Two years of Anos Ku Ta Manda

Silk + Water is now officially a podcast! Scroll to the bottom for the embed or in future, you can also find it on Spotify, Apple Podcasts and all other major platforms!  

These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.

John 15:11

Hey! Welcome to Silk + Water!

Yesterday (22nd of March for the latecomers) was two years since my book baby came out! Originally when I thought about doing this blogpost I was just going to post/read out some of my poems from the book. The more I thought about it though, I figured that since you can just buy the book here (and you should if you don’t already have it!) I would tell you instead about how my relationship to Anos Ku Ta Manda has changed over time and then have some of my favourites, whom I’ve had the honour to be in community with, bless you with their words the same way they’ve blessed me. 

I wrote most of the poems in that book between the ages of 20 and 21. It was not that long ago, but long enough for the world to become what it is today and long enough for me to decide what I want in life and change my mind a few times over across the years. I have said a few times in different engagements that I’ve been involved in that if I could go back in time, I probably would have given myself more time before releasing a debut. When I think back, I would have liked to have spent more time on the craft rather than jump on and be sustained by hype. 

When I was approached about doing the book, it was at a time where I had been doing more and more performances around Birmingham. I had gotten my name out there to the point where people recognised me and I took this as validation enough to write a book. It only occurred to me to get a mentor at the final stages of putting it together (which was like the last month before the final draft was due) and in the last two years I have concluded that the book was not released as a culmination of work that I had been doing for a long time. It was mostly hype and it died down and then I wondered if the poems I wrote could stand on their own and across time. I was not convinced that most of them could. 

That being said though, I have worked very hard on not letting that take away from that achievement. I had a conversation recently with Judith Bryan, author of Bernard and the Cloth Monkey and it really helped to accept Anos Ku Ta Manda for what it is and for who I was when I wrote it. And also, at the end of the day I did that. And I am proud of the person I was because she was fulfilling the dreams of a past version of herself (shoutout 9 y/o Yas manifesting being published before the age of 25 in her diary – you go girl!). 

Being a different person today, if I were to have written this book again (which I’m not sure I would have) I’m sure that it would not have looked the same. I am working a lot more on form today when back then, all my poems were adapted from spoken word pieces and so they were often free verses. I’m practicing new things and challenging myself to be patient with the craft this time. I am challenging myself to write for the sake of writing, and not get carried away by the hype. I still like some of the poems in the book, and those are the ones you’ll hear me pull back out every once in a while, at a gig. And the other ones, well, it is what it is, and I was who I was and that’s enough to make the poems stand on their own.

Giving myself time is one of the greatest wisdoms I will carry forward with me, and it applies to more than just poetry.

I invited two guests to share some of their work and to talk us through their own creative journey. I’m lucky enough to be able to call them friends and they are people who have seen me grow just as I’ve seen them grow. I hope that you feel blessed by their words and wisdom. As I listened to their pieces and stories and edited the sound, I decided that this would be the inaugural episode for a regular poetry segment because it reminded me that poetry is my forever love and I hope you get to fall in love with it too, again or for the first time.

My first guest today is Courtney. 

Courtney Conrad is a Jamaican poet. She is a current member of Malika's Poetry Kitchen. She is an alumna of the Obsidian Foundation Retreat and Roundhouse Poetry Collective. She was the Roundhouse Slam 2018 runner-up and a BBC Fringe Slam 2019 finalist. She has performed at Glastonbury Festival and StAnza Scotland’s International Poetry Festival. Courtney was published in Bad Betty Press’ ‘Field Notes on Survival’ anthology, Birmingham Literary Journal and The White Review. She was shortlisted for The White Review Poet's Prize 2020 and longlisted for the Rebecca Swift Women Poets’ Prize 2020.

I met Courtney at university. She was a year ahead of me and we met at an event hosted by the Black and Ethnic Minority Association society. Eventually, we formed a group with some other women in the society and often refer to ourselves as a sister circle. They remain such an important part of my growth as a person and a few of us in there are poets. (A brief aside, Amara Amaryah who also belongs to the circle - who I often refer to on this blog lol - is even dropping her debut pamphlet that you should buy [!!] on the 26th of March!) I remember being in such awe of Courtney when she agreed to open for Alysia Harris less than an hour before the show started. Imagine! So I am so honoured that she agreed to join me on here today to share her poem What a fi mama a fi everybody and her wisdom, I hope you enjoy!

