Bismark Seth Opoku is my official name and I am known on social media and in the poetry world as Seth Boss Kay. The story behind that pseudonym is quite a long one (boss Kay is actually an acronym) , but in a nutshell, I will say I was known by the nickname ‘Boss Kay’ , back in Adisadel College. I was an arts student in secondary school and I recently completed University of Ghana with a bachelor of arts degree in psychology and information studies.
I did not read literature at the second cycle level of my education nor did I read creative writing, english, poetry, or linguists at the tertiary level, but I found myself in this business of writing. What my art means to me and what writing does to me, are both well captured in this poem;
UPON SILENT PAGES
Upon these silent pages,
I vest my fury borne
Out of creative initiative;
I etch down my dumb yet weighty thoughts,
That keep pestering my brains.
On these blank pages
I make scribbles of ideas,
That give my mind a hot chase
At my unconscious blind side;
I play a romance with words,
Give pleasure to my curiosity,
As i fondle expressions till they wriggle.
I caress the tenderness
Of these innocent sheets
With the multicolored ink
That flows from the bosom
Of my ever bleeding pen;
I dribble with alphabets,
Generate prose with kingly metaphors
And indirect euphemism,
As ironies play their role
With philosophy to inspire and educate.
Upon these silent pages
I irritate combinations of letters
To dance as noisy rhythms
Sound from the stories I whisper through them.
I display much dexterity
As i decipher from the disparity
That lingers within the myriad
Of transient aromas the poetry produces.
These silent pages
Give motion to emotions,
Make surrealism real
And put imaginations into locomotion.
I find comforting peace
Within the arms of these pages
As i read their vociferous words
In all kinds of scrolls and books.
Upon these somewhat silent pages
Meditations are triggered;
Their treasured wealth unearthed
As lessons are learnt and some penned.
Upon these silent pages
I feasted my need for companionship
As it responded to the stimuli my request
Created to their considerate ears.
My heart found love
With the soul of these pages
As we kept each other company
Within serene moments
And enjoyed the mutuality we shared.
The above is a piece of poem that can be interpreted as one talking about a writer’s fondness for pages/sheets/avenues that give him the chance to pen down his thoughts and vent his emotions. That is very true but far beyond that, the world itself is a stage full of pages upon which we all write stories with the life we are given and how we live it. Even the man who is not a writer writes on those pages and the one who does nothing at all with his life writes something on these pages. The question then becomes which of these things we penned down will be worthy of remembrance after we are no more.
I simply want to etch my name on the brick canvas of history, not on the sands of time so memories of me will not be erased. And in as much as becoming a writer of poems, articles, quotes, stories, amongst others might make me achieve this aim(fame is not my grandest motive), I never also forget that posterity keeps records of my life upon her pages with the pen of life which writes without my permission.
May the works of my pen and words my thought brew forever touch the world.