In celebration of National Poetry Month, we spoke with four Black poets about their connection to poetry and how they hope their latest books in verse will inspire readers.
Safia Elhillo
How were you first introduced to poetry?
My grandfather was a poet, my aunt is a poet and playwright, and my mom has always written poetry as well, so it was always ambiently around me. And then as a young teenager I wanted to start keeping a diary to help process all my big new feelings, but I was so afraid of that diary being discovered and read by my family that I would disguise the entries by writing them as poems. This also made it so that if anyone were to read my diary and try to ask me about its contents, I could be like, “It’s just a poem!” I then started posting poems on an online poetry forum where I was getting to read work by other poets and get feedback from them, and that awakened in me a need to be a poet in community, surrounded by other poets. Then I joined the D.C. youth slam team when I was 17, and that was when poems became something I thought about every day.
Why did you feel that verse was the best way to share this story?
I feel most fluent in verse. I often joke that I’ve never written a full sentence in my life. It feels like the path between thought and articulation is clearest for me when I am writing in verse, and because I am still a very new fiction writer, I wanted to have my familiar tools with me while exploring a new genre. I feel most clear-eyed as a poet, when my brain is in that mode, like I’m more readily able to get to the heart of the matter, to be present, to be attentive. And also, since the main character in the book is a poet, it made sense to me that the way she narrates her world and her interiority is through verse.
How have Black poets of the past inspired or influenced you?
One of the most pivotal moments of my life as a young poet was being taught by Kamau Brathwaite, may he rest in peace. I took his poetry class when I was 18, my first semester in college, and he changed my life by taking me and my work seriously, by teaching me to speak and write in my real voice, and he set me firmly on the path of believing I was meant to be a poet.
How do you hope your poetry impacts young readers?
The young reader I once was is the reason I am a writer today. So I want to make books that would have made it all feel possible for me sooner. It took me a while to really believe that the world I came from was deserving of poetry, of literature, because I wasn’t seeing my particular intersections in any book. So I want to tell stories about young people who contain my intersections, and offer those stories to someone who is the age now that I was then, to hopefully add a little bit to the conversation they might be having with themselves about what is possible in a book, and maybe make a home for them. That’s enough to keep me writing. Little homes for all my loved ones, for all my people: that’s my hope.
Bright Red Fruit by Safia Elhillo. Make Me a World, Feb. $19.99 ISBN 978-0-59-338120-5
Walela Nehanda
How were you first introduced to poetry?
I was introduced to poetry in 2013 by three of my very close friends at the time. We were going out one night in New York and they ultimately outvoted me to go see a College Union Poetry Slam Invitational event, which was held at Barnard. My whole conception of what poetry could look like at the time was just dead white men or beatnik poetry. So, I mistakenly thought that it was going to be incredibly boring. But quite the opposite happened. I remember being so invigorated sitting in the audience, particularly listening to the Black poets on stage. I did not know it was possible to write poetry, perform said poetry, and be scored—in that way, slam kind of appealed to every aspect of me because there’s a bit of a musical theater element with performance, but I’m performing my own words, and then the competitive aspect of being scored definitely appealed to me when I was younger. That night alone changed the trajectory of my life to the point where I went back home to Los Angeles, wrote my first poem, pulled up to a local open mic, and it’s been a wrap ever since.
Why did you feel that verse was the best way to share this story?
I felt like writing in verse was equally challenging while leaning into my strengths. I also wouldn’t have known any other way to tell this story because that was how my life was being documented for myself through cancer. I think memoir in verse allows for more room when it comes to creativity; you are telling a story through snapshots and I think it was really lovely for me to be able to play with the structure of storytelling and the concept of time. Writing memoir in verse also doesn’t adhere to certain rules of writing by an ivory tower or academic standard and I think that’s more my spoken word background coming the forefront. Verse felt most honest to me. I really didn’t want to write it any other way. I also considered younger folks and really people in general, and took into account what may feel accessible and captivating for them and how sometimes a long-form book about cancer can feel really intimidating or daunting to read, versus a series of poems and short stories. I wanted to invite people into my world through my writing, and my world happens to be in verse.
How have Black poets of the past inspired or influenced you?
I think so much of Black radical poetics has inspired and influenced me because those poets have given me permission to say whatever I want and that I really have to take control of what my destiny and my role is as a writer within a larger society. A lot of Black poets of the past have challenged me to sit with my values and how I want to express them, not only lyrically, and not only as an artist, but also as a person, as a community member, as a cultural worker, and how does that link to my greater purpose? I always consider the first poet who really moved me within that context was Assata Shakur with her autobiography. To be clear, I wouldn’t say she’s a poet of the past, because she’s still alive. But that’s just someone in my past who influenced me. I would also include Sonia Sanchez, Amiri Baraka, Wanda Coleman, Lucille Clifton, and Audre Lorde. I hope my work can be rooted in a cultural history and a cultural lineage that attempts to expand on the art and politics of who came before me.
How do you hope your poetry impacts young readers?