Note: Until further notice, Courtney’s poem is only available as a performance. Check back in June for the written piece!

Some words from Courtney about the poem and her journey:

So, when I wrote What a fi mama a fi everybody it was my first authentic poem on my poetry journey back when I started in 2018. I wrote it after a Roger Robinson workshop that I did. I had performed this heart rate poem, and it was the first poem that I’d ever written, and I guess the real me, the authentic me wasn’t coming out – I don’t guess, I know, I watered down my accent, and it was a lot. 

He called me out, he was like “Where are you really from?” and I was like “Kingston, Jamaica.” And he was like, “so, where did your accent go when you performed it? And why aren’t you writing about the experiences you had in Jamaica?” I really didn’t have an answer for him. I guess I thought that my experiences wouldn’t, either translate to people listening to the poem over here, or they weren’t as interesting to talk about. So, I was trying to go with the grain of what people were typically writing about and what I believed would draw people’s attention. After he told me that, I left the workshop, and I wrote this poem. 

In Caribbean culture, when someone moves to a first world country from a third world country, so let’s say Jamaica to England, the entire family will now look at that family member as a sort of income for financial support. And I guess I wrote this poem out of frustration, not because of the role of being a helping hand, but sometimes relatives and friends take it to the extreme and take advantage and it’s just like, you know what, sometimes you can just say thank you. It’s not a given that because we have moved to a different country that we are living lavish and that we are obliged to give back. And it’s just this thought that, you know, have a little consideration. It’s not always this big lavish life you get when you move to another country, the struggles are still there, you still have to go to work, you still have to pay your bills… I just wanted people to acknowledge that there are two sides to it, think about the other person. It’s not just about you receiving. 

Big up Roger Robinson for calling me out. Ever since then I make sure that I have some form or element of home in my poems.

People say that they’ve been writing since they were kids, I never had that. I was not interested in poetry at all. Growing up in school, I hated English and poetry. I was more into sports, so I was heavily into being in numerous sports teams, being the captain of those teams and playing regional and national on those teams. So, poetry wasn’t even on my radar. And then I went to The University of Birmingham, and I signed up for this society and they had this open mic night as one of their events and that’s when I saw a poet go up and I thought it was pretty cool. So, I went home and googled some spoken word and I came across Andrea Gibson and Rudy Francisco and I bought all their books and rinsed all their videos on Button Poetry and tried to mimic what they were doing.

I stopped poetry for a bit again, and then I did my masters at The University of Leeds. They were going to UniSlam and one of their team members dropped out. Bear in mind I only had like, one or two poems at the time. I didn’t really do poetry like that. They were desperate for someone to fill the space so they could go, they didn’t even care if the person was crap. They just wanted to go, so I filled the space. I didn’t know that it was a three-day competition, I thought that it was just a thing that you rock up to, you say your poem and you bounce. That was not what it was, it was staying up until 1AM trying to learn the poems and edit them. But it was wicked, it was a lot of fun and it taught me a lot. And then my team won the CUPSI prize and my team went to Philadelphia to compete and that was a whole in itself. It opened my eyes to a lot, beyond poetry.

After I finished CUPSI, I came back and found out about the Roundhouse Slam opportunity. I took part in that and came second and after that I applied to perform at Glastonbury, bearing mind that I still just had those two poems to my name. I had no other poems. When I got booked, I found out that I had to do a 30-minute set. So, I was like “raaah, okay, I need to get to writing.” I spent March to summer writing and editing poems so that I’d have something to perform at Glastonbury. And then I did UKYA and after that I kind of stopped poetry for a bit. 

I picked it back up by applying to emerging writers’ schemes, and I continued doing free workshops and stuff and yeah… That’s where I’m at now. My journey has been insane, sometimes I look back on it and I just can’t believe it. 

In terms of being published, I was only published for the first time last year. And then this year I got loads of publications one after the other. But yeah, I just pump my stuff out to places and if they say yes, they say yes. And if they say no, then you know, it is what it is, you just keep trying.

I’m currently working on my two debut pamphlets, and I’m hoping those get picked up, and that’s pretty much my journey.  

--

The second guest today is Saili Katebe.

Saili is a Zambian born writer and performer based in the South West of England. His work celebrates the musicality in language and the art of creative recklessness, playing with sound and story to carry forward the mantle of an Oral Tradition.

