I’m proud to share that my poem, The Heart’s Archive, has been published in the ATLA Journal.
The Heart’s Archive explores the experience of an African individual who grapples with challenges and aspirations tied to life in the diaspora. It combines personal reflections on cultural displacement, resilience, and an unyielding faith in a hopeful future, using the comforting and hopeful words of Psalm 23. Through repeated expressions of anticipation and visions of peace, security, and legitimacy in the African homeland, the poem highlights a profound yearning for stability and recognition amidst the adversities faced abroad. It conveys a strong sense of spiritual reliance, enduring hope, and the resolve to see a future where the African dream of dignity and legitimacy is fulfilled.
The Heart’s Archive is available alongside 6 other contributions in the ATLA journal for purchase (£2.99 for a digital version and £9.99 for a printed version).
Alternative Thought, Learning and Action (ATLA) is a “creative community made up of teachers, artists, researchers and community organisers with a passion for the necessity of collaboration.” The ATLA Journal “is a collaborative publication compiled from a host of goodwill and genuine friendships with contributors who are all part of our community.” (ATLA 2024).
Hey everyone, it’s been how long since my last post? Almost a year? Wow, that’s shocking! I think it’s also very telling about how life has been for me since April 2023 (when I last posted on this site). There are many events that have happened since last April, the purpose of this post though is to highlight on just one of those events, the release of my debut poetry book: I Can’t Go Back to Sleep.
A photo of me reading some of my poems at my book launch on 2 February 2024 in Coventry.
While thinking of how to write this, I considered it best to provide some history about how I found myself here. How did I become a poet? Backtrack to June 2018, I was in Nigeria, I had completed my master’s at Coventry and returned home. I had some personal events that transpired a few months earlier that left me with feelings of confusion. I couldn’t get thoughts about this event out of my mind, I found myself thinking deeply about it and making no progress in my thinking. Upon realisation of my mental standstill, I turned to poetry, to help unpack these thoughts, make sense of them and ultimately express them creatively. This eventually led to my writing of the Infusion of Light short poetry collection.
Before my return to Nigeria, I spent significant time with three friends who ultimately influenced me in a way I would only later discover while in Nigeria. These friends were Mabel (or Maybelle), Ade (or Adetiloye) and David Ajiri, they were all poets. Before my Nigeria-return, I did not see the writing of poetry as something that was for me. While with these friends, I heard about poetry, read some of their poems and marvelled at the ability of words to create ‘inexpressible’ beauty. I admired their poems and valued the art form of poetry. More importantly, through these friends, poetry became real and personal to me. I got to see poetry as something accessible, as a form of expression not for ‘Shakespeare’ only, but for people like us too – people who came from where we came from, people who spoke with a familiar accent, people who looked like us, and people who could relate with our life experiences. In hindsight, I realise that these friends unintentionally paved the way for me, so through this post I wish to give them the honour that they deserve.
A photo of me, Mabel and Ade, 2019.
Though I had not initially seen poetry as something I would later try, trying it while in Nigeria was not much of an audacious thought. I could try poetry because I knew actual poets whom I confirmed were actual human beings as I was friends with them. For your influence on me I say thank you – Mabel, Ade and David!
A photo of me and David, 2017.
So, we’re nearing the end of this post and to conclude I think I should address the subject of poetry-writing itself, why write poetry? I think people of all backgrounds should write poetry because, in no cliché terms, poetry is a window to the soul! Poetry helps to uncover hidden aspects of personality, identity, life experience and more. It helps to give words to feelings and experiences that can’t be touched but felt and lived.
With my new poetry book, I Can’t Go Back to Sleep, I do just this! I write poems that express feelings I have had which I’ve not always been able to express; I write poems that clothe life experiences which, not only bear great significance to me, but mirror experiences of others too (yes, this includes you, my very kind reader). Lastly, in this book, I attempt to lend words to others, to help express the never-ending range of feelings, experiences and moments that we encounter in life. I Can’t Go Back to Sleep is for everyone with words they never could express. If you’re reading and feeling a sense of resonance in these words, I invite you to get yourself a copy of my book!