I hope that young readers just feel empowered to not only express their emotions, but feel them in totality and embrace their complexity. I hope my poetry allows them to feel seen, and therefore, emboldened to act: if that means writing, sharing their own story, or getting involved in some level of advocacy, activism, organizing, or just opening up to their loved ones with vulnerability, then I’ve done my job. In the same way that I sat in a crowded college hall and watched poets express themselves, something shifted inside me to where I said, “Wow, I’m allowed to do that? I want to do that!” I hope whoever picks up my book or listens to it, says to themselves, “Wow, I’m allowed to do this? Okay bet, imma do that.” I pray the gift of expression that was given to me is something I can also bestow to a younger generation.
Bless the Blood by Walela Nehanda. Kokila, Feb. $19.99 ISBN 978-0-593-52949-2
Renée Watson
How were you first introduced to poetry?
One of my earliest memories of poetry is reciting “Mother to Son” by Langston Hughes at a school assembly when I was in elementary school. I also remember reading and reciting poems by Nikki Giovanni and Maya Angelou for community programs. I loved reading Langston, Maya, and Nikki as a child because their poems spoke to me, personally. I related to what they were writing about and felt seen.
Why did you feel that verse was the best way to share this story?
Poetry felt like the best way to share my personal stories, memories, and thoughts with my readers because I am the most honest, the most vulnerable, when I am writing poetry. Sometimes I don’t know how I truly feel about something until I write about it. Practically speaking, I wanted readers to have a glimpse into my life and needed a form that could span several topics and years, but in a concise, impactful way. Poetry lends itself to that kind of storytelling. These are stand-alone poems, but the collection has an arc and takes readers from my beginning to present day.
How have Black poets of the past inspired or influenced you?
I am so thankful to have read a range of Black poets when I was growing up and learning what it meant to write your truth, to use language to celebrate and critique the world. Poets like Nikki Giovanni, Lucille Clifton, Sandra Cisneros, and Gwendolyn Brooks all influenced me to write poems about everyday life, everyday people, about struggle and triumph. They inspired me to be proud of the rich heritage of using language as a weapon, as a shield, as a balm. I am forever grateful to have their poems as guides.
How do you hope your poetry impacts young readers?
I hope readers identify with the themes in the poems and that these poems inspire them to remember their own stories, that they feel empowered to tell them. I also hope that this is a collection readers can turn to time and time again, that the poems will take on different meanings depending on what they are going through. That’s the beauty of poetry, of language. The meaning can deepen and change as we grow and experience more life. I hope Black Girl You Are Atlas is the kind of book that grows with a reader, that is a forever friend.
Black Girl You Are Atlas by Renée Watson, illus. by Ekua Holmes. Kokila, Feb $18.99 ISBN 978-0-593-46170-9
Alicia D. Williams
How were you first introduced to poetry?
Easter poems! Little speeches were passed out for children to memorize and recite. I was never drawn to their monotone one-two rhythms. Then, I suppose you can say music. In middle school and high school, I copied and memorized lyrics that spoke to my young soul and angst. But in college, I was really, truly introduced to poetry as girls stood on talent show and cultural celebration stages and recited Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman” and “Still I Rise,” and Nikki Giovanni’s “Ego Tripping (there may be a reason why)” and “Nikki-Rosa.”
Why did you feel that verse was the best way to share this story?
That’s a very good question because I don’t have a history of writing poetry, so I would not have gladly chosen this form. Yet, verse was the best way to tell this story because the voice dictated it be so. After the first two drafts, I switched from computer writing to a simple notebook and pencil. There, I discovered Isaiah’s voice. See, after a tragic event—the death of his best friend Darius—Isaiah closed up and didn’t talk much. But when he did, what came out was staccato and rhythmic. Quiet and introspective. Animated and structured. Right from the pencil, his voice flowed.
How have Black poets of the past inspired or influenced you?
Poetry seemed so inaccessible and foreign to me. However, when I discovered the poems of Black poets, it was as if they spoke with the voices of my aunts and uncles. They offered tough yet gentle words like my grandparents. They served Sunday meals with words of wisdom and sparks of laughter. Nikki Giovanni taught me that I can proudly be radical and confident in my Blackness, unapologetically. Maya Angelou encouraged me when I faltered and doubted the greatness inside of me, and that yes, I am enough.
I gained a sense of self through Black poetry, and I wanted to offer the legacy to my daughter. Over and over, I played the CD and read the poems from the book edited by Nikki Giovanni, Hip Hop Speaks to Children: A Celebration of Poetry with a Beat. For bedtime reading, we devoured Eloise Greenfield’s beautifully illustrated Honey, I Love and other poems. And because of these incredible Black voices, in my first attempts of my picture book, The Talk, I tried to capture the wonderful, tough love conversations in “Mother to Son” by Langston Hughes and Dudley Randall’s “Ballad of Birmingham,” as well as the cute “Dat Dere” jazz song written by Bobby Timmons.
How do you hope your poetry impacts young readers?
We adults get so excited to share our love of poetry with young readers but forget that palates mature differently as well as reading levels. I was introduced to poetry where the teacher absolutely adored the abstract language and detailed landscapes. The similes and metaphors were difficult for me to decode or even relate to. I simply wasn’t ready for those types of poems, which left me feeling intimidated. I hope that my book is accessible and cultivates a love of language. I hope it makes readers, who might, too, be intimidated, feel confident. Gosh, I really hope my offering and the offerings of my peers open doors to more reading.
Mid Air by Alicia D. Williams, illus. by Danica Novgorodoff. S&S/Dlouhy, Apr. 23 $17.99 ISBN 978-1-4814-6583-0
