Benjamin Zephaniah

I never had the honour of meeting Benjamin Zephaniah, but his work has left an indelible and lasting impact on me. His rejection of an OBE and the doctrines of empire, his decades long support of Palestine, his dedication to fighting back against police brutality, his work to empower the next generation – all of this has inspired and reinforced in me that this business of publishing is more than what we put out on the page, but what we put into our communities, and how we can use the power of our words to open doors, plant seeds, and light fires in people’s hearts. He will be dearly missed, but I hope he now rests in power knowing we will keep the beacons lit.

Like so many of us I am devastated by the untimely passing of Benjamin. It’s totally beyond words to think about it. I often use his poetry in my workshops. My favourite poem by Benjamin is called ‘For Word’. It appears in one of his earlier children’s anthologies – ‘Funky Chickens’. It’s a beautiful celebration of words and so fitting of Benjamin’s unique creativity. It’s always warmly appreciated. Benjamin has left us all an amazing legacy and many happy memories.

BBC Radio 4 Book Club, Benjamin Zephaniah 

7 February 2011 @ Bush House, London | First aired on Sunday 6 March 2011 

Back in the day I regularly blogged at Black Book News. It was my diary – what we would now call journalling. Through it I shared the books, literary events and news about black authors from around the world. And because of this I heard Benjamin Zephaniah speak about his writing and what drove him to write, yet strangely I couldn’t remember ever speaking to him.

I had bought ‘Refugee Boy’ as a gift for my godchildren many years before and I had my own copy. However I knew where I was and remember the atmosphere generated at a BBC Radio 4 Book Club event, hosted over a decade after ‘Refugee Boy’ had been first published. We gathered at BBC Bush House to discuss what inspired the much-loved poet, and now novelist, to write a book. You can still hear this programme as it’s still available online, over another decade later.

The best moment for me was when a 15-year-old who was the same age as the book’s lead character Alem read from the book. As Benjamin explains in the programme, he was severely dyslexic and so was unable to read his own story to us. It didn’t matter as he spoke so clearly of the issues of refugees from around the world.

I recently found my copy of ‘Refugee Boy’. In it is written: Dear Tricia, Stay Great, Benjamin Zephaniah. Reading that now, I am so touched.

RIEP. Thank you Benjamin for your stories, your writing and for saying what needed to be said.

I shall remember Benjamin as an innovator, supremely talented and a man who would find time to help aspiring writers. He really cared for his community. I’ll never forget his kind words for my novel, CANE WARRIORS. He said I was a brother from another mother. That meant so much to me.

My childhood would not have been the same without Benjamin and his work. I read his book ‘Face’ when I was 13. I was in deaf schools and SEN units at the time and ‘Face’ was the first book I ever read that seemed to humanise disability and challenge the idea of someone with a disfigurement. Media to this day often portrays characters with disabilities/disfigurements as villains / unlikeable or one dimensional pity ploys, but Benjamin wrote a story of hope and recovery where the characters around the protagonist are themselves challenged to look again and consider the true beauty of human connection.

I met a kindred spirit in Benjamin Zephaniah when I interviewed him for my PhD research about Rastafari absence in drug reform activism in the UK. Our conversation became a reasoning session about spirituality. We connected in conversation with openness, vulnerability, and honesty.

Benjamin, you discerned that the way of justice was your path and you stood in your truth. With the spirit of Sankofa, you looked back while in flight with dexterity and ingenuity. Alchemist and visionary, your breath weaved words that implored us to listen deeply and create new realities. Thank you. May your spirit continue your adventure.

The day I submitted my debut poetry book coincided with the day you departed. The week before, I had re-visited your enchanting creations and reminisced about your visit to my junior school. The reverberations of your performances and reading your words from ‘Talking Turkeys’ opened my eyes as an impressionable child, and inspired me. Just like countless others you influenced, you helped fuel my passion for sharing and performing poems. Your departure saddened me deeply, but your impactful life and boundless legacy endure. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. Rest in peace.

I met Benjamin when he was first published by Bogle L’Overture, founded by the late Jessica and Eric Huntley early 1980s. I remember being struck by his presence, his humility and beauty. When I worked at Black Londoners with Juliet Alexander and Alex Pascall, he was a kind and humble guest we used to get positive feedback about from listeners.

Back then, I used to regularly attend community events, whether it be the International Book Fair, the New Cross Fire uprising and black women’s movement gigs. Benjamin had a special relationship with East London Black Women’s Organisation and Newham Bookshop which became my go to place to track Benjamin down as he was often on the bill. He was a professional. He was the real deal. He really was the people’s poet.

