Since I was born, daddy bought us books. He was a writer himself, writing stories in notebooks that ended up in corners of the house, unpublished. Had my father been born in more recent times, he’d be a great writer, I think.
Although a chapbook of very short poems (which seems like the poets’ attempt to test the water of critical reception), part of the aesthetic appeal of the collection is the poets’ use of language.
I was becoming so good, too good that I could write someone’s destiny. So when my muse became tired of my poetic praises and my love, I lost all purpose. Soon I became an empty quill. Speechless. I reduced myself to a spectator, attending poetry events and festivals in Kano, Abuja, Kaduna or wherever I could, and from afar I’d cheer online performers in Orange Poetry, Hilltop or Alitfest, while I go snap, snap, snap, or fire emoji, fire emoji.
While growing as a little girl, I found pleasure in looking at the sky.
Renowned author, Aminatta Forna, once said, “If you want to know a country, read its writers.” Perusing Christopher Okigbo’s literary works would teach you of Biafra—a mirage of a country.
Under the aegis of PIN ARTHUB, Nigeria's leading spoken word poet, Sage Hassan is set to lead a team of A-list performance/spoken word poets to the 26th edition of Lagos Book and Art Festival (LABAF). In the team are the foremost Comrade Poet and curator of Aj House of Poetry in Lagos, Dagga Tolar, award winning storyteller and poet Toby Abiodun, artist/performance poet, Evelyn D'Poet, winner of several performance and spoken word poetry contests, Kemi Bakare (aka Kemistree), Adigun Olushola (Solaspeaks) and renowned performance/spoken word poets, Bold Seth, Tirwister Tiwistar, Solutionist Clementina and Jacob Sukpa respectively.
In 2023, my primary motivation was to express my frustration built up from a conflict of self-identity. I was (and still am) navigating this crisis: as the eldest son, a male child, and, in my parents' eyes as of 2017, something of a disappointment due to my decision to abandon my initial ambition of becoming a Catholic priest. I remember in 2017, after deciding not to continue with the vocation, I didn't gain admission to my preferred university to study the course I was passionate about (fortunately, I am now in the clinical year of that program).
I read the entire compendium of Shakespeare’s sonnets in junior high school, not having the slightest idea what he was talking about in most of them, but loving the sounds and the mathematical arrangements of the words. Love Is Not Love (sonnet cxvi) is still a favourite. At the peak of my identity crises when I started to terribly fear that I did not belong and perhaps never would, I discovered Emily Dickinson. And there she was, speaking to my spirit. In the same way that the Psalms did which was a powerful crutch for me as I was estranged from religion at the time.
I was a teenager still when I got to know grief personally. I would sit alone in my room reminiscing about the memories we shared & I would write poems that came right from the heart, unlike the rhymes I wrote, which I believe are more of intellect than expression.
