Nome’s definition of home transcends the solace confined in the walls of bricks. Home is beyond where men lay heads to find dreams unfold in their sleeps. Home is the dream that clouds our eyes and keeps us in its wake. Or in Pat’s voice, “home is where we walk into our dreams with lit candles…” Home is a memoir of horrors of boys who lost their skins to ruins. “It is a boy waking to see inferno munching his mother’s body”. Home is where culture finds expression, it is Africa ” where the earth never sleeps”.
The Author took charge of his course in walking the path of his theme. He defines home on an atlas that maps family, friends, love and broken love, language and death.
Nome is whom Yoruba would call “omo òdò àgbà” – one who has accrued qualities by staying with the elder. His chapbook is a reverberating echo of what fell off the tip of elders’ tongues. Finding Home, Forgotten Things, Language of Waters, among others are kolanuts of words evidently hatched on elders’ teeth.
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Twenty one poems macadamized the road ‘home’. Pat’s machine fills the path with many imageries, messages and elements.
Dissecting through the belly of “Finding Home” delicately with an artistic scalpel in insightful hands, I find the poems mirroring; Society, Nigeria, Africa. It reveals the anatomy of a world so close, within our reach which many do not just see. Home is portrayed in what we could have set right by our finger tips, by the configuration of our mind to the frequency of gods. Home could be our perfect heaven if we choose, home doesn’t have to be a madrigal for some 101 boys whose name become lost with the waves of the seas. Home doesn’t have to be salty oceans paddling shins of innocent mothers when their sons get involved in baptisms of fire. Home can just be peace. ‘A Sun wrapped on the city on a mother’s cheeks’.
“Finding Home” is to be seen as a Tool, meant to drive home messages of sanity to derailing hearts. In ‘language of waters’ for example, the poet conveys a message in a motherly tone, that nativity shouldn’t be lost for anything. Oh yes, westernization has influenced us and even made us think out of what ought not to. We have mostly forgotten that though civilization was introduced to us on a ship scale, this is our land, our home, our origin, our culture of language should be a honorable sitting on the throne of our tongues. Unfortunately, we are losing it to westernization. Nome sounds the gong for us to embrace the haven of our language.
Nome’s artistic tool throughout the collection is a commendable one. We see double layered meanings to metaphors, one of which is employed in “Rivers and Memories”, where he compares a fisherman with his gears; line, worms, hook and canoe. He speaks of how the man became lost in himself, seeking answers in the loin of nature. He hence brought it home that he is tired of looking for people who are lost in themselves, without rays of hope of a better homecoming.
Hyperboles, personifications and some other figures of speech as well word plays are used quite well. He is a man who knows his onions.
His style is a stone carved from the ancient African axe and the contemporary one. He walks at his pace. And his fluidness is as a leaf sailing a gentle stream.
In all, I commend this great piece of art, the author, his inspirations and the publisher. His teacher(s) is\are worthy of double honour of course, because Nome’s work is not what literature teaches in its precepts and lines. This work is from a world of discovery of a poetic heart before the art. This is a job well done.
Mosobalaje Abimbola is a poet, literary critic, and creative thinker.