Saili and I met at a Beatfreeks open mic night. I had seen his name around and when I first spoke to him after his performance, I was lowkey starstruck. I kept seeing him at the shows whenever he would come up to Brum and eventually, he became a friend rather than just a cool poet I sort of new and sometimes interacted with.

So, it is with great honour that Saili agreed to join me here today to share his words and his wisdom, I hope you enjoy!

        1. Man in the Mirror

Man in the mirror, man 

                above my sink, 

in his Sunday best 

dressed 

for a marathon of ink, 

rewriting the stories set on 

boxing him in. 

How brilliant & beautiful 

could he, 

having owned my feet 

          for a century be, having 

never left on leave 

from his paradox 

gleaned from the silhouettes framed

in name of your Camelot.

He is 

my closest relative in the flesh.

I know him, 

he knows me, 

I know his seasonal best,

his Achilles heel and 

If he really will,

when pushing turns 

punishment,

                   pillage the hill.

Arm in arm we carved 

karma into pebbles and skipped 

a quiet sermon 

on a river of Styx, stoking a metaphor.

If I never do 

as a blooded being does

do I dull my diligence and 

dissipate love 

Is it really a cut from 

the commonplace buzz

I become him and 

he came up from the mirror 

on the wall 

me and mirror in a war 

to be much more beautiful 

than anything before.

More than anything before 

I am sure of shackles,

the shame and the chains that 

sustain our battle,

Just look at me dance 

by my bathroom sink 

all salt in stare 

well aware of a body 

that is -  

Challenger and Challenge 

Excalibur and Stone 

Half mellow, Half malice 

Half melanin and gold 

Everyone one of us is

                                  sentient and bold.

                            Everyone one of us is 

sent to break a mould.

Everyone one of us is 

                                 circuit break code

Sent to corrode the notion that 

perfection is the goal.

I don’t know if I can love 

without the love for who am now,

Man behind the pane without his spirit 

is a man down.

Man above the sink on his 

marathon ink,

needs to find his own voice before,

his journey can begin.

        2. Convoluted Drivel

I haven't been making sense lately,  

my compass is a crooked paddle

out haggling for direction. 

I never know what started it.

Could have been the heartbreak,

those echoless laments of love,

fiddling with the rubik of cupids spark.

Or works been hard, it could have been that.

It could have been that 

last glass of cancerous ale 

still snaking my gravel pit.

Or the fact I have a gravel pit for a pulse 

That my supposed to’s are past due

bartering cause for concern.

Battering my cause for the stern noose 

of night nectar

boozy belly laughs 

taken a toll on time here 

Whose to judge 

who hasn't loved this summers soul stitching. 

Kissed by a solar solstice, 

pinpricks of sun jutting out the jugular 

jumping full of useless drugs.

Cooking up storms in hells kitchen,

saving hugs for our fallen Gabriels,

tasting solace in a mantra of 

You only live once and

We’ll burn those bridges when we get there.

I’ve been mixing metaphor 

and drinks for days.

Decades decay in the paper parcels of gin

I trust to correct my sin, 

straight lines staggering themselves silly. 

Sense, a soft syllable too easily slurred 

by the seminal serpents seated in my cup

coiled in my gullet, bloodying my gizzard

While w bird of a feather flock

to the bottom of our bubbling blizzards.

We are tomorrow's heroes

but tonight we drink.

Toasting to muted moments

boasting you fades unflinchingly

and doesn’t take kindly to threats.

I was twenty once, now I’m this

a few months past a milestones kiss. 

This is the freaking weekend.

We are swimming in a gauze 

of the good, bad and ugly 

shaken, never stirred.

I serve for you the murr 

of a righteous concubine 

to a blind muse.

Defining the hues of his principle

both blackened and blued 

by the bastardish boomerang

Of Saturday night eve

Weaved into monday's hangover 

Clued up on the vinyl folds

of a spinal cords corrupted syntax,

swayed by the sauce.

I’ve been shaking what my Mumma gave me

into the lost and found corner 

of my favourite nightmares

Where nights flare with staggering force

I found the likeness in a daggerless corpse

rooting for sustenance in a swill of guilt

and of course, I called it decedent.

What other for my public follies

with no sorry tact on.

A man of actioned wronged 

by his need for fever.

Lost,

  looting

foraging  

in a forest for the trees.

In a forest full of weeds 

I fall often 

but damn it I fall well.

Stumble punched,

star strikeningly drunk, 

I learned to sip to sober up.

