Low beneath rockshields, home of the Iron One
The sun had built a fire within
Earth's heartstone. Flames in fever fits
Ran in rock fissures, and hill surfaces
Were all aglow with earth's transparency
Orisa-nla, Orunmila, Esu, Ifa were all assembled
Defeated in the quest to fraternize with man
Wordlessly he rose, sought knowledge in the hills
Ogun the lone one saw it all, the secret
Veins of matter, and the circling lodes
Sango's spent thunderbolt served him a hammer-head
His fingers touched earth-core, and it yielded
To think, a mere plague of finite chaos
Stood between the gods and man
He made a mesh of elements, from stone
Of fire in earthfruit, the womb of energies
He made an anvil of peaks and kneaded
Red clay for his mould. In his hand the Weapon
Gleamed, born of the primal mechanic
And this pledge he gave the heavens
I will clear a path to man
His task was ended, he declined the crown
Of deities, sought retreat in heights. But Ire
Laid skilled siege to divine withdrawal. Alas
For diplomatic arts, the Elders of Ire prevailed;
He descended, and they crowned him king
Who speaks to me in chance recesses
Who guides the finger's eye
Now he climbs in reparation, who anointed
Godhead in carnage, O let heaven loose the bolts
Of last season's dam for him to lave his fingers
Merely, and in the heady line of blood
Vultures drown: Merely,
And in the lungstreams of depleted pastures
Earth is flattened. O the children of Ogun
Reaped red earth that harvest, rain
Is children's reeds and the sky a bird-pond
Until my god has bathed his hands
Who brings a god to supper, guard him well
And set his place with a long bamboo pole
Ogun is the lascivious god who takes
Seven gourdlets to war. One for gunpowder,
One for charms, two for palm wine and three
Air-sealed in polished bronze make
Storage for his sperms
My god Ogun, orphans' Shield, his home
Is terraced hills self-surmounting to the skies
Ogun path-maker, he who goes fore where other gods
Have turned. Shield of orphans, was your shield
In-spiked that day on sheltering lives?
Yet had he fled when his primal task was done
Fugitive from man and god, ever seeking hills
And rock bounds. Idanre's granite offered peace
And there he dwelt until the emissaries came-
Lead us king, and warlord.
Who speaks to me I cannot tell
Who guides the hammer's flight.
Gods drowse in boredom, and their pity
Is easy roused with lush obsequious rites
Because the rodent nibbled somewhat at his yam,
The farmer hired a hunter, filled him with wine
And thrust a firebrand in his hand
We do not burn the woods to trap
A squirrel; we do not ask the mountain's
Aid, to crack a walnut.
Traditional (from the Yoruba)
Now I will chant a salute to my Ogun
O Belligerent One, you are not cruel.
The Ejemu, foremost chief of Iwonran Town,
He who smartly accoutres himself and goes to the fight
A butterfly chances upon a civet-cat's excrement and flies high up into the air.
Ogun, don't fight against me.
Don't play with me.
Just be to me a giver of good luck.
You said you were playing with a child.
I saw much blood flowing from the girl's private parts.
Ogun, don't fight against me.
Don't play with me.
You said you were playing with a boy.
I saw much blood flowing from the boy's private parts.
Ogun, don't fight against me. Don't play with me.
You were playing with a pigeon.
The pigeon's head was torn from its neck
Ogun, don't fight against me.
Don't play with me.
You were playing with a sheep.
The sheep was slaughtered with a knife.
Ogun, don't fight against me.
Don't play with me.
You were playing with a male dog.
The male dog was beheaded.
Ogun, don't fight against me.
Don't play with me.
O Belligerent One, you are not cruel.
The Ejemu, foremost chief of Iwonran Town,
He who smartly accoutres himself and goes to the fight.
A butterfly chances upon a civet-cat's excrement and flies high
up into the air.
There were initially sixteen chiefs.
In the town called Ilagbede, of these the paramount chief was Ejitola,
Ejitola Ireni, son of Ogun,
The blacksmith who, as he speaks, lightly strikes his hammer upon his anvil repeatedly.
Son of He who smashes up an iron implement and forges it
afresh into new form.
Son of He who dances, as if to the emele drum music, while holding the hollow bamboo poles used for blowing air upon the coal embers fire in his smithy. He who swells out like a toad as he operates the smithy's bellows.
I will chant a salute to my Ogun.
O Belligerent One, you are gentle, the Ejemu, foremost chief of Iwonran, He who smartly accoutres himself and goes to the fight. Some people said Ogun was a failure as a hunter.
Ogun therefore killed a man and packed the corpse into a domestic fire.
Then he killed the man's wife and packed her corpse behind the fireplace.
When some people still said that Ogun was a failure as a hunter,
The sword which Ogun was holding in his hand,
He stuck into the ground on a river bank.
The sword became a plant, the plant now called "labelabe".
Hence the saying "No ceremony in honour of Ogun can be performed at the river-side,
Without Labelabe's getting to know of it".
It is I, a son of Akinwamde, who am performing.
I do good turns for people of decent appearance.
Leave a comment behind