I have been a long-time activist and cultural champion and last worked with Benjamin when I was the consultant for Camden Black History Month at Kilburn library. I remember the event well when Sonia Winifred Head of Libraries was absolutely thrilled for me to book him and have him interviewed by Rashed Ogunlaru and local poet and lawyer Marsha Prescod.

My memory is the poem ‘Sonny’. A timeless poem. A message that resonates with us today. Sadly I never had the privilege of meeting you. Family, we feel your loss. He is at peace.

I did a drawing of Benjamin in 2017 and invited him to the Norman Cross Gallery for my ‘This Is Me’ exhibition to view the drawing in person. He called me the Sunday morning, after his gig at the Jazz Cafe in London. “Is the exhibition still on?” he asked. It wasn’t but we opened the gallery and he popped in. He spoke about his meeting with Nelson Mandela among other things. He accepted a print of the drawing, signed a print and the back of the original drawing. Thank you Benjamin Zephaniah for being encouraging and supportive of my work.

Revolutionary, warrior, but loving and gentle too. Your impact on me is indelible. Against all odds, you fought, overcame, shone and the brilliance of your life and legacy will continue to shine for all time, brighter than the sun. We met over two decades ago. A deep and enduring bond developed. Some crazy years followed, but we stayed friends till the end. I will be forever grateful that you took my call, heard my voice. You departed so soon after. Sincerest, heartfelt condolences to the family. Benjamin will forever be loved, cherished and adored.

I was one of Benjamin Zephaniah’s students studying Creative Writing at Brunel University. I was lucky enough to have Benjamin as one of my lecturers for performance poetry. He was so inspirational as a Black British role model, but also just a very down to earth person. He gave us invaluable advice and really showed us his world, and the people he’s helped as well. It gave me a whole new dimension to my writing. I’m forever grateful.

My favourite memory of Prof. Zephaniah is when I had the pleasure of interviewing him for my research. The conversation was warm, expansive and edifying. We covered a wide range of topics, from the obvious (poetry) to the significance of community bookshops, vegan ackee recipes, musings on Ozzy Osborne and Bob Marley, discussions on racism and other social justice matters, and insights into navigating the landscape as a black poet in British publishing. I’m always struck by this line in his poem, ‘Who’s who’:

I used to think poets

Were boring,

Until I became one of them.

What I find truly inspiring about Benjamin was his commitment to connecting young people with the beauty of poetry. He had this remarkable ability to show them that being a poet is not reserved for a select few but a potential within each of them waiting to be explored. It’s a legacy that genuinely speaks to the heart of his impact on aspiring poets.

To have listened to Benjamin on stage or on audio is to realise one’s history. He voiced the current issues of life. Benjamin was a true example of determination. His unique observations, crystallised vivid images of Britain and the world, powers the hopes, despairs and yearnings of millions of people from diverse cultures. He observed the planet, capturing its tragedies and hypocrisy with devastating clarity. His whole life was based around raising political awareness and addressing his passion for equal rights and justice.

To have known him as a person was to discover that he was truly remarkable. What inspired me most about Benjamin was his uncommon outlook on the world, and his confidence in staying true to his calling.

One of my favourite poems of Benjamin’s is ‘The One Minutes of Silence’. It makes me tremble. He let us include it in an anthology, Dance the Guns to Silence:100 poems for Ken Saro Wiwa. This is just one way in which he was generous. Once he’d published a poem, he let it go if someone could use one of his poems for a good cause. Poetry saved him. He wanted his poetry to save other people. For those of us who have had loved ones die due to state violence, this poem is so deep. It’s one of the things we would talk about as his cousin Mikey Powell, and my cousin Sheku Bayoh both died at the hands of the police. It seemed that often when I spoke to him, he’d been to a funeral. We often talked about mortality, funerals, ancestors and legacy.

I remember being seven years old and seeing a video of ‘Talking Turkeys,’ then reading the book. This was one of my first introductions to poetry. It was loud. It was rhythmic. It was funny. It was political (something I came to realise a bit later). It was by someone who looked like me and my family. Cliches exist for a reason, so I’m happy to go with an obvious poem from his repertoire and go one step further to say that it was instrumental in inspiring me to become a poet.

My mentor and friend, Brother Benjamin Zephaniah has passed. I’m totally heartbroken and shocked. Forever thankful for his poetry, writings, spoken word performances, worldly humanitarian actions, animal and mental health campaigns and his personal support for me and WAPPY. He helped shaped my work as a performance artiste, writer and activist. Brother Benjamin was the most generous spirit I knew.