I really enjoyed presenting (or performing?) my poem, as part of the short film, On Victory, by Coventry Elim Church. I don’t have much experience of reading my poems in front of a live audience, so this felt experimental, fresh and exciting. Check out the film below!
Photo of Emmanuel Johnson, photographed by Ethan Shi
Memories screech in circles,
Memories lived, memories not lived.
For memories not lived
I see a beauty of what could be,
I behold a promise not made.
Memories lived and felt remain
Deep in the heart with outpourings of affection.
These affections offer a promise not made
Of memories not lived.
As the downpour ensues
I hold onto both memories.
As the billows intensify
I hold on tightly with all my strength.
Photo of Emmanuel Johnson, photographed by Justin Jamgbadi
Auto-walking.
Layers concealed, hidden within.
A walk embarked,
control lost in-between.
Auto-running.
Stomps to ground, impact unfelt.
The chest tightens,
climactic finale, panting ensues.
Auto-flying.
Back on cushion, breath set loose.
A moment of rest,
grips let loose, sensitivity heightens.
I look to you.
I look to you.
I look to you.
My words rise and fall,
pressured by weights too heavy.
When words fail
I look to you.
Let your word carry what I can't.
Your word pierces soul and spirit,
judging thoughts of the heart.
My words rise and fall.
Let your word carry what I can't.
Your word is alive and active,
turning darkness to light.
Your word is alive and active,
creating things not yet seen.
O wandering heart of mine,
I trace your tracks up this hill
but I do not see where you go.
Day and night you wander,
paying little heed to burnout.
Across all entrances and exits
you dash simultaneously,
drifting unreservedly.
I trace your movements
but only find traces
of questions you leave behind.
I cannot understand your tracks,
they are unimaginably complex.
I cannot number your steers,
they are infinite in number.
You disperse in prideful splendour
to flounder in collective shatter.
Your pride-filled ways mislead,
moving but going nowhere precise.
Your words are multi-minded,
yet you push to enforce your will.
You wail with outbursts of desire,
yet, en route your solo dash,
you desire nothing ultimately meaningful.
To turn my hurt to life. I sit and contemplate. Could it be, a reason for every hurt, every mixed conflict, moment of pain, sorrow and disillusionment, is eternal glory? Eternal glory that outweighs hurt and transforms to life?
I pause and contemplate. I try to fix my eyes on what is eternal but struggle.
Lord, be a banner over me and take me to the place you want me. Like a leaf that falls and dillydallies mid-air, I too dream to land on gentle waters, that purify the soul and unravel a renewed horizon of hope unto a new day.
Still of Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta in Pulp Fiction (1994). Directed by Quentin Tarantino.
Why did this happen?
This happens, that happened.
I don't understand why that happened.
I would be fooling myself,
speaking out of utter arrogance
if I claimed to understand why it did.
If my choice was mildly out of place,
I would be in a different place now.
A different place may produce a different outcome,
a different outcome may produce a different life.
What if I made a different choice?
In my pursuit of truth, I stumble upon
a realisation of human finitude.
I don't get to make all choices
so I don't get to see all things.
I don't get to see all things
so I don't get to know all things.
I feel humbled as I return where I started.
I'll no longer ask why it happened,
I'll simply acknowledge that it did.
I wonder what it is about desire
that swivels within layers of layers.
I unfold and unfold but I find more layers.
I contemplate upon these layers
but I find unfolding questions.
Were I to put into words what I see,
I would remain stuck in a standstill.
Yet desire ravages on the inside,
yearning to be expressed.
I lay me down in silence
and stillness of thought.
I hold onto what I do not see.
I say to myself,
I will wait for you.
Emmanuel Johnson 
