Friday 21 April 2023

Tares Oburumu(A Poet and Playwright)


Author’s Hangout with Zizi



Tares Oburumu is a poet, a cut above his contemporaries. As someone wrote of him, “Oburumu is a poet whose language stirs the senses.” Oburumu laces words into poems with passion and profound fluidity of imagination. You have to consume and digest his poetry slowly to appreciate the meaning behind his words or suffer poetic indigestion.

I have read some of his poetry chapbooks and I’m not surprised Oburumu’s manuscript, Origins of the Syma Species, won the 2022 Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets. 

In this interview, Tares Oburumu talks about his journey to becoming a poet and bares his heart out on his travail, hardship, turbulence, frustration and fascination with water, a recurring theme in most of his poems. And also, his ordeals as a single father to a wonderful daughter.

Tell us about yourself? 

I am Tares Oburumu. I am from Bomadi Local Government Area of Delta State, a few kilometers away from Warri. I studied philosophy at the University Of Benin. 

How and when did your writing journey begin? 

I can’t tell when exactly the journey started. All I can remember, quiet vividly, is the time I was in primary school. I can’t tell the class I was, maybe three, maybe four, when I had a fierce scolding from an uncle, never to get close to his dictionary; Oxford Advanced Learners which had several missing pages, dog-eared and dusty. He said I was too young for it and not too bright either at that young age to make anything of it. 

Before then, I was fascinated with the usage of words and I couldn’t help memorizing a few to be used in daily conversations with not just my peers. To memorize them, I had to own an exercise book for the purpose of writing them down. The form they took on the notebook excited my young sensibilities at the time, so I started writing; composing a few sentences of my own out of the words I had on the pages of the notebook. 

This became a habit and it continued to have me tethered to my father’s small cupboard size library where I exposed myself to novels among other books. I read a lot of them, I can’t remember now. It was during and towards the end of my secondary school that I  began to write poems just after reading the poem “ Building The Nation” by, I think, a Ugandan poet. Nothing held me more spellbound in such times for such longer hours than poetry. Then there was Christopher Okigbo, Wole Soyinka, Gabriel Okara, John Pepper Clark and T.S Eliot. I started my idea of putting poems into book form around 2014. 

Why did you choose to write poetry?

 Poetry chose me. Looking back in my formative years and how exposed I was into books, it is more convenient to say poetry chose me. I read a lot of books, not just Literature. Not only books on Philosophy, nor science books. I was drawn in prose in a way that was more taxing in the manner I learned from it than poetry. Oftentimes, I write down a novel, like transcription, word for word in a notebook. 

If I am writing poetry today more as I do write any other genre, I think it’s because I later found poetry to be more concise on the part of poetry and laziness on my own part due to personal traumatic experiences, that I found the prose genre too long and sedentary an art. Sitting long months to get a novel done, was too taxing for me amidst the trauma. Poetry gives a sort of balance, or it’s a balancing of trauma. A kind of antidote. 

Where and how do you get ideas for your poems? 

Everything I can see and imagine. It could be a boy running down the street, a cloud forming, a personal experience which I trust more than anything else. It could be a line or word from a book. It could be smoke in the air, questions people ask; it could be anything. 

Is there any author or book that influenced you in any way either growing up or as an adult? 

Christopher Okigbo cleared a road and I had no choice than to walk on it until I learnt that I could clear a forest, make a road of it and walk my own path. He was phenomenal to my formative years. 

Tell us about the challenges in getting your first book published? 

My first book is still not published. Around 2015 before or perhaps after the birth of my daughter, Sasha, the idea of publishing a collection of poems formed most haphazardly. The idea intertwined with an obvious intention or an inner statement of some sort; to raise money to feed my daughter. 

I believed, among other things, not knowing the rigors involved, that I can publish a book and make money from it. This intention or sole responsibility towards my daughter after I lost my job with the Delta State government and the subsequent experiences of being lugged into single parenthood, after Sasha was abandoned by her mother to make my trauma more of a tragedy than a psychological evaluation of my life as a nomad, I brought the ambition of publishing a book to light. It was a collection of about two hundred poems running to about three hundred pages. With it, I approached a number of publishing firms, and it was agonizing to know that I needed about 1m (a million Naira) to publish the book. 

At that time, I was looking for a paltry sum of #50, 000 to start a business that could feed my daughter and myself. Someone asked me to divide the book into three parts without a moment’s hope of getting it published. After the excruciating task of dividing the volume, nothing came out of it. I traveled long distances, met friends and people who had the luxury, but none of them could help me. It turned out to be an odyssey; a long walk to publishing a book. That book is still unpublished as I type. 