In 2014 Brother Benjamin also visited WAPPY at Ealing Library in 2014 where 15 young writers/artists interviewed him about his life work as well as entertained him. He also contributed to WAPPY’s 2018 publication ‘Wonderful World of WAPPY’.

Yeda Wase, we thank you my Brother. Rest in Power BZ. The People’s Poetical Friend

Alas, I never met Benjamin. I was incredibly sad by his passing though. For me, he’s one of a very few poets who are known beyond the poetry world. My mum knows who he is as do my friends. You didn’t have to be a poetry/literary bod to know of him and I think that’s hugely important. It demonstrated his ability to speak his words and his truth in a way that was open and accessible, and we don’t have many poets who are truly like that. He’ll be greatly missed.

I shall always cherish the personal conversation that I had with Brother Professor Benjamin Zephaniah at the Sister Empowerment Circle event, Saturday 29th June 2019. During our personal chat, following brother Professor Benjamin Zephaniah’s acceptance of the Honouring and Valuing our Brothers with Love Certificate of Recognition for his exemplary arts and culture activist work, he shared his views on a number of social concerns.

Let us all that love the great, legendary Benjamin Zephaniah, never forget please that he is also a Reparations Leader.

Selah

I was at work at the time, as a teacher, taking a well-earned break from my many children. I decided to check my email for any new messages which come throughout the day – and to scroll through the latest news. When l read that the Professor had passed away, l genuinely let out a sorrowful sigh and found that my hand had instantly clasped itself over my mouth in utter shock and surprise, As the day progressed, I felt a sincere sense of loss and sadness.

R.I.P Professor. Sadly missed but never forgotten.

Only admiration via reputation,
Experiencing willing, virtual participation
as lockdown gripped community sections
He gave positive contribution.
Not just tripping words from the tongue…He got the job done!
Excellent example of eloquence as Nubian
Yard man, Roots man. Honourable Man
Able to look hypocrisy in the eyes
Standing,  No Compromise
Yet now, to reside by the side
Of Our Father of Creation
His Gift & Legacy shall live on
We walk in Rights and write of wrongs
Inspiration with education, regardless of where One is from
Thank You for being You, Blessed Son of The Creator…
R I E P…Benjamin Zephaniah.

The Day Mr Zephaniah Died
after Frank O’Hara

On the seventh day of the twelfth month
2023, at the National Maritime Museum, a minute
since the break began, I wish the woman in my class
would not look at her phone, tell us you are gone,
leaving this behind – a chill that traps
the room when freedom is our aim – to write
that poetry can open prison doors. Your voice was key
to that great task, Brummie to your core
with a prophet’s force, labelled worthless by police
when only a young man, growing strong enough
with words to decline an OBE, your stated aim
to bring empire down – rhythm and not guns,
rhymes instead of bombs.

We fill the break with Is it true? Perhaps
a dreadful hoax, checking every phone, the chill
ten minutes long – seeing it writ large,
your birth date and your death.

Now the class must share a poem –
Langston Hughes alive again – Freedom
will not come… through compromise and fear.
But the man who reads this out in a gentle voice
has to stop, contain his tears the day that you are gone.

Smelly Sprouts

Sprouts are mekkin ya breath terrible man,
The brussley little fellas are rotten flesh balls.
Don’t eat dem massive bogeys dis Christmas.

Trust me young fellas out dere, dese green monsters are ‘orrible.

We don’t want ya fartin on the best day of da year!
Da sprouts aren’t de only ones stinkin out ya beautiful house,
Do you really want to embarrass yourself infront of yer homies?
So don’t eat dem rotten flesh ballz dis Christmas,
Just say nah to them fart ballz dis Christmas!

The People’s Poetical Friend

Brother Benjamin Zephaniah,
Your poetry and lyrics keep me ever-inspired.
Grounded reasonings are rife
Of your political passions in life

With humour and honesty, you connect with your fans,
By keeping it real and making a stand,
On grassroots issues including animal rights,
Through your work, young and mature aspire to great heights.

Today 60 Earthstrong years you celebrate!
I wish you eternal happiness on this special date,

Congratulations on your new book, an exciting biography,
As soon as I can I’ll buy one to read.

Give thanks Brother Ben,
For supporting our local libraries’ campaign,
And for biggin up WAPPY,
You’ve inspired members to immeasurable ends.

In Jah’s time I’m sure Ealing will welcome you again,
Bless up, Happy Earthday, Peace and Love
The people’s poetical friend.

Akuba x 2018