Across various religions, ashes hold spiritual significance, symbolising mortality, purification, mortification and divine transformation.
In Christian funeral rites, the phrase “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” is used to denote earthly transience while expressing hope in eternal life. Among the liturgical churches – Anglican, Catholic, and Orthodox – ashes also play a prominent role in the commemoration of Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, a season purposely set aside for the observance of grief, self-reflection and repentance.
For readers who wish to indulge in the art of seasonal reading, I can think of no better recommendation than Bilie Na Ntụ / Rise From The Ashes, the latest poetry collection from Catherine Okoronkwo.
The dominant themes in this slim volume are pain and bereavement.
The narrator is someone well-acquainted with grief and unafraid to share her vulnerability with the reader as she mourns the death of various loved ones – her father, grandmother, and best friend, and navigates a life-threatening motor accident. A rare third-person account, Bruised Reed tells of heartache after the rupture of a romantic relationship, while in Na So It Dey, we see her thinking back on the carefree existence she once enjoyed as a “fine fine babe” before renouncing it for a spiritual commitment and now wrestling with doubt as she wonders “if dis Chineke wey i risk everytin for/ whether im go catch me wen ma eyes/ don close for dis world.”
In the Kübler-Ross model, anger is one of the five stages of grief. The anger Okoronkwo expresses here is the righteous kind. In Wahala Dey, she directs her ire at extortionate burial practices in Igboland, while in Breakfast at Mooridge, she calls out institutions like the police and church, who have been compromised by corruption and no longer serve the everyday people they are meant to protect. This attention to social injustices follows a precedent set in her 2020 debut collection Blood and Water ọbara na mmiri.
Okoronkwo’s incorporation of English pastoral scenes and Igbo cultural motifs into her imagery shows that the seriousness of these matters notwithstanding, there is room for the enjoyment of beauty and merriment. Bitter water is made sweet through her infusion of Pidgin English into an otherwise standard English text, and the inclusion of Igbo-language translations gives the collection a polyphonic quality. Sometimes, all three languages are fused into the same poem as can be seen in this excerpt from Braveheart: “from strong heart/ obi siri ike/ to faint heart/ obi dara ada/ to new heart/ obi ọhụrụ/ dị ka a transplant patient/ i dey between heartbeats.”
Whatever language or admixture the poet employs, the poems all share a soothing, intimate quality, and I find their measured rhythms reminiscent of the prosody of the Book of Common Prayer. Perhaps this is the influence of Okoronkwo’s clerical vocation on her literary work; in addition to being an author, she happens to be an Anglican priest who is currently serving as the Canon Steward at St Paul’s Cathedral, London.
Being her own private endeavour, Okoronkwo’s authorial career falls outside her ecclesiastical duties and yet her example, especially in these times when the prosperity gospel, with its emphasis on monetary wealth, health and success is so pervasive, demonstrates the existence of church leaders for whom suffering and death are neither evidence of sin nor a lack of faith, but rather an undeniable aspect of the human condition, and provides much needed solace for anyone who has ever grappled with despairing circumstances.
As the prose poem Sickness As Gift, together with its Igbo twin Ọrịa Dịka Onyinye remind us, hardship is character-building and can be a catalyst for renewal. After all, as emphasised in Na So It Dey, “for gold to become gold e must pass through fire.” Referencing the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold, Kintsugi promises healing, while Algorithm ushers the collection into a hopeful and meditative conclusion. Part restorative exercise, part homily, this closing poem entreats the reader to “Be still. Release. Know God.”
Imitative of the heart-rending cries in the Psalms and Lamentations, Bilie Na Ntụ / Rise From The Ashes is a crutch to hold on to while walking through your personal Via Dolorosa, and a gentle reminder that even the most intense season of mourning has an expiration date.
Selah.
***Akumbu Uche is a writer and storyteller from Nigeria. Her works have been published by thelagosreview.ng, Aké Review, Brittle Paper, Canthius, The Cincinnati Review, and elsewhere.
