I discovered a poet through Instagram, Nayyirah Waheed. I saw one of her sale promotions a few weeks or so ago and immediately downloaded both works onto my Kindle to read as soon as I'd finished Moby Dick. My literature of preference is generally novels and novellas and I often feel daunted by poetry and require a lot more meditation and mental and spiritual preparation before I can start reading it. Spoken word poetry has its own charm and impact but honestly I prefer reading words on a page in seclusion to connect more with the words. Waheed has published two works, nejma and salt. I'm just going to share a few thoughts on both works since a full analysis would be extremely long and turn into a dissertation of some sort.
I began by reading nejma, the shorter of the two collections. Initially the style confused me and it took me a few pages to "get into it" and start understanding what was being said. I read it through slowly and pausing occasionally after which I felt like I had gone on a short journey with Waheed and some of my own personal experiences. I then went on to read salt, which was easier and was definitely clearer though the style was similar but I had gotten used to it. The style is intentionally broken as explained in salt, 'my english is broken./ on purpose./ you/ have to try harder to understand/ me.'. Once I'd finished salt, I decided to re-read nejma especially the beginning, to grasp it better.
Both collections are filled with pain and remorse but explore hope and pride in ethnic origins. A major subject, no doubt, is race and experiences of people of colour in Western "white" societies and living under white power. Waheed shares personal stories as well as more generalised experiences from extremes, those who consider black a taboo and inferior to those that exoticise and fetishise ethnicity so as to also undermine its richness.
Waheed uses salt to combine tears and metaphors of the ocean and sea, but of course another connotation is that of salt on a wound, the wound of colonisation, the wounds of inferiority and neglect. The sensation of being in pain is transmitted well through the broken/ abrupt style but the metaphors and anecdotes also impart this pain. Waheed breaks up the pain with elements of healing, giving hope, confidence, guidance in the journey of emancipation knowing that even the process of healing may well be painful but is vital for growth. I personally felt a sensation of wood burning or a form of heat while reading about many of the range of difficulties highlighted.
An issue I've hardly come across before was that of the disconnection from Africa for African Americans in particular, but in some