Benjamin Zephaniah
AN AUDIENCE WITH BEN PLUS HUNDREDS OF CHILDREN
In previous years I have seen authors talk about how they write and what they do to produce a book worthy of publication. I am always interested in such a process having got to chapter seven of my own masterpiece but, so far, cannot find the wherewithal to continue to the end. Authors sit in rooms with computers and write. They usually work alone and so for the majority being in front of a large audience is not a natural environment. Some can talk and be interesting, some can tell a story as well as write it, the opposite is sometimes, unfortunately true. Some are not interesting and can't tell a story apart from when they are in their own room silently producing the written word.
A MAN OF MANY TALENTS
Benjamin Zephaniah is not soley a writer. He is a performer. Having an audience with him (and a few hundred school children) at this years literary festival was a wonderful experience. His poetry is funny and accessable with a serious message.
I used to think nurses were women
I used to think police were all men
I used to think poets were boring
until I became one of them
You see what I mean? Four lines, quite simple and straight forward but worthy of an analytical essay about the deeper meaning relating to feminism, class and stereotypical judgements in a post colonial voice.
A FUNNY MAN WITH A SERIOUS MESSAGE
Zephaniah is funny. He doesn't take himself seriously but he does take the world seriously. His work carries a message about equality and justice for all, including turkeys. He talks of racism and sexism and even vegatarinism. The children were more than satisfied by his answers to their questions about what kind of car he drives to his twin sister's name and he deflected any questions about his dreadlocks, obviously he gets that a lot!
At 53 he is looking good. I wonder if its being a rasta, being a vegan or being a kung fu expert?
BENJAMIN ZEPHANIAH OBE?
He was awarded an OBE but declined to accept it. Here is the poem about that time.
Smart big awards and prize money
Is killing off black poetry
It's not censors or dictators that are cutting up our art.
The lure of meeting royalty
And touching high society
Is damping creativity and eating at our heart.
The ancestors would turn in graves
Those poor black folk that once were slaves would wonder
How our souls were sold
And check our strategies,
The empire strikes back and waves
Tamed warriors bow on parades
When they have done what they've been told
They get their OBE's.
Don't take my word, go check the verse
Cause every laureate gets worse
A family that you cannot fault as muse will mess your mind,
And yeah, you may fatten your purse
And surely they will check you first when subjects need to be amused
With paid for prose and rhymes.
Take your prize, now write more,
Faster,
Fuck the truth
Now you're an actor do not fault your benefactor
Write, publish and review,
You look like a dreadlocks Rasta,
You look like a ghetto blaster,
But you can't diss your paymaster
And bite the hand that feeds you.
What happened to the verse of fire
Cursing cool the empire
What happened to the soul rebel that Marley had in mind,
This bloodstained, stolen empire rewards you and you conspire,
(Yes Marley said that time will tell)
Now look they've gone and joined.
We keep getting this beating
It's bad history repeating
It reminds me of those capitalists that say
'Look you have a choice,'
It's sick and self-defeating if our dispossessed keep weeping
And we give these awards meaning
But we end up with no voice.
Thanks again and looking forward for your post on making more. This looks like a great resource. I'm very interesting to read your blog. Thanks for posting this.
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Posted by: CNY warrior dash | December 30, 2012 at 06:33 PM
Lesley! How are you? Great blog again!
We are having a press night for "Frozen" on Wednesday at 8pm! Would love to have you come by!
Email me if you need anymore info!
Posted by: Meaghan Mcgurgan | March 29, 2011 at 07:42 AM
Only BZ could pen the immortal anti-carnivorous lines in Talking Turkeys!,
Turkeys just wanna play reggae
Turkeys just wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
"I cannot wait for de chop"
Posted by: Richard Peters | March 20, 2011 at 06:16 AM