Why I write and how (English)

By Beyene Haile

(Tsedal Magazine – July 2006)

(Translation by Huriy Ghirmai)

I shall struggle to answer this question for my own sake more than anybody else’s. When the editors of this magazine asked me to write this article, I’m certain that they worried as to whether I would make it too long or too short, appealing enough or too bland or indeed, whether I would put their readers off or intensify their appetite for reading. This is a common preoccupation that may cause every magazine editor some sleepless nights. Who knows, they may even be expecting a miraculous revelation! If perhaps someone could lighten the load of this great universal question rather unexpectedly, they would surely be delighted to have been able to please their readers. Their question is everyone’s question. It feels that these are the times when a great many people yearn to divulge stories that lie buried deep in the recess of their being. It is a season when stories scream to be let out of people. The thunderous noise of many a suppressed creative lights fighting to be released has become all too familiar. And never before have there been as many questions regarding the nature of creative writing and disposition of writers. I suspect that we are living in a time when people say, “Show me the outlet – let me relate an account of my rich experience.”

But unlike the question, the answer is not easy. When I talk about writing here, I am talking about creative writing. I want to consider matters of art and writers and their writings which may include long and short stories or plays. As for poetry, I happen to believe that it is the most honoured of all literature – and indeed, if we went as far as asserting that it was the master of all literature, I would not have any objection. In the care of capable hands, I believe that poetry can become the very marrow of all literature. Some lucky people are able to ride on the wings of poetry and reach places of immeasurable feelings. This is enough to make you envy them. I think of poets in my solitary contemplation and realise that there is nothing they are unable to articulate. Nothing may prevent them from expressing their world as nothing remains stuck in the heart of their fears, the spirit of their poverty or the limitations of their linguistic ability.

When I praise poetry, I do not mean to overlook the absolute distances that creative prose or drama can take us. Those who are lucky may follow the spirit of their art and travel such distances of absolute artistic creativity. Through fiction, drama and poetry, they may expose truths that have never been seen before. Those writers who are able to recount the dreams and ideas that flash before their eyes during their spiritual journeys are indeed glorious creatures. Whenever I read stories penned by skilled writers, I realise that they are equipped with special traps to catch dreams. How else would they convert the ever fast moving dreams into words? Where would they store the stories before they relate them? What about all that beautiful prose they create? Where would they keep the stories that turn life’s daily struggles into great lessons of life until they are ready to be told? How would they transform ugly and monotonous narratives into music of hope? How would they turn people’s greed-infested sentiments into desires which crave for values of superior meaning? Where would they find new traditions of prose? – new ways of telling stories? How do they crack the secret to turn human beings into beings of higher purpose through the stories they narrate?

I am always amazed by writers. I am even amazed by my own drive to write. And If I am asked why I write I have no answer at all. Simply, like a possessed person, I have a deeply-seated urge that pushes me to write. I am like a theatre of war between forces of art within me and I imagine myself trying to turn their unceasing battle into artistic expression. In my life, I pay great attention to the things that take my fancy. I don’t think that this is a special characteristic exclusive to me – I suppose every person pays attention only to the things that interest them. From a young age, I always tried to catch and record my life’s experiences in words that were not put on paper. When I envision my inner words weaving perfect poetry within me, I am overcome with a sense of serenity while I lie between dream and reality. I complement the words with music that has never been heard before. I harmonise them in a way that is impossible to do in the real world. I would live a contented life if all I did was tend to them. There is nothing my inner words cannot do. But when it comes to putting them down on paper, it is not up to me – all the decision is theirs. And if I somehow manage to brig them down to the level of the written word, they are never the same as I imagined them first. They hardly reveal their true essence in the real world. It seems that they prefer to live in my sleep and the endless journey of my dreams. When I strain hard and manage to bring them down to reality, it seems that they lose all their purity and don’t even amount to a fraction of their integrity.

