Benjamin Zephaniah
was a giant of fire
a thousand rhymes on his tongue
dazzling us all, old or young
cutting through the politicians
word conjure and magician
it was his obsession
to fight oppression
Rastafarian
egalitarian
invincible
man of principle
Benjamin Zephaniah
was a giant of fire
This short poem was sent to us by Michael Rosen and is in our book of dedication to Benjamin, who lived in Newham for nearly 30 years, and sadly died on December 7 last year.
Benjamin came into the shop in Stratford, The Whole Thing, in 1979, a young man in a hurry. He had had to leave Birmingham, to get away from his life of petty crime where, he’d either end up dead or in jail for a long stretch. Having been in jail already for two years, he was adamant he was not going back. He was going to be a poet.
I was one of the workers in the shop, back in the day, and I went through the bundle of poems that he’d brought with him. At the time, his handwriting was poor but these had been typed out for him by Sheila from East Finchley. He would by necessity have to be a performance poet, though in the next few years, he went to adult education classes to improve his reading and writing. The acme of this self improvement was when he was made Professor of Creative Writing at Brunel University in 2011. What a long way he had come.
His first book Pen Rhythm was published by Page One Books in 1980, the bookshop arm of The Whole Thing which housed also a vegetarian cafe and whole food area, run by a workers co-op, which which Benjamin joined for a few years, until his career took off with gigs all over the country, and, once picked up by British Council, his worldwide travels. He was a poet, a novelist, a playwright, a children’s writer, a musician, an actor (six years in Peaky Blinders), and a Professor.
At the Commemoration on Sunday in the garden, a warm sunny day, we were overwhelmed by the response. The day before, I was told that Instagram was on fire with talk of the gig. Oh, said the speaker, we’ll get 70 people there. Well, we could handle that number, but that was way down on the actual figure. As MC, I was on our stage and could see people coming and coming. Every seat was rapidly filled, and the majority had to stand.
I estimate, we had around 250 in attendance. We were unprepared for so many; there wasn’t enough for them to do. The timetable said 1 – 2 pm, eating (Jackie’s Love Kitchen serving vegan Jamaican food), buy books (from Newham Bookshop stall), look at press cuttings, and listen to the video of Benjamin reading. This could hardly work for so many. In retrospect, we should have had some live music, reggae perhaps, but retrospect is no help when you are overwhelmed.
As MC, I could see another hole in the programme. From 2 – 3 pm, there would be tributes. Well, from whom? We were relying on people from the audience coming to the microphone. But with a crowd of 250, most were intimidated. I began, and crossed my fingers, introducing the tribute with my tale of Benjamin coming to our bookshop. Then we had an 8 minute recording, made up by Lia, with Benjamin’s reciting poems, younger and older me filling in detail, and Patrik Fitzgerald, a punk musician, and reggae fan, playing music.
Then I read a tribute from Tony Ash. He had played in Benjamin’s band, and spoke of his boundless energy at their gigs. We had a recording from Paul Romane, who had been a friend of Benjamin’s from the early 80s, until he died.
Two poems were read by two black women. The first, a poem by Karena Davis, read by Dominique. Dominique had been a head teacher, and told us how well Benjamin’s poems worked in her school. Michael Rosen’s poem was read by Ivy Scott, also in education.
And then, I asked the audience who else would like to come to the mic. My fear was nobody would, and I had prepared some readings if this proved to be the case. But six came forward, at least three of whom were teachers. And, if you think about it, who are used to speaking to large numbers daily? Teachers, of course. They spoke of Benjamin’s work in schools, making poetry accessible to children, and getting them writing it themselves. A man spoke of Benjamin’s desire to have children. He was infertile, and so wanted to adopt, but in spite of much effort he was not allowed to because of his police record. This, he found heartbreaking.
A woman told us of Benjamin’s veganism, his refusal to eat any animal products, hating the cruelty of the meat industry. These days, the environmental impact of livestock produces around 15% of climate gases. Benjamin was an honorary patron of the Vegan Society.
Vivien from the bookshop spoke of Benjamin’s regular visits to the shop, helping out if needs be. Julia Charles, the last speaker, told us about the book of tributes we were making and invited people to add to it.
And so, we came to the unveiling. Winston Vaughan, a local councillor did the honours. The large display, near the front gate, consists of a dibond plaque with Benjamin’s poem Nature Trail, and several pictures of him, both young and more mature.
And that was that. Quite a day.
Throughout, Manju, a friend of Benjamin’s was showing our activities via her phone to Qian, Benjamin’s wife, who was at home. Plant a tree all of you, they declared, in Benjamin’s memory