The Sacred Ritual of Preserving the Fleeting and Fragile: A Dialogue with Dacious Kasoka
THE SACRED RITUAL OF PRESERVING THE FLEETING AND FRAGILE
A DIALOGUE WITH DACIOUS KASOKA
Dacious Kasoka is an economist, poet, writer and machine learning engineer. A 2023 Best of the Net nominee, his writings have been published or are forthcoming in World Voices Magazine, Writers Space Africa Magazine, Agape Review, Arts Lounge Magazine, The Kalahari Review, Spillwords Press, OBBLT Review, Ubwali Literary Magazine, Pepper Coast Mag, News Diggers newspaper, The Shallow Tales Review and elsewhere. He lives and writes from Lusaka.
BY NKATEKO MASINGA
This conversation took place between Lusaka, Zambia and Pretoria, South Africa, via email.
Nkateko: Hello, Dacious. Thank you so much for agreeing to have this conversation with me. Congratulations once again on being shortlisted for the Ubwali Hope Prize. Your poem, When you died, is an elegy written after Àkpà Arinzechukwu’s After Suicide, using the first three words of Àkpà’s poem as the title. I love both poems, as sombre as the subject of death is to confront. Could you tell me what it is about that poem that inspired you to write yours?
Dacious: Hi Nkateko. Thank you once again. I appreciate the honor of having me here and the opportunity to discuss my poem. I first read Àkpà Arinzechukwu’s “After Suicide” about three years ago, and hadn’t written my own until January this year.
Àkpà Arinzechukwu’s poem is one of those masterpieces that you return to time and again to recreate the grief and emptiness within yourself. I’ve read it almost every month for the past three years, and what appeals to me is the simplicity in the use of language while conveying raw emotions and quiet grief. I had struggled to find the right words to describe my loss of a loved one until I read Àkpà Arinzechukwu’s poem. It seemed like an invitation from his poem to begin my own. It was a reminder of the losses we bear in the little mundane things, as Àkpà writes in his poem:
“It was not difficult changing the television channel
from Keeping Up with the Kardashians to Black-ish.
At night your dog kept barking,
we thought it was learning to accept the heat.”
Nkateko: I am so envious of the heat! It is the beginning of winter in my country and it is so cold in the mornings and evenings that I don’t know how I am going to survive the next few months. Fire features quite prominently in your poem. Would you say that you associate a burning flame with the preservation of life itself, or with the preservation of the memory of a life that has ended?
Dacious: Thank you, Nkateko. It’s cold here too, but some days are fairly warm. I can only imagine how the cold must feel on your side. I hope you are keeping warm.
When someone passes away, their memory still lingers in objects, in smells, in sounds, in rituals. I’d say the use of fire is more closely tied to memory preservation than to life itself; it’s a sacred ritual keeping alive what’s fleeting and fragile.
Nkateko: I am keeping warm, thank you so much.
“…keeping alive what’s fleeting and fragile”. That’s so beautiful.
Dacious: Thank you, Nkateko. I think that’s what poetry does, it lets us keep a little of what time wants to steal. Just a flicker, but it’s sufficient.
Nkateko: I agree. Speaking of flickers, the reference to Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 in your poem sparked my curiosity. Do you listen to music when you write? Have you developed any writing rituals?
“When someone passes away, their memory still lingers in objects, in smells, in sounds, in rituals. I’d say the use of fire is more closely tied to memory preservation than to life itself; it’s a sacred ritual keeping alive what’s fleeting and fragile.”
Dacious: Yes, I do. I am almost always listening to music. It has become a part of how I exist. Though I rarely listen to classical music, Beethoven’s Symphony No.9 is one of those few classical pieces that keeps me going both as a writer and as an ordinary person.
My daily writing ritual is difficult to follow sometimes because some days are heavy, life gets in the way, and writing just gets tough, but it includes reading at least 50 pages of a novel early in the morning. I allocate two hours max for this, this keeps my mind fresh and running with ideas. I then only have time to write in the evenings.
I write while reading poems, and I always have my air pods in. Music is always playing. It brings something special to the moment, makes the writing feel less lonely, more alive.
Honestly, I don’t think I would write anything without music playing. Lately, I have been listening to Beach House, every single day, honestly. Their album Depression Cherry is my favourite. I love all their albums and songs, but that one sticks.
A few songs that really stay with me are Space Song, Silver Soul, Wildflower, Levitation, and On the Sea. Yeah, that’s my ritual, it’s messy, but it keeps me close to the work.
Nkateko: I am adding Beach House to my playlist right now. Thank you. I can relate to your messy yet productive ritual as my own drafting process is driven by disciplined chaos too. When do you introduce structure into your process? Is it at the editing stage? What are your thoughts on the widely publicised advice to “Write drunk and edit sober”?