How do you market your work? 

What avenues have you found to work best for you and has it been rewarding? I live off such markets and avenues because I couldn’t publish a book. I think one can only have a knowledge about such if one has published a book and has the privilege the market and such avenues offer. 



Your recent poetry book, Chatham House is a brilliant feast of words. What inspired the writing?

 I wanted to crowd Nigerians around the question, why vote? I was born at a time elections were annulled in this country and I have witnessed quite a good number and having studied the history, the electoral history and the electoral behavior from the postcolonial Nigeria, I personally think a democracy practiced on any electoral system in this country will not work. A change is possible, but not through the votes. There’s a lot to the Nigerian problem that we do not see, or don’t want to see. The truth is there. It can’t be sullied no matter how much denial is thrown at it. It goes beyond us as a people. 

If you look closely at the events that brought us into being even in the colonial days, you will understand the British and the powers that are Northern, or what we can call the powers of the unknown. You will understand why we are poor and why the mental state of the rich and the intelligentsia are one and the same thing. 

I wrote Chatham House for a people that do not know why they are Nigerians and will continue to be Nigerians if they do not dream of facing the truth. And it’s as I predicted in the course of writing it that Nigerians do not read and they do not understand, not even the intelligentsia, believe me. 

How long does it take you to write a poem? 

Minutes. Seconds. Sometimes a year or two. It all depends on what I want to achieve, the readers and the state of my mind. 

Do you intend to write any other genre apart from poetry? 

Essays, plays and a few novels.

What is your work schedule like when you're writing? 

I take one line at a time, one day at a time. I don’t rush things. I only trust the process. 

Did your environment and upbringing influence your writing style?

 My childhood was traumatic. I had no childhood save a few moments of being here or there with a father that was doing well at that time. My mother was all I had. My grandmother was amazing. Fishing was what we survived on. Farming too. And these became for me, a modus operandi. My poetry is just about where I come from, the people that matter and the experiences I had growing up. It’s impossible to separate me and water, being the past, the present and the future of my art. I am fascinated by origin and when I write, I seem lost in it.

How many poetry books have you written? Any favourite and why? 

I have not written any serious book. I have written six chapbooks of poems and each came as a response to national questions and about how I grew up with my mother; a single parent, who raised me in a manner I have yet to come to terms with. How can a woman of no education bring me up in such an amazing way. I could have been a local uneducated fisherman, or farmer, but my mother made sure I don’t go to bed without reading a book. 

What are the challenges you face as a poet? 

One of the funniest things I don’t understand about myself is how I have been able to read and write without a laptop, even now. By this I mean, I don’t have, I lack the basic things every writer needs to succeed. I don’t, and have no laptop, as I type. Everything that a writer should have, I lack. I have nothing. How I have survived is a miracle to me. 

Besides reading and writing, how do you relax? 

I go out with a few friends, eating and drinking a little, go home to bed. 

In your writing journey what are the most important lessons, you’ve learned?

Writing is hard. Patience is what makes good writing. 

Give us an interesting fact about the writing of your poetry books? 

I don’t sleep at nights. I finished my chapbooks of poems in a week or less than that. All the chapbooks I have written. I don’t see this as an act of genius. I needed to write them and I needed food on my table. I had to finish them in such a space of time, so they don’t get in the way of my daily bread. 

What do you consider your best accomplishment? 

The Sillerman prize for African poets, no doubt. 

What was your reaction when you were announced the winner of The Sillerman Prize for African Poets? 

I have always dreamed of being a poet. A poet with little or no recognition. I always see myself in that light. I had no expectations. No ambition. I just write. And I relish the written word I put down even if it’s not published by some ambitious journals or magazines, or publishing firms. I just write. 

Also, I am not someone who loves sending out works to be published in online journals and magazines. I don’t have the energy and money to enter my works for literary contests. Even now,  so I just write. I would have pulled down the building the night the email came in that I have won the Sillerman prize. I screamed in a way that could have ruined a few eardrums if they were that close. 

How has winning the prize impact your writing career? 

It has made me believe and accepted the fact that I can be a poet. 

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk? 

I read a lot before writing. Prior to writing anything, I pick a lot of poems, essays, or books before writing a single poem. This way, I don’t rest when I start. I’m a workaholic. 

