. I don’t recall how much fuel I took. However I remember going into the shop to pay for the fuel. I remember this very well.

Wojcieh Albiñski: A Literary Ally

Simon  Mol

In an age where one could postulate that the media has evolved into a form of popular religion, people read and react to what they read. The mind thrives on information, the body reacts to the dictates of the mind, and the human psyche, as a result of these reactions, soars or drowns. Hence everything is attributed to the written word, fictitious or factual. 

V’WAKO AMA TATA VWE (Mount Fako Is Angry Again)

…Communing with the Gods

Penda Ndale was already in town for a grand performance. He had mounted his gears and was fondly putting together his trumpet as he prepared himself for a short rehearsal before his performance which was due in a few hours. It was a Friday. I regretted one thing—the show should’ve been slated on a Sunday, as it would have attracted more people.

HUMAN RIGHTS OF THE WRITER ("Mission to Venice")

By Simon Mol (Venice, Italy; May 4, 2005)

REFUGE IN A SHADOW
Do you see the Ant in the City’s heart?
Perhaps it is perching on the Palace’s hat?
It was well when last seen; crawling, searching by the market gate.
Is it singing still? –
as much as tortured voices taking muffled messages
to distant onlookers.
The ant, the Ant!; on the toe of fate,
soon to be crushed by restless feet
soon to become dust.
The ant!— locate the Ant… by the Palace whose dark corners shelter them.

A PEN-PUNCH AT THE GUEST-PUNCHER

Simon Mol (For Metropol)

Krakau- Poland

One of my favorite Polish proverbs is ‘Guest at home, God at home’. It is profound and humanistic. On reflection it provokes an interesting question—‘If you don’t know the history of the world, how could you know the road that leads to God?’ Unfortunately, it so happens that history is often recorded with much bias. In recording history, ‘Information’ could be preserved in its original form, manipulated or obliterated. It is even tempting to say that were the last few hundreds recorded in fairness, most of the major conflicts that plagued the world could have been avoided.