THE ETHIOPIANS ON THE BALCONY

ETHIOPIANS ON THE BALCONY CALLING HOME

The Ethiopians on the balcony
woke me from a sound sleep,
calling home to Africa
and shouting into the distance of the night.
I really wish they'd use a better cell connection
or talk indoors, I'm beginning to recognize
words in Tigrinya.

Remind me to tell the story of the woman
who sacrificed chickens every Sunday at dawn.
Wish I had recorded her chanting to the sun.
Then it was crooning chickens on the balcony
in downtown Oakland—until a rooster got into the mix.

6/2/2009


ETHIOPIAN ON THE BALCONY, 3 AM CALL

The Ethiopian on the balcony is calling home again.
He shout the entire distance to Addis Ababa on his mobile.
What is it about 3 AM calls anyway, is the satellite closer?
I'm beginning to pick up Amharic sound bites.
Then he cranks up an Arabic version of the Macareña
heavy on the ululation and drumbeks.
Which makes him shout even louder.
I'm thinking of a bagpipe revenge at 3 AM.
Anyone loan me some warpipes?

7/30/2009 

•      ETHIOPIAN ON THE BALCONY
• The Ethiopian on the balcony is calling home again. 

  He shout the entire distance to Addis Ababa on his mobile. 

  I'm beginning to pick up Tagrinyi words and sound bites. 

  Then he cranks up an Arabic version of the Macareña on the stereo. 

  I roll over and cover my head, my gawd, it’s after 3AM.

  Now he’s dancing on the balcony, a faint glimmer of dawn in the east.

  I give up on sleep, or rather, sleep has given up on me.

  
  

  First draft, except last three lines. from Facebook notes, added 7/21

ETHIOPIANS ON THE BALCONY, DRUMMING

The Ethiopians on the balcony are drumming (indoors)
and the call & response 

sounds like the Lakota Sioux "Budwieser" chant.

I wanted to record the woman who sang to the east 

on Sunday mornings, with crooning chickens 

raised to the sun—before the fateful dispatch. 

Added a new twist to the Chicken Every Sunday idea. 

I couldn't see her, only her shadow playing against the wall. 

The photograph I will never take.

And then one night I was awakened 

by a bunch of Africans (on the balcony) 

singing Ladysmith, albeit drunkenly. 

I stood in the moonlight at 3 AM, mesmerized. 

It never happened again. 

The Africans, they come and go 

on the apartment balconies like the seasons, 

making their way in this northern land.

8/3/2009