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Wednesday, 8 June 2016

Acevolution: Essay in honour of Micheal Ace



Acevolution: An Essay in the Honor of Michael Ace

by
Funsho Richard/U.S.A


“*The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interrèd with their bones.*" - William Shakespeare

I begin this exercise by borrowing wisdom from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. It is not uncommon to find encomia poured on the dead, when such praises are waste. For a man’s praise should be sung to him while he is alive, and not when his bones are interred beneath the earth. This, perhaps, is the logic behind Shakespeare’s statement above, which he made Antonio to state while delivering a eulogy in defense of the just murdered Caesar. I am of the opinion that on important occasions, it is crucial to celebrate the people around us, simple folks who leave indelible imprints while their bones are yet interred. And when one of such persons is a poet whose poetry has impacted many in different continents, it is only befitting to write a eulogy in such a person’s honor. It is this I intend to achieve here.

Michael Ace is going to be 21 on June 6, 2016! Well, why it is not a new thing for anyone to be 21, but it becomes a unique experience when such a youth has blessed his generation with more than 400 poems! For a young man at 21 to invest his time, treasury and talent into creating poetry that attracts international recognition and affects the reader in a way that very few could really venture, despite living in a social context which glorifies hedonism, celebrates epicurean excesses and emulates cheap artistic imitationism, it is imperative to pay keen attention to this great achiever. Needless to add that many people express themselves in what some carelessly call poetry, but Michael has been able to learn, grow and develop a unique artistic expression which puts him among poets worthy of note.

Perhaps, I should begin by cursorily mentioning his person, since the focus of this essay is his art. However, as an avid believer in the sociological theoretic premise of art – seriously, can anyone believe that art or poetry exists for art’s sake – it only makes sense that an incursion into the person behind the art is in order. More so, can someone really and truly remove the poet from his verses? Each artistic creation comes from a unique perspective – that of the poet. Understanding the poet’s mind does add to the appreciation of the poem; however, one can also argue that each poem should be seen as it is, a unique creation. While I do not disagree with such laudable premise, I strongly believe that a poet is the conscience of his society, as a result, should we not evaluate or appreciate such mind!?

Oyedokun Adedotun Michael, popularly known as Michael Ace, is a youth who has a unique perspective about the human condition. While preparing for this essay, I was compelled to ask him about the philosophy behind his poetry. I notice that his themes are diverse and unique. His response to my question was this: “The theme I write on depends on the message I try to put across.” I researched some of his poems, and I realized that Michael does not just write, he communicates a message. His ability to express a plethora of messages simultaneously, with each message unique in its import is an exercise for another day. He is driven by a passion to write; a passion he has succinctly expressed in these words: "The world is too complex for a pen to remain idle." Indeed, the world is much complex, which explains why he continues to write in spite of criticism and discouragement.

From the steaming pot of curiosity, I asked about his philosophy. His response touched the depth of my soul: “I believe life is good, even in its worst, life is good.” Now, from someone whose last speech as a valedictorian was a flop because of his stammer, for someone who has lost duels and contests many times, for a person who has had to keep his own challenges aside to enrich our lives with great poems, such profound philosophy appeared to be beyond his age! And may be that assertion is right, judging that an average youth is consumed with fun and swag exhibitionism!

Michael is an artist in every right! A study of his poems, which time and space will not be available in order to do thorough justice to them, shows a consistent development of themes, style, form and expression. From western artistic forms to traditional lore, Ace conceives and crafts his lines with such dexterity akin to that of a surgeon! Pick any of his poem, you have a uniqueness running through each line; sometimes with such haste that you are convinced the poet is either trance-like or in a rush to pass his message across. At the onset, such haste, though mildly, hampers his artistic mien, but the message is often heard loud and long.

His thematic conceit is often unconventional and controversial. Such themes include “Date not a poet”, “I’m Gay”, “God is black”, etc. Besides the unique themes, his expression often deconstructs familiar concepts, such that one is tempted to wallow in some sexist tendencies only to be jabbed into the reality that only Ace could create! Unapologetically, he does not shy away from the everyday human experience of libido, lust, lies and longing; Michael puts it out there to pass across an important message. Interestingly, he does not “turn up” such lewdness in his poetry, but as a true poet and human, he tells a story with conviction that one cannot resist the message until every word has been devoured!

