Hello Eumolpus, I enjoyed your poem, and although I am not a member of the group (but I would like to be) I made changes to the poem. Is it alright with you if I post it, though I fear I might have gone too far.

On the planes of a primal nation
I saw herds in their millions
following their imprinted migrations.

The wild spirit roamed on the wind
and on this day I live in freedom.

There glows the wide amazing sky,
star crowded along the tropical belt.
and beneath this beauty are the lions’
deep hungry roar, mourning sights.

What a sky, incredibly full with stars,
and on this sight I live in freedom.

Under the high sky birds cry for love,
they cry and cry throughout the night
like lovers seeking the receptive ear.

I speak to the baobab, the tree of life,
that is known to live a thousand years,
surely it can tell me what the birds say:

“Where memory begins and ends
each in his own migration
to these savannas are lead”.

In the suddenness of a satori I fly,
and on this day I soar in freedom

I like your own version of the poem, it defines the struggle in a more entertaining way.

Hello Mark.
Africa is an inspiring subject.
One of my fav poems about Africa, or more like about imaginary land of mystery and tales, is Gumelev's Giraffe. This particular translation keeps the meter of the original. It is mesmerizing.

The Giraffe

Today I can tell that your gaze is especially sad
And your arms are especially thin as they clasp round your knee.
Listen, I’ll tell you how far, far away, on the shores of Lake Chad,
An exquisite giraffe wanders free.

He has been created so languid and graceful and slim
With dapples in magical patterns adorning his hide,
So only the moon in her beauty compares with him
As she shimmers and breaks on the crystal lake’s rippling tide.

He looks like the many-hued sails of a ship from afar.
He floats in his gallop as birds do in joy of their flight.
I know that the earth sees much wonder when at the first star
He hides in a cavern of marble to wait out the night.

I can tell of mysterious lands and of laughter and bliss,
Of the maid black but comely, the passionate young chief on the plain…
But you, for too long you’ve inhaled the weight of the mist.
You do not believe there is anything other than rain.

And how can I tell you of the scent of the grasses that play
Beneath slender palms, and how tropical gardens there lie…
You’re crying? Just listen… on the shores of Lake Chad, far away,
An exquisite giraffe wanders by.

Nikolai Gumilev, 1908; translation by Tamara Vardomskaya, February 2012

a great technique (personification, I guess), including the old and wise boab and the birds who give their own little poem. (a poem within a poem!) all of the other animals in the poem are migrating or moving hither thither, but the boab is fixed, and like the poet, sees it all. and the birds return to it. the poet is the visitor, the boab, the countryman. but both sing the praise, take in the rapturous sights, of the "primal nation." I like that element, that something is fixed and something is in motion.

I prefer your version, it portrays the mystery and allure of the country, though, I'd re-write the,,,

(All night the birds cry and cry for love,
like so many lost and lonely lives;
All night they cry and cry,
“why am I alone this night?”
(then comes a hush and a squeak
and a hustle in the branches above me)

I think it detracts from the piece.

I miss this guy, he has reeaall talent, where's he buggered off to?