What’s your family reaction to your writing career? 

My family doesn’t even know that I have won a prize. And even if they know, they won’t understand how important it is. They live far away from Literature or the literary world that they can’t make anything of it. 

How has being a writer helped your personal growth and where do you see yourself in the coming years with your writing?

I expect nothing. I don’t like expectations either. I will continue to write and make plans as necessary, but wherever I find myself, so long as I am teaching and writing poetry or any kind of book, I will be satisfied with my life. Writing has placed me above my wildest dreams. It has shaped me, no doubt, into a man. 

What advice will give to aspiring writers, especially in your genre? 

Don’t give up. 


Monday 17 April 2023

Tares Oburumu's Poem


Title

Guitarist & The Audience, In A 2022 Van, Driving Through The City Cut
Into Two; On One Side Is The Body Of A Girl Burnt For The Beliefs She Once Wore
As Jewelries, On The Other Is A Time Bomb Seen As A Flower Growing Under
The Tuft Of A Flag Stained With Defeat: The Cry Of Mothers Called
The Elegies Of Beethoven. 




For Beauty


The word MERCY, I am like you,
soft as the freshwaters of Syma.
I am filled with rose
petals; brittle blessing – broken into pieces of
forbearance, then grace.
To confect, to put yourself together,
you grow into a single beet flower; the scent
is assertive, the colors – each carries honey,
each is seductive. Where can we breed the bees?
Over & over again, I sail toward my apotheosis
elfin or garden, poring the shoreline,
which the waters measure with the length my heart
can carry.

I paddle my mind away from the sea
I have known for days, too blue not to be true.
I needed a plot of sunlight & solitude to sit down &
to think, to reckon the hours till the country becomes
usable again. Yes, home is just a thought you
trump up as roof over your head; an ache
trying hard to glorify you. I sail toward my poise.
I have never been unhappy, watching you
in the split, glassy on the TV.
You spill, as color, all over the national news.
What can the small talks, possibly say?
Today, I stand in the grapevine holding on
to the emeries, where we can rebuild what has been
destroyed by hearsay.

They say you are the door I have been opening,
to enter the revolution the house keeps closing.
The things you would die for, do they believe in you?
Does God believe in Alain Borer enough for him
to believe in God?
Of sedition, there’s more to dying than the affirmatives.
In the corner of an inflammable street,
the rituals of surrender tiptoe over the tripwires.
A scope of arms spreads, briefly, within limits & loss.
I could see burnt courages, dreams shot in the heart.
A toy-car, too, in a plastic dump.

The weight of a hummingbird’s wing is heavier
in the nest than when it floats down the wind,
ascending in protest.
I am thinking, now, about my hands buttercups
rested on my lover’s thighs the night before;
long symphonies sang over the need to reinvent
the bedroom,
then the guitar: the strings come as clear as
daylights when you touch your own soul.

The music becomes Lilian Eze's mirror.
See how we preen ourselves in her notes,
vulnerable, yet outfoxing the pockmarks
added to the orchestra by way of a historical cult.
Her hairs float in us. The van has already
become an instrument. We strum the roadmap.

The traffic is sick. It is difficult to say it’s separated
from the governorate. The drive is long, & longer
is the will to reach the revolution; isn’t that word the horizon,
the image of the second coming of our lord, Jesus?
Love the little Nigerian that being a bum deals you.
& sing it as your own, says the emigrant.
What do you know about a nomad, a desert crossing robin?
Here is the city he left behind, & a sister raped by fire.
Here’s the epitaph & everything the aquarellist
says she is: beautiful, beautiful.
Even as a girl living now under a heap of blasphemed
stones.

The tweets die, too. Almost a practice. But mostly,
I wondered: how does a hand flaunting a vote
save the dead? Or a flag shot in the head?
Here she lies, six feet below the internet. Facebook allergies.
Time or apple on the wrist of a Miss can do nothing
but to be beautiful. She was infinite as the universe
on the pages of Forge Literary Magazine.
In the hands of the young Williams Blake, ticking away
in his photograph, hung above my bookshelf.

A wound always in the shape of all I have ever read.
I am the kind of inventions that would have
made him rich; ache drowned in the prints; words
intensifying the almighty love, endless in the way
the sky sings of its expanse.
In the warmth of my own silences, I walk into the center
of my mind & stare at all the wannabe poems.
I ask, do you want to be born in these hard times?

Tares Oburumu

Winner of  2022 Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets.



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