AUTHOR: Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo
BOOK REVIEWER: MO Ene
PREAMBLE
Was this “The kiss in Collins eyes” [that] ::: “Haunts me night and day” (as in ‘The Look’ by Sara Teasdale)? No, this kiss belongs to a more recent time and in a different clime, though the Missouri-born lyric poet, Sara, lived in New York City, as does Rudolf.
Anyone who has read his works, as I have for three decades, knows that Rudolf has a way with words. He tapped into Igbo idioms and spirituality, extensive experiences, undiluted understanding of politics and society, his engineering background, and years of media management. The result is a book of poems that has earned its place on the bedside table.
Our ancestors said a lot about the philosophy of life. The major problem is that many writers have not mastered the imposed vernaculars of European colonists to the point of producing apt English equivalents or French forms. Now you know the genius of Chinua Achebe: He served some pop idioms in a simple sauce of captivating clauses.
Rudolf serves a good one in why the heart of humans is not so smart: “When we’re somewhere, we long for where we are not.” (As Oliver de Coque sang: “Onye nọrọ ebe ọ nọ, ebe ọ na-anọghị ana-agụ ya.”) We long to go to an imaginary heaven in the skies while we screw up a real heaven on earth!
LOVE
In “Author’s Note,” Rudolf notes that men (and women) “express extreme passion when they are in love and when they are contemplating suicide” since “both spring from the same lake of madness.” I don’t know about suicide; my culture abhors it. Of love, I agree: Love is a passing psychosis, a momentary mental mess in a spectrum all its own.
In “Invitation to Madness,” we read:
Love is agwu
Especially when it is dangerous.
Even when it hurts,
There is a divine purpose why it exits. [62]
Also,
Love is an addiction like no other. [34]
Love is all things to all people; to no two is it the same. St. Paul devoted 1 Corinthians 13 to love but failed to give an exact meaning. King Solomon in Song of Songs still could not nail it, not even with hundreds of wives and flings, including Makeda the Queen of Sheba.
“MADNESS”
Rudolf Okonkwo is driven by Agwụ, the patron spirit of creativity. The term is often misused in its blanket application to any behavior that is not mainstream. We accept it as ‘madness’ because many think it is abnormal. We are all mad; the degree of madness depends on where we find ourselves on the sanity-insanity spectrum: Some are at the far end of the spectrum; others, in-between.
From the beginning, Rudolf lets go of a missile across the Strait of Hormuz:
“A madman looking forward leaps through the hoop like a dancing mantis to become a poet. And a poet who looks backward spins webs like a spider crawling back into madness.”
So, a poet who looks back becomes a madman, whereas a madman who looks forward becomes a poet? Interesting!
THE KISS
Rudolf flies beyond the south side of the Moon and, often, away from human reality. It’s no wonder “The Kiss That Never Was” requires repeated reading. You enjoy the work but wonder what it was all about: fact or fiction? The killing of Uwalaka by area boys 30 years ago was especially haunting. “They probably killed him because he reminded them of themselves: Dirty. Rotten. Stinking. Dead.” [34] Sadly, many Uwalakas are murdered needlessly every day in Nigeria.
HE DIED FOR ME
Th story of Bruce Maylock is the stuff with which religions start: A Jew dies a martyr for people he never knew. His death and that of millions starved to death by the actions and inactions of Nigeria’s notorious prodigal parent, Yakubu Gowon, remain a stinking stain that neither distance nor time will erase.
He died for me.
He did not have to
But he did
Because nobody listened
And nobody is listening even now. [53]
No one is listening even as the same scenarios that caused the human tragedy builds up daily in Nigeria. It is for this reason, to avoid a repeat, that I instituted the Nigerian-Biafra War Memorial Lectures in 1996. Contrary to my explicit intention, we relive it.
Throughout the book, Rudolf has nuggets of quotable quotes, anecdotes, and phrases that relay voices from beyond our realm.
I can’t sit in my room and crush my testicles.
Emergency surpasses the brave;
Emergency is ::: a test of bravery.
If [the penis] dies not prematurely
It will eat that bearded snail. [69]
In “Wait, Make I Baff” [70], Rudolf tries a Mamman Vatsa ‘poetri’ jam. The image of a woman suckling her one-month-old “pikin” with two nipples in the mouth is hilarious. You wonder why; me too!
The book is an easy read but, do not be deceived; it is deep. You formulate your own understanding, but you must dig deeper to get the full gist, as in “I See the Traps Set for Me,” “Aba Ngwa,” etc.
The cover is comely. The wilting bouquet of flowers depicts love that blossomed but did not sustain nor attain the fullness of expectations: A kiss that never was or Nigeria as-is. Rudolf Okonkwo has written a serious book to peruse and ponder what would happen when “our black gold is gone—Gone with its heavenly curse.”
For now,
Let someone advertise our poverty
To those who love the word liberty,
And stop borrowing foreign insanity
In exchange for our nation’s sovereignty. [84]
I recommend the book. The poems, prophecies, and proposals will offer you the enjoyment of written words and thought-provoking perceptions.
Sara Teasdale won a Pulitzer Prize for her poetry collection, Love Songs (1917). May Rudolf nail literary awards for this collection and, when the kiss happens, may he return with “The Kiss That Never Ends.”
@OkaaMoe
Sun, 04.26.2026
