Poets Talk: 5 Questions with James Eze

Konya Shamsrumi: What is the process of writing a poem like for you? Is it a lot of hard work or easy?

James Eze: Any writing that requires the use of the imagination does not come easy to me. It is often a cross between inspiration and hard work. For me, the process of writing a poem begins with an inspiration and ends with a lot of hard work. Usually, it comes in form of an idea, a thought or an impulse in the deep recess of my mind which could be triggered by an experience, an observation or a flash of insight from a book, a song, a movie or a mere ripple on the face of a stream. Sometimes, it could even be a seemingly meaningless question from a child. But then, it grows in intensity, threatening to find an outlet on its own. Once it kicks in, I become a willing hostage until I have captured it in its raw form.

Once in every while, I have found myself pulling over on the road while driving, to scribble a few verses down. That is the inspiration stage. The hard work component comes later when I’d finally sit down in a corner to write and re-write from the first draft. I have never had to sit down first to think about what poems to write. I have no problem with people who do. But as far as poetry goes, I feel more in control if the creative process is triggered by something like a hint, a flutter or twitch on my sensibility. I guess that makes writing a poem a tough task for me.

Konya Shamsrumi: Please describe your sense of identity in this or any possible world in imagery or metaphor.

James Eze: Identity is a double-faced mirror that helps me to see the world through the window of my own soul. It is a crucial navigational tool for any worker of the imagination who wishes to produce art that is sincere, candid and true. As a creative writer, my writing is heavily influenced by my sense of identity; what I know about myself. It is what I know about myself that lends clarity to my understanding of the world. I am always keenly aware that I come from among the dispossessed of the earth; that I am a black man from Igboland who carries the historical burden of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, colonialism, cultural imperialism, Biafra and racism…that the world has no ear for my story.

But I am also aware that my ancestors built a formidable civilization in Igboukwu by the 9th century and that while they succumbed to the forces that forced the heinous Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade upon us, their spirits remained unbroken even when in chains as has been revealed by the heroic story of the “Igbo Landing” in Dunbar Creek, Atlanta Georgia in May, 1803. I am all these things and more. These are the things that shape my artistic vision, influence my choice of what to talk about and define my attitude to the world.

So, for me, identity is the mirror of the artist. It reflects yesterday and predicts tomorrow.

Konya Shamsrumi: If any of your poems could literarily save a person’s life, which poem would it be and can you describe the person whose life you think it would have saved?

James Eze: If a poem could save a life, I think that my poem “war and peace” would come dangerously close to achieving that. Excuse my immodesty, please. The poem is on page 85 of my collection dispossessed. It was conceived as a counter argument that reflects the triumph and futility of war in the same breath. It is the kind of poem that Nigeria’s restive youth, who are quick to sound the drums of war, should read. There’s a slow build up from gloating over a conquest to a direct interrogation of the illogic of war.

The verses that speak to the heart of the matter say–

back from the killing fields
i recline on a frail branch of reason
to contemplate the wisdom of firearms
my hands drip with fratricidal blood
the enemy is not a stranger
he is my father’s son
he is black like me
he smiles like me
he has my history tattooed in his palms.
 
awake o brothers
you whose voices taught the lark to sing
whose breath fanned civilization’s forge
whose hands forged the pyramids and the sphinx…

I have no doubt that if Nigeria’s youth, who are drunk on intolerance and ethnic supremacy, are made to understand the finer arguments of this poem, some of them will be less suicidal and less militant over things that can be resolved with an enlightening conversation.

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Konya Shamsrumi: What does Africa mean to you, as potential or reality?

James Eze: Africa is an enduring paradox… an old-but-new theatre of human possibilities. Africa is mysterious and plain, threadbare and nuanced. Africa holds the promise of a new day. It offers the world a chance to re-invent itself. But will the world take it?

Konya Shamsrumi: Could you share with us one poem you’ve been most impressed or fascinated by? Tell us why and share favorite lines from it.

James Eze: One poem that has fascinated me the most in recent times is I’m Bound to this Land by Blood by Olu Oguibe. This is one poem that to my mind fulfils what I think a serious poem should do. In this poem, Oguibe is both prophet, pilgrim and griot. His vision is apocalyptic and frightening. Although Oguibe wrote this poem thirty-two years ago, it is easy to assume that he was a beneficiary of a prophetic vision, foretelling today’s Nigeria with all the rivers of blood, flowing from farmlands to the streets and alleyways. The poem is a haunting cry of agony that stirs emotions from the depths of every heart that has the capacity to feel. It is eternal. I love the entire poem but some of my favourite verses from it are as follows…

I am bound to the dying mother the widow
The man with a weight on his loins
I am tethered to their moan they are my own
I belong with they who have no voice
They who trudge outside the gate
Those who sigh in their hearts
Who only shake their heads
And if I sing not of roses and rivers
It’s because I see rivers of blood
I look through the holler of the crowd
And I see blood on the ground
I see blood on the rockslabs
I look over the mangrove swamp
And I walk through fields of groundnut
And I see nothing but blood
I see blood in the face of the farmer
On the palm of the school child
I see blood on the statue
Of the Immaculate Mother
I walk through the streets and I see puddles of blood
I see blood on your shoes on your underwear
I see blood on the hands of men
And if I raise my voice to holler
It is because the grasses wither in this deluge of blood
Fishes float on their bellies with their eyes covered
By the sanguine flood
My verse spreads ungathered
In this spill of purple
Mine is the cry of a ram tethered
To the slaughterslab.

from I Am Bound to this Land by my Blood by Olu Oguibe.

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Richard Ali

Richard Ali is a Nigerian writer whose poems were first published in 2008. He has served in the National EXCO of the Association of Nigerian Authors and sits on the board of Uganda’s Babishai Niwe Poetry Foundation. A member of the Jalada Writers Cooperative based in Nairobi, his work has been published in African Writing, Jalada, Saraba Magazine and elsewhere. The Anguish and Vigilance of Things is his debut collection, was published in 2020. He practices Law in Abuja, Nigeria.

For me, the process of writing a poem begins with an inspiration and ends with a lot of hard work.

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