Ace’s themes are not all about the controversial. He is a sensitive poet whose social and human intelligence is high. He once wrote a poem about barrenness. Now, what is a 21-year-old thinking before writing about the social vilification of the barren, especially knowing that his society is one which does not treat barrenness with kindness? To have written such a poem shows his depth of humanity. His appreciation of beauty is impressive. His recent poem, “Fiwasewa” has attracted remarkable praises from renowned poets, including Brigette Poirson, one of Europe’s leading poets, who said, “You fully justify the qualification of Ace. I bow to your poetic feat.” Now, such a testament is not carelessly made, it is confirmation of the artistic ingenuity Ace has mastered over time. His appointment as the Vice President of the Nigerian Chapter of the World Union of Poets is a recognition of his poetic prowess.

Michael Ace is not all about poetry and its many forms: such as organizing duels and contests, promoting poetry, anthology, spoken word, duets; he has also left an indelible mark on prose, music, blogging, and popular culture. He continues to enrich our lives with a full serving of artistic expression. I must mention an important role Ace plays in promoting poetry and interaction among poets across the globe. Through his project, Secrets of Magical Poetry, I had the rare opportunity of meeting with and sharing from great poets from Asia, Europe and Africa. He continues to strive to make sure that contemporary young poets master the art of poetry. His pioneering efforts demand proper recognition. Recently, I collaborated with him to execute a project, Themanthology. The goal was to give a platform for remarkable poets to write on a theme extensively. I am excited that the pioneer project is debuting tomorrow, to mark Michael’s 21st birthday!

As I come to a close, I must not fail to mention the
lessons I learnt from Ace. I learnt that a true artist is evolving. No one has arrived; we all keep learning. Michael is always willing to learn. He does not discard criticism, no matter ill-willed. He listens and learns and becomes better. I have also learnt from him to keep pushing boundaries. From being an avid consumer of his works, I observed that one aspect of artistic forms is not enough. One must find new forms and explore possibilities. I have also learnt to explore themes and issues even if they are unpopular and controversial. After all, a true artist must arise above the din of the marketplace. One more lesson I learnt from this great man is to see the beauty in all and in life. Life is indeed beautiful, no matter how ugly it looks. There is always something about life to make us smile.

I am thankful to Michael Ace for sharing his life, love, lines and lore with us. I am thankful to him for making his 21 years worth celebrating. I am thankful to everyone who added value to this young man, who, in turn, invests in us. I wish him more fruitful years ahead.

Funso Richard,
USA.
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Sunday, 5 June 2016

My end of the year speech as a stammerer by Micheal Ace



My 'end of the year' speech as a stammerer.

Alas!
So it's true, that when we see a loved one gets disgraced and mocked, those 'good for nothing' laughter won't come. We can only have our faces covered in shame.
Yes, we often feel the same pain they feel. Yes we do.

It was around 10pm that night, I have just finished reading about Jabez. Jabez, the misfortune child in the Bible who found the root of his predicament after he asked his mother the story behind his birth.
So I asked my mother too; Why do I stammer?
She replied; I can't precisely say but when you were young, I used to make you stay at your grandmother's place while I go to work and it was later I discovered you used to suck her old sagged breast. She was a stammerer too, maybe that's the cause.
But the 'wicked people' Yorubas call 'elders' say; "Livings must not speak ill of the dead".

Even when the dead deserves to be killed again.
Sigh!. If not for father, I wouldn't have been Yoruba. But fate always win.


Being a young boy with an ambition of becoming an Engineer {Electrical or Computer}, I was given the best of education by my parent. I attended a private school {One of those that have seats for principal}.
'Rock Eternal Model College, Dada Estate, Osogbo' really tried in helping me build my dreams of no plan. I was a student in science class who would brilliantly come last in the science subjects and pass others with crawling colours.
It was the end of the year valedictory service and I was to present a speech as the class captain of the Senior Secondary School 3.