Lips longing Lutheran verse from curse idol 

Shabazzenite worth uncorked 

from scorched vinyl.

Music weeds the path to madness well

Broken records skip back to remind my soul

I serve to sow seeds and not sermons sp 

breath.

You are only human enough for one lifetime 

so live

There is madness in my methods,

wouldn’t have it any other way.

My Activism is acrid molasses 

too class slippered to run away 

We slow dance before chimes trigger its flaws.

When its time for us to court 

I am a figureless four,

leg locked into the floorboards 

looking for God. Wrestling hope 

with palms pressed praying

I won’t be questioned for the days I missed 

because of nights I didn’t.

I have hidden my scars well,

scurring from the cartels of my shadow self

I have no choice but to part well 

Living loudly and rest in peace.

Sorry I haven’t been making sense lately, 

seated where I stand 

Not much ever does.

Some words from Saili about his poems and his journey:

I think my trajectory as a poet started in in Birmingham. I was attending university in Birmingham doing a course I had no business or interest doing. I really enjoyed creating and writing and then I went I looked online and found an open mic night which turned out to be a Beatfreeks event. I went along and just listened and was able to see people enjoying and having fun playing with language the way I enjoyed doing it. I used to love rapping when I was younger and when I left Birmingham it was something that I still wanted to keep doing. I was still interested in writing and creating and what I did was save money to go up to Birmingham every once in a while, to take part in the open mic circuit. 

When I finally found poetry down in the South West by way of the Bath and Bristol scene. It was a case of constantly going to open mic nights. I was working a full-time job, but I've been very fortunate to be around people who are passionate about writing, who are excited about it. It's been fun being around people who love this craft, who love this art, and who love this type of creative play. So, from open mics, doing a fair few with those, people having interest in what I present… and like right now, coming to a place where yeah, I'm still performing but I'm learning so much from everyone around me and trying to round out my practise. So, my trajectory has based itself on being embedded in the communities, being where the art is, and sharing that, and being excited to grow. 

It's been a blessing to be very honest because there was not much around the world that I grew up in that would say that this could be the product of the choices I make in life. I took a gamble in leaving uni and it's slowly paying off. It’s definitely slowly paying off. 

So, these two poems “Man in the Mirror” started off as a form of creative play. To keep myself writing I do these weekly 16s, and “Man in the Mirror” came out of thinking about how I see myself; the kinds of conversations that I have with myself; who I am versus who the world wants me to be, and sometimes that does get confusing or confused. I have this intimate relationship with myself but allowing what the world sees, to affect how I then move and speak with myself, so “Man in the Mirror” was me facing and looking at the person that I do have to live with. Before everyone else's opinions of me, it's important that I take some time to reflect on who I am, my beliefs, my values and how how I present those to myself and to the world. 

As for “Convoluted Drivel”, I love this open mic and scratch night in Bristol called Tonic. They have an absolutely brilliant team Chris Beale and co. They give a prompt to people who volunteer to be part of the scratch, so these are audience written suggestions or prompts and I saw a prompt that spoke to me so loudly because even now, I find myself using obscure images, reaching and getting overly excited with rhyme schemes and the musicality of language, and sometimes it sacrifices sense. 

So “Convoluted Drivel” is unfortunately how conversations about my work has gone before some people have considered it that. And I'm learning to find room where that holds weight an where I need to just give be kinder to myself and understand what I'm trying to do, but when I do do it and it's fun, it’s understanding that is not for everyone. So, when I saw this prompt convoluted drivel I found it was rich playing ground for me to be as creative as possible, but to address that, that moment where you are trying to articulate something that's so like confused and bubbling inside, I grew up in a very Christian family an but some of the moves that I've made in my life have been not so Christian, but it's still something that I live around and so, there's so many dichotomy is and “Convoluted Drivel” was speaking the many tongues of idiosyncrasy in a poem. How do you say something without saying anything at all? And I think that's just what I've managed to do. 

--

It has been such a blessing knowing them, and God knows how much they have been a part of my growth as a poet and a part of developing Anos Ku Ta Manda, even if they might not know it. 

I hope that this post gave you something to reflect on and if not, that at least it gave you something to vibe with. Make sure you keep up with both of these incredible poets and people. I will link below all the places that you can get at them. Follow them, listen to and read them, hire them, you will never regret it.

Thank you for spending this time with me, and I will see you soon! x

Music produced by Leon Freeman.

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