Benjamin Zephaniah, 1958-2023
"If misfortune, sickness and death must come to us all, then we should let some poetry into our lives to ease the pain."
Sometime in 2004 (and possibly after a challenging English exam), I told my mother that I didn’t like or understand poetry. Her response was to take me to a book festival in Luton to see a poet: Benjamin Zephaniah.
Being so long ago, my memories of this event are extremely fuzzy. What I do remember is that there was a huge tray of tennis ball-sized fried dumplings on a table, which I returned to again and again. I also recall that when we lined up to enter the room where Benjamin Zephaniah (who I had never seen) was to perform, there was a smiling man with long dreadlocks standing next to the ticket collector, greeting everyone as they walked past and making them laugh.
A few moments after we had filed into the hall and taken our seats in front of the low stage, “Professor Benjamin Zephaniah” was introduced, and out walked the very same smiling, dreadlocked man who’d been greeting us in the hallway.
Watching the 1983 documentary about Benjamin, Pen Rhythm Poet, I can see that he used to have a very intense way of performing; he would walk up to the microphone, close his eyes, and the words would just tumble out. By the time of this performance in 2004, however, his style had evolved into something more relaxed and polished. He was like a standup comedian - his jokes and stories blended into his poems, which he delivered in his wonderful Birmingham/Jamaican accent. It was impossible to tell exactly how old he was, and he had an air of mischief about him.
After the show, we bought a copy of Benjamin’s collection Propa Propaganda, and then got to meet the man himself. I don’t remember exactly what was said, but what stands out to me all these years later is his kindness – he immediately picked up on my shyness and went out of his way to make me feel comfortable. He wrote a lovely note in my copy of the book, and even posed for a picture.
I carried the memory of this interaction with me for a long time, so you can imagine how happy I was – a full 14 years later in 2018 – when I unexpectedly crossed paths with Benjamin again.
I was studying for a Creative Writing degree, and one week it was announced that we would be getting a special guest lecture from one of the university’s Visiting Professors. This turned out to be…. Benjamin Zephaniah! I was delighted to have the opportunity to see him again. Even if I didn’t get to meet him this time, it would still be great to hear him speak.
Benjamin’s autobiography, The Life and Rhymes of Benjamin Zephaniah, had just been released. I picked up a copy, hoping that I might be able to read it and potentially strike up a conversation with him if the opportunity arose. Unfortunately, due to my slow reading speed I had only got through a few chapters when the day arrived, but I took the book with me just in case. (I had temporarily misplaced my copy of Propa Propaganda, otherwise I would have taken that too.)
The lecture hall was fuller than usual on the day of Benjamin’s lecture. It looked like even students and tutors from other courses and departments had showed up to see him. It was more of a performance than a lecture, which I think ended with Benjamin’s signature poem ‘I Luv Me Mudder’.
As before, he was a total delight, and I was once again struck by the aura of agelessness that surrounded him. I still remember the gasp that went around the room when he mentioned in passing that he was 60 years old.
After the lecture people started filing out, and I saw Benjamin standing alone at the desk. Seeing my opportunity, I grabbed the book and walked over to say hello. Now, I don’t usually do well in this type of situation at all, but – just as he had with the younger me in 2004 – Benjamin had a way of making you feel totally at ease, like you were talking to an old friend.
I told him we had met before many years earlier (he could surprisingly recall the exact book festival I was talking about), and that I was really enjoying his book, especially the story of his mother’s arrival in England. After a short conversation (during which he seemed genuinely interested in my experience on the course, and what kind of writing I was doing), I asked him if he would mind signing my book, which he did. And with a handshake and a smile, he was gone.
I thought Benjamin might be one of those people I would run into repeatedly at various stages of my life, and I looked forward to meeting him again somewhere down the line. It wasn’t to be, but my two brief interactions with him reinforced a valuable lesson: the power of kindness. A smile, an arm over the shoulder, a few minutes of conversation – these are small gestures, but the difference they can make is enormous. I thank him sincerely.
This side of Benjamin’s personality is captured in a video of him in conversation with Loyle Carner, from 2017. How he speaks to Loyle in this video is exactly how he spoke to me, and doubtless many other young people too.
Very nice reflection on meeting BZ. Thanks for alerting me to this - I look forward to reading more posts from you, Tim.
A joy to read - very moving indeed