Everywhere was set, my classmates were elated having their representative address the school and parents as well as the uninvited guests. But no one was able to see the fears I harboured, I was scared of disgracing myself, my parent and my class with my dirty 'play head' which always skip.
So, I went online to research on how I could successfully talk lengthily without any break in transmission, and to God be the glory. I found three tips;
- Erase fear completely
- Master and rehearse your words before pronouncing them
- Don't look at the audience
I did as the 'online herbalist' advised and I mounted the stage.


It was like the whole world was before me, the first thing that threatened my boldness was the sparkling bald head of my principal which always mirror the wickedness that governed his head. Another calamity was my proprietor's face which was ugly enough to chase Satan off his kingdom. But I ignored them. "God has not given me the spirit of fear", I said and rode on.

The hall was silent and the breezes were felicitating as I was speaking fluently, It was no miracle because I had prepared for it. I felt my intestines 'dabing' and my livers tweaking, I kept my eyes off those scary faces and went on shinning.
But then, light went off; PHCN did what they know how to do best. In no time, the generator was put on and everything back to normal but something had changed, I had lost the trend, I had been swayed off the sheet I was holding. I had seen faces I shouldn't have seen and I knew there was supposed to be problem.

I grabbed the microphone and began, but behold the first word to continue with was 'Done' and it appeared like it was written in 'Chinese'. I tried to pronounce but I ended up playing with letter D;

-D-Do-DoDo-Do-do-doDo-dooo-do

I stopped, I relaxed a bit and tried again. But this time, even to pronounce 'D' was impossible.
So I accepted my fate and dropped the microphone, I looked up and saw my friends covered their face in shame. I began shedding tears but before I made a scene, the 'Master of ceremony' took over.


It was the last day in school, that really helped me, so I left unnoticed. Though, those who loved me called.
It was such a sorrowful moment, it's really a long time ago but "Once beaten, twice shy". Those who knew me then will never forget to remember. Even though, I have gotten a lot better.


Micheal Ace
#AceProse
©ACEworld
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Misery of First Love for Publication



Miseries of First Love
{My pathetic story}


As a young boy, I knew somethings are just never meant to be just like
I have been taught. My mother is this strict disciplinarian who would
slice my brother's skin with a blade and put in some fresh grinded
pepper, just because the cunning boy hid a piece of meat that was
supposed to be shared with others under his big rock of àmàlà.
She hates lies but passionately dislikes the liar unlike God who hates
sins but loves sinners. Well, she is an african mother so I understand
now that I should have expected no less.

Somethings were never meant to be. Yes, just never meant, like lying,
stealing, chasing girls around and any other things attributed to the
'ungodly'.

{If I begin to tell those stories of 'The me and my mother combat',
then you are most likely liable to getting scolded by your boss for
negligence at work or having that food get burnt}

My pathetic story began it's prologue when I failed my third o'level
examination and still went ahead to show 'Jega' my competency after I
scored '148' in the UTME.
Even though my father wanted me to continue coursing the bushes with
him doing architectural surveys on land, my mother would never concur;
'she values education more than the stones on one of her favorite
dresses. She wanted me in school by all means, she would say 'I know
Dòtun to be an average student, so letting him stay at home for long
will only improve his cooking crafts but get his brain deteriorated'.

Finally she got me the Obafemi Awolowo University's predegree form and
I left my hometown for the big campus in order to have myself tutored
for some months before the entrance examination.


It was unusual, the endless noises on campus mostly from students who
had forgotten the sorrowful hymns their 'GP' sings, the early morning
visits to the bathroom and toilets {there are nothing like 'restrooms'
in Nigeria universities}. My hostel was at the 'Post Graduate's Hall'
where I was harboured by one of my distant cousin's friend: a male. I
couldn't stay with my cousin, maybe because I have the rod while she
has the hole even though she was old enough to be my younger brother's
mother, Nigerian's mentality.

