Böcker av Moshumee T Dewoo

"From 'Ode to Harry' to 'Black on White Screams, Dewoo's poems ripple along psycho-cultural dimensions, where the terseness of her language rumbles, her epigraphic-like renditions compel, and the topicality of her themes flickers as the profane and the sacred roar for and against each other in profound dis-enclosure. She writes for her freedom, but also, for humanity's."HASSAN MBIYDZENYUY YOSIMBOM, Interdisciplinary Literature Scholar "Echo the Giant is a poignant exploration of memories that linger, summoning the present and entrapping it in a state of stasis. The entire collection extends an invitation to ponder these memories along recurring motifs such as fear, dissolution, grief and embodiment, guiding one toward a reconciliation with the very pain of existence. Dewoo's poetry confronts its most formidable challenge as follows: The past materialises through images of panic, melancholy, sorrow and obscurity, seamlessly merging into unstable entities and provocatively unveiling the syntax of incapacity - an unrelenting companion to the weight of anguish against the articulation of femininity that resounds as a profound plea for freedom, regardless of the cost."AHMET SAIT AKCAY, Literary Critic, Research Fellow at the Institute for Humanities in Africa, HUMA, University of Cape Town Echo the Giant marks the fifth chapter of Moshumee T. Dewoo's poetic odyssey. It is a journey into a world where memories pulse with life, emotions cascade like melodies, the ordinary becomes extraordinary, and words become the prism refracting the light of our shared brokenness or our vulnerability after pain and internal battles against this - echoes and giants rummaging through body, mind and soul in search of peace.

It took two years for this collection of poems to see the light of day. Two years. Two whole years. But two whole years of thinking, feeling and working through and from one of the strangest and certainly most torturous facts of life on Earth, and one of the least explored themes in the world of the modern woman of Africa, or my world, at least. This is the fact of Death. But not the fact of the death of all. Not the fact of the death of any. It is that of the modern man, the man, of Africa.