As a writer, my longest and hardest battle to articulate my visions is yet to come. I realise that I may not get very far despite my efforts but I still carry on trying using the techniques that I have not yet fully mastered. There is nothing that I do not do to coax my dreams. When I feel that it is love that they crave for, I give them plenty of affection. I have begged them to come down to my paper but to no avail. Now, I find myself wishing that young future writers would master the technique of articulating their vision. It would be so wonderful if they could learn to go inside themselves and reappear to see the outside world – to struggle with patience with their inner and outer forces and to then offer the truths and beauty they discover to their readers.

I have made offerings to all kinds of artistic forces to aid me in expressing the finest ideas in great manner. With the hope that they may enter my whole being like translucent spirits, I have left myself open. I have given them permission to go past every work and reading that I do as well as all the human relations that I form and infiltrate my whole being. I have willed all smiles and frowns, peace and war, love and hatred, loyalty and betrayal and much more to enter and reside within me. I have let in the whispers of life, secrets of ideas, blissful feelings, world philosophies, secrets of art and human trust and permitted them to live in my consciousness as and sub-consciousness. As the undulating floods of life flow and erase the lines of truth I capture the expressions on people’s faces and soak them up deep within me. I pray that the unbroken bells that signal the beauty and joy of people and nature would last forever. I know deep inside that the laughter of people can nourish the soul. I suppose that the substance of all the reading I have done will be nourished within me and all the memories will be satisfied by the experience of my daily life.

You may ask if this is how I wrote Abidu Do Tibkuwo, Deqwan Teberh, Tsbit Bahgu and Wegi Libi but the answer is no. It is only now that I am examining the process of writing the way I am doing now. But in the past, I wrote without looking into the process deeply – I was, you could say, a slave to the guiding hands of the forces within me. From a young age, I was conscious of the fact that the world needed some improvement. I saw many aspects of culture that needed to be uprooted and replanted. I never liked people who carried on using a bland plough’s chisel despite its ineffectiveness. Those who remain backward for want of change have never touched my heart. I have never liked to see hatred lording it over love. I was never interested in quasi art and shady truth and beauty. I always found those who do not believe in change dubious.

In my creative world, I have been able to live an exceptional life which would have been impossible in the real world. This in turn has given my life added meaning and still, that feeling gets stronger every day. I remember with joy when I think of Mezghebe getting covered in paint as he tried to paint the sky. I also see Abdu doing battle with a big rock and when I see the hope of WediImini getting even stronger, my own hope gets boosted.

I know I have not fully answered the question regarding why I write and how. I doubt if I will ever be able to. In my writing, I have never been able to reuse words and content I have used before. I have never encountered any kind of art that stands still and waits for anyone. Art is always urging people to catch up and run with it. It needs to be looked at from fresh angles each time. I fear that all the Warsays that can potentially become writers may run into talks that prevent them from writing. I worry that some of them might think that the inspiration for writing is only to be found in cafes and bars and neglect their inner visions that need to be articulated. As Ulysses protected himself from the irresistible yet maddening songs of the Sirens by tying himself to the mast of his ship and putting wax in his men's ears, they should stay away from detractors whose only purpose is to weaken them by denigrating their history with hollow screeches that resemble the chirping of crickets. I hope that they will start to go in deep inside themselves and come out to save us with their creative writings. I think their writing can vaporise the dampness of our lives, lead us to a life where we burn with truth and love and allow us to be recreated from the dust of our past.

As for me, I write because I yearn to share my world. In my writing, I say see what I saw and hear what I heard. And I also ask others to show me their world. All of us find ourselves trying to give names to the myriad parts of life. We ask: what name would life answer to? What name would make it happy? Would there be names that would rouse all of life? What kind of writing could we use to describe life’s real name? From where could we derive the name that can depict its immense essence? If, using writings that are articulated with the words found in truth and beauty, we aim to grab the attention of life, then we need to embrace a new vision. We need to be farsighted. We should pen our real experience in brand new style and offer it for reading. As for me, I wish to assist young potential writers to convert their mental images from imaginative ink to words on paper.