When the caged bird sings of freedom…

‘WHEN THE CAGED BIRD SINGS OF FREEDOM IT DOESN’T MEAN ITS FREE ‘  Benjamin Zephaniah  

I met Benjamin in 1998, I was 27, a big woman, or so I thought, my children were seven, and five, and i had begun to tread the boards and make a name for myself as a poet in Leeds. I was as hungry and angry, we were hungry., everyone around me, battered, and slightly traumatised by the past, 26 years, by the epidemic of crack, police brutality, poverty violence on the streets by beatings the sheer terror of being a single mother, I needed better, and my words were the only thing I had, everything else had been take away,  By trauma mainly   

I was a poet. I was dyslexic, I was dangerous and green.  

If they gang beat me for being mad, loud, unidentified, black, a woman and outspoken.  

Well then, I might as well be,   

 tell them the truth  

my old friend Miriam Shott, agreed to be my manager.   

And negotiated hard for me to get the gig with Benjamín Zephaniah, my other friend had just won an all-expenses trip to south Africa, from a Cadbury’s. and offered to take me.   

Although tempting was the thought of escape for 2 weeks, to a free south Africa,   

 I knew that this gig with Benjamín Zephaniah, was my chance to prove it.  

I didn’t know at that time that Benjamin was dyslexic, like me and rhyme was too often hard, not to be placed pun the line, or was an activist, at 26   

everything was politics and survival; I just didn’t have the right word for it  

I knew he was a Black brummies’ Poet, who spoke his truth,   

whose name was spoken of with reverence and respect.  

I had five short minutes and 3 poems to do, before Benjamín came in to the close the show.  

The show as called talking reality it was 1998.  

 I finished my last poem and received the best response.  

Shocked silence…. they had heard me.  

And so had he, Benjamin and lemn Sissay, were the poets who heard and helped me, supported and read my work,  and for that I am truly blessed. 

Benjamin writes, 

‘The story of my poetry can be traced back to my mother, it was she who gave me the words came me the rhyme, it was she who gave me the appetite for verse. At times she spoke in Rhyme, not necessarily to encourage me to become a poet but because it was the way, she spoke- rhyme was in everything she did and said.’  

 Although dyslexic, he knew he wanted to do “something with words” from the age of eight, even if writing books was a “white man thing”.  His first collection of poems, Pen Rhythm was typed up for him by his friend and he couldn’t read or write, I too know of that need to write it does not leave you. It is a long time before you accept the gift that has been offered. I believe there is always a catalyst. Or calling, a falling or a breakdown, through a voice a scream, a spit, or a dream  

After reading the life and rhymes of Benjamín Zephaniah  

I am struck by the journey timeline and influences, the many similarities, we share.  

it has been well documented that Benjamín turned down the 0BE In his Autobiography, he makes it very clear, that he has nothing against the family personally, “No way Mr Blair, no way Mrs Queen. I am profoundly anti-empire.”  

 ‘I say to anyone who accepts an award from the queen and says it is for their community – don’t keep the award, give it to the community.  

Benjamin writes 

Poetry has wrapped my heart, when my heart was naked,  

Poetry has eased much of the pain I have experienced.  

I have dedicated my life to poetry and the “struggle” but ultimately.   

I have been on a long quest to find inner peace”  

Rest in eternal one love. 

Benjamin Zephaniah, life and Rhymes