Dacious: I’m happy you have. You’re welcome. “Disciplined chaos” is such a lovely way to put it. I normally add structure during the editing stage, which is after I’ve finished writing the poem. When I’m drafting, I’m messy. I don’t really think about the form of the poem, I just write whatever comes to mind. I give the poem sometime after finishing the draft, usually a few days, before going back to make necessary edits and give it structure. The advice “Write drunk and edit sober” strikes me as a metaphor for being carefree, letting your guard down, and writing without self-censorship. When it’s time to edit, return with a clear head and eyes. I believe something beautiful is created between this balance.
Nkateko: Well said! Speaking of form, I really enjoy your use of couplets in “When you died.” The oft-erratic line breaks add so much colour to the imagery; one minute I think there is a bird dying on a thorn, but then I cross the line and the full picture emerges; it is a thorn-littered earth and my mind’s image of impalement is substituted with one of a desolate landscape. Your work truly sings.
Dacious: Thank you so much, Nkateko. This really means a lot to me.
Nkateko: You’re welcome! What are you currently working on? Are there any artistic projects that you are excited about?
Dacious: I am not working on any project at the moment. I am just trying to write whenever I can. I am striving to be better and to master this art.
Nkateko: I hear you. Earlier in the conversation, you spoke about reading at least 50 pages of a novel each day. What are you currently reading? Are there any fiction titles you are keen to add to your shelf?
Dacious: At the moment, I’m reading The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Funny enough, I just started reading it today and I’m already 50 pages in. It’s an interesting book. I’m loving it so far—the depth, the questions it raises, the way Dostoevsky lets his characters think out loud. I just finished reading Purple Hibiscus a day ago, it left me quiet for a bit. Next on my list is Notes from Underground, also by Dostoevsky. I’ve read it before, but I just want to return to it. The narrator, the underground man, says a lot of true nonsense. And I say that with love. I see myself in him in strange ways, though he’s more articulate than I am. And says things I’m usually too afraid to admit out loud. I think I’ll read it slowly this time, maybe alongside The Brothers Karamazov, just a few pages a day. It’s a short book, but it makes me feel less alone in the madness. Like, okay, maybe I’m not the only one who thinks and feels this way. Someone felt it once, and they wrote it down so perfectly.
Nkateko: To “feel less alone in the madness” is such a perfect description. I’m curious, why did Purple Hibiscus leave you quiet?
Dacious: It’s hard to explain exactly. I think it was the plot twist that really left me in awe. I didn’t expect it to end the way it did. Eugene dying… I didn’t like him, but I also didn’t want him to die. Lol. And the bit about Jaja taking the blame and being imprisoned for something he didn’t do. The glossy experience in prison. The heavy silences that grew between Kambili and her mother. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed the novel. And Obiora happens to be my favourite character. Haha, I saw so much of myself in him when I was 14—curious, questioning, and maybe even a little too bold at times. He made me smile through some of the heavier parts of the novel.
Nkateko: That’s so interesting, how there is a younger version of you that resonates with Obiora. I like how characters can call back to memory a previous life, a childhood self. One of my key takeaways from paediatrics was that children are not small adults, which tells us that childhood and the teenage years inhibit their own worlds. What I did not fully budget for in this line of reasoning was childhood trauma and how it lingers, despite the years passing. There are memories that fade and others that become clearer with time. Are there any other characters that call back an earlier version of your life?
Thank you so much for having this conversation with me, Dacious. I wish you the very best with the outcome of the Ubwali Hope Prize and I look forward to reading more of your work in future.
Dacious: Thank you so much, Nkateko. I’ve dearly loved this conversation with you. It’s been one of the kindest, most thoughtful spaces I have been invited into. I agree, childhood isn’t just a smaller version of adulthood. It’s its own world and language.
There are definitely characters that call back to the earlier versions of myself. I think Darling and the friends (Bastard, Chipo, Godknows, Sbho and Stina) from We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo. Thank you once again, truly. I wish you warmth in this cold, and I look forward to staying connected in whatever way life allows.
Nkateko: Thank you, Dacious. I have thoroughly enjoyed this conversation too! Thank you for putting me on to Beach House; this new playlist is already making my winter cosier. I also look forward to staying in touch. In the meantime, may we continue to pursue that small yet sufficient flicker of light that poetry allows us.
Nkateko Masinga is an award-winning South African writer whose poetry has been translated into French, Bengali, Tamil, Kannada and Romanian. Her latest book, Daughter Wound, was published by UK publisher Hazel Press in April 2024 and was named Book of the Week at the London Review Bookshop in the first week of its release.
