Máfipáwówó A word to the wealthy

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Máfipáwówó

Ẹ métí bora kẹ́ gbóhun tí mo fẹ́ wí orin ewì ń gbé mi nínú

Ibi mo sọ̀rọ̀ dé ni ngó fàbọ̀ sí

Orin ọgbọ́n ṣẹ́kù nínú mi

Orin olówó lorin tó yó sí mi lẹnu

Kò sí gbàrọgùdù mọ́, orin olówó ló kù nílẹ̀

Mo ní b’ọ́lọ́lá ayé ti lọ́lá tó

Ọlọ́lá ò le sùn kó dijú tán

Owó ni wọ́n tún fi ojojúmọ́ lé pa kiri

Àjáàjo ò sì jẹ́ kí wọ́n rí ìhà méjééjì sùn

Wọn ò ráyè sùn lálẹ́

Wọn ò ráyè orun lójú mọmọ

Bẹ́ẹ̀ni àsùnfalala àsùnjátọ́ lọmọ tálákà ń sùn

Àá ti gbọ́ pé èèyàn lówó tán irú wọn ò tún kófà orun

Ka rójú tán ka tún mọ́ọ wákú kiri

Ká ti rírọ̀rùn tán, ká mọ́ọ wá wàhálà

Nítòótọ́ ni mo gbọ́ pé olúṣekún ìná kìí tánwó

Owó táa ṣiṣẹ́ fún ní lọ́ra lọ́wọ́ ẹni

Ẹ̀mí owó ò lè gùn fẹ́ni tó bá ń sùn sílẹ̀

Ṣugbọn béyàn bá lówó ó yẹ kó tún lè nísinmi

Èwo ni ká wówówówó ká wá dẹrú owó

Kọ́mọ ẹ̀dá ó ma rọ́jú kẹ̀wù ìdàmú bọra rẹ̀ lọ́rùn

Ká sáré lọ ní kùtùkùtù ìdájí ká wọlé lọ́gànjọ́ lóru

Kójú ó tó mọ́ ká ti tún lọ

Ká máa ṣe kìtàkìtà ní gbogbo àkókò

Ẹ bá mi wí fólówó

Kí wọn ó yé tọwọ́ bọ ikú lójú

Kí ọmọ èyàn ó sinmi díẹ̀ kí ó ṣiṣẹ́ díẹ̀ ló tọ̀nà

Ẹ bá mi sọ fún ọlọ́rọ̀ kó fúnra rẹ̀ láàyè ìsinmi

Kó le hu irun funfun lórí kó tó lọ sálákeji

Èyàn tí ò bá sinmi ní kú láyì tásìkò

Ìhòhò pátá la kúkú rìn wáyé, ọwọ́ lọmọ ẹ̀dá ń sán r’ọ̀run

Kóní kálùlù ó yé pára rẹ̀ láyà

One of the things I found, while researching this piece of poetry by Lánrewájú Adépọ̀jù, is that the original title of the work was likely Máfipáwówó which translates to “Do not seek wealth with force”. I had chosen “Rest and Riches” as my English translation only on listening to the track, and surmising from its content that its focus was on the necessary balance between ambition and prudence.

One of the reasons why many of the original titles of Lánrewájú Adépọ̀jù’s tracks or albums may be lost is that they were released many decades ago. This particular one, by the nature of the soft background music of drums and flute, was likely one of his first. I will date it to the late seventies, when poetry albums by him and his contemporaries featured this kind of soft non-intrusive background music. Others later involved louder and more active musical and vocal accompaniment while Adépọ̀jù elected to ditch music altogether, arguing that it distracted from his message which had become more acerbic, direct, and radical.

Because of the age of this work, and because the artist no longer really has control of the distribution of the tracks, many of which have earned abiding fans in the Yorùbá-speaking population, one could find the work sometimes in a pirated compact discs along with dozens of other tracks by the same artist, with no identifying feature than a number and the artist’s name. Maybe in some thrift shop online, one could still find his albums with their album sleeve and all identifying information. But in Nigeria today, except in private collector hands, one would be lucky to get the songs/tracks/albums themselves, even without identifying information like title, date of publication, and publisher. The artist himself will be a good source.

I chose this particular piece for translation — not just because it is relatively short and compact — because of the universal nature of its theme. It feels like a written poem rather than an oral one, even though it was recorded on vinyl. It lacks the usual confrontation and militarism of his later works. In contrast to the many of the later outputs of the poet, this one could apply to any culture and at any time in history. It had no known targets, it didn’t include any personal boasts (which would characterize his later works) and could not be tied to a particular milieu. It was just a poet pondering a universal theme of greed, ambition, rest, equality, and avarice.

Kọ́lá Túbọ̀sún

A word to the wealthy

Come clothed in ears, hear what I have to say

Poetry’s songs are quickening inside me

I pick them up where I left off

Wisdom’s songs are still within

My mouth is filled with songs, songs of wealth

No hurly burly here, only songs of wealth No matter how rich the richest are, I tell you

They can not close their eyes in sleep

They spend their days chasing money

The daily hustle makes them toss and turn

Too busy to sleep at night

Too busy to sleep in the day Deep-drooling sleep is the lot of the poor

How can it be that those who gain success

Reap no benefit of sleep?

You make it in life and all you chase is death

Buying peace of mind, you’re on the prowl for trouble In fairness, they say, the earner is never broke

The earner always has money in their pocket

Money doesn’t wait around for the idle

But surely money should earn you a little break

Why why why chase money to become its slave

And dress our bodies in strife Out before the sun not back before midnight

Gone again by dawn

On the hustle every waking minute Help me tell the rich folk

To stop poking fingers in Death’s eyes

A little work, a little rest, is the best way Tell the wealthy to make room for rest

Gain silver hair before their time is up

The one who doesn’t stop, dies young We came into the world with nothing

Leave with nothing in our hands

Let us stop living a life of haste

Rest and Riches

Bring your ears to me as cover clothes and listen to what I want to say

Songs of poetry have stirred my belly.

I will start from where I earlier stopped

Songs of wisdom have remained in my belly

The songs of wealth are the songs pregnant in my mouth

There is no rush here, only songs of wealth remain.

I say, as rich as the world’s richest men can be

The rich cannot sleep and close their eyes completely.

Money is what they still spend their days running after

Daily hustle doesn’t permit them to sleep on their two rib sides.

They can hardly sleep at night

They hardly can sleep during the day

Yet, the sleep-soundly-and-drool is the habit of the poor man.

How do we hear that one becomes successful

But does not gain the benefit of sleep?

We’ve found the path (in life) and now all we seek is death.

Finding peace of mind and now on the prowl for trouble.

It is true, I’ve heard, that money that one adds to never quite finishes

It is the wealth one works for that stays with one.

The lifespan of money cannot be long for the person who just stays idle.

But shouldn’t one with money also have some rest?

Why would we chase money for long and become the slave of money

And the human adorns his own body with clothes of suffering.

Leaving the house in the morning and coming back at midnight

And before dawn, we’re gone again.

And we’re hustling up and down every single time.

Please help me tell the rich man

To stop sticking his finger in death’s eyes

That the human rests a little and works a little is ideal.

Tell the wealthy man to give himself space to rest

So he can grow some grey hair before his time is up.

It is the man who doesn’t rest that dies before (their) time.

After all, we came to the world naked, and we return with nothing in our hands

Let each stop giving himself reasons to panic.

Original Poem by

Ọláńrewajú Adépọ̀jù

Translated by

Kọ́lá Túbọ̀sún with The Poetry Translation Workshop Language

Yoruba

Country

Nigeria

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