On getting to campus, I realised none of what my cousin told me was
lie. She said; ' OAU is for the read-a-holics', meaning the lazy
readers cannot graduate with any 'class'.
I was never a reader neither was I a writer, I was just this young for
nothing kid who wants wealth and fame, but OAU changed me, I began
reading at nights and even my cousin's friend most times look at me
enviously; what a promising lad.

It was this monday morning, I woke at exactly 7am as usual,
'sometimes, brains get addicted to particular actions and it happens
inevitably'. Even if I didn't have any plan for that time, I would
still have woken.
Like many others have phobia for water when it comes to bathing, so
did I. I would wash my head, pour the rest up and run under it, only
the lucky splashes touches my skin. It was the usual custom that day,
nothing else changed except for the 'supposed to be fortunate' meeting
I had with her.

Note: I was not attending lectures but lessons, I was still an
'under-undergraduate'.

Luckily, I dressed well that morning, In my 'well ironed shirt' and my
black jean. I walked majestically into the class since 'Dr Pass' was
not around yet, then I saw her beside me while I was trying to find a
seat; she wasn't there for me though.

Have you ever felt the disorganizations caused by a little ant or
small pebble in your eyes? If yes, that was exactly how I felt when I
saw her. if no, then give it a trial. She wasn't really beautiful but
she was just beyond it.
If there is anything like 'Love at First Sight', it would be that. She
smiled when she gazed at my side but I guessed they weren't for me, I
tried as much as I could to be noticed but all to no avail but then,
'Dr Pass entered'.

I said he entered, so then, lecture began...

I remember we did 'Use of English' that day, I was one of the rated
guys in class, maybe because I had all textbooks as others come to
borrow with their hands in their tongue.
She came to me, it was as if my eyes were glued to the air, I couldn't
believe what I saw but I got myself composed despite my heart which
had started pumping wine.
'Can you borrow me your textbook'; she said.
I wanted to say 'YES' but it took me longer than it took the professor
to write the textbook. Alas, I was stammering.

To God be the glory, I made it to the end of the word, then she smiled
and took the book away, as she was going, my eyes were moving with her
but this feet would never leave their spots.
'Hello', I called out and she looked back.
'Please don't forget to bring the book tomorrow', she made a nod and
walked away smiling.

This time, my eyes had stopped tailing her, but my brain did. Only God
knows how I made it home, but I made it home.



I said I made it home, yes but only my body did. My spirit was at
'Elegushi beach' with her 'merry-go-rounding' and flexing with our
hands held in love, it was the first and last time I would ever
daydream.

"What's wrong with you", that was the interrogative but alarming
statement made by my cousin's friend after I came back from the
mini-market with a bottle of groundnut, whereas I was sent to buy a
bag of pure-water. Both were often sold at one hundred naira, I guess
that confused me.
But in reality, I was convinced I had lost something, concentration or
sanity, something was gone.
My meetings with her gained their morale the day I summoned a
'man-made courage' and asked her out.
She was a christian, I was too but she was religious {well,I was not}
and her response showed me exactly what it's like to woo a 'redeemed
girl'.
She said, 'I cannot date you, we can only be friends'.
That did not suit me, I wanted something more intimate, I had watched
a lot of romantic movies and I knew I wanted someone I could kiss and
cuddle, someone I could caress on those cold nights.
But I never thought of sex, maybe because I wasn't used to watching
'blue films' then.

We played a bit after I agreed to be a friend, we exchanged numbers
too but hardly had she saved my number when she received a text
message sent by me. I cannot remember the content {Kindly remember I
told you earlier that I had lost my sanity}.


The examination wasn't around the corner, It was standing right at the
door but this love that enslaved my heart would never let me see my
dooms writing their lyrics on my wall. Meanwhile, most of my time was
spent on writing mostly love songs; songs I'm still yet to know if it
would be my grandchildren that will record them.{I have more than 150
songs written, {I'm just that jobless and talented}.

I won't fail to mention my friends back then; Chuks, Joel, Emanuella
and my crush herself 'Love'.
My teachers; Dr. Pass the corporate, Dr.Peter the preacher.

September came, our judgement day broke, We left the campus for 'Moro,
OAU predegree centre'
I was a bit late so others had gone earlier, I remember promising my
cousin a huge success, I remember assuring her of scoring more than
expectation.
I remember the fear that lingered my heart while the bus propelled
down the tarred road, I remember my every heart beat that wished for
miracle and I remember that side of me that believed in itself.

I was placed behind the system, it was a computer-based test. I logged
in the programmed application and started handpicking my destiny, it
was an objective type and every single question increased the rate of
my heartbeat, I kept choosing my fate with my finger constantly
tapping the mouse pad.
At that moment, my mind went through the struggles my mother had in
getting me the opportunity,  I thought about how much she had spent
and how high her expectations would be, I smiled when I remember my
father who had started boasting around town that his son is a student
of GREAT IFE.

Finally, dream came true, I attempted the last question and made it
out of the examination hall 'hale but not healthy. I teamed up with my
friends and we went back to campus.

Three days later, my crush's parent came and took her away, it was
like my shadow walked past me and I couldn't hold back, I nearly cried
but something assured me we would all pass the examination and resume
back together. I was sure I would pass.
The fear remained, the love I had still stayed.

Few days later, after we had all departed to our different homes, the
result was released.

The result was released.

She was cute, I know she will still be. She is an angel, I remember
her favourite song then; Bottom Belle by Omawumi and Flavour.
Most of those nights on our way to reading room along that plastered
path to 'Moremi Hall' down to 'White House' at 'Academics', I would
play the song from my hypertensive 'chinko' phone, she would then sing
along;
"Oga buy me bottom belle cool my heart eheheh", she had the voice too.
I remember that was the first time I watched '3 Idiots', I also loved
'Eze Eligwe' by Frank Edward and the tune 'Akwa Ibom Ayaya' by Mish.
Sweet and unforgettable memories.

{ I couldn't start with the released result, maybe because it was
nothing to boast on. It's often better to say the good news beofre the
bad one}

Yes, it was no lie. The result was released.
One of my 'goons' while we were at school just called me that morning,
my phone rang!

Me: Hello
Caller: Hello Dotun, I have checked my result, 59%

{I was like; if this guy can have 59%, then I'm sure far above 60%}

Me: Wow, congratulations friend, can you help with mine as well?
Username- Oyedokun, Password-Jesus
Caller- Alright, I will be back

{ It was my cousin that registered me using that password, I wasn't
that spiritual}

Caller: "Called out the name on the result slip" and asked, 'is that you?
Me: Yes, what is there?
Caller: "Silence", call dropped

This time, my heartbeat  was enough for 'Eminem' to drop his usual
fast raps. I was home alone so I had enough liberty to rehearse my
madness.
I had no airtime, so I sent 'call me back' to 'Joel who was my best
friend and he called almost immediately. He scored 68% but when he
checked mine, he said;
"I'm not sure this result is yours Dotun, I'm seeing 39% here".
.
.
.
.
.
I cried, I died but the same death woke me, my deserved regrets
wouldn't let me be.
I called Dr.Pass to help out but my grade was too low, far from the
cutoff mark. I failed myself, I wasted time and money, I lost my most
hard earned opportunity.
I disappointed everyone, I missed the steps.

I lost it all but there remains just one reality;
" If I'm given the same opportunity again, If I'm made to meet 'Love'
again for the first time. If that time come back for the chance to
live it again, I will still live it the same way"

I will spend every moment like I did, I will hold her hands everytime,
I will smile at her every chance I have, I will miss classes because
of her.
I will play her songs and watch her sing, I will follow her to the
campus' "New Market", I will accept the name "DotLove" which was
coined for us in class.

And, I will do my best not to cry when my result comes again.

Then, I will lay with my pen if she hasn't reached 'menopause' and we
shall birth this words again;

Not as 'Miseries of First Love' but as 'My sweetest moments of life'.




Story Source;
Oyedokun Adedotun Micheal
Written by
Micheal Ace

A copyright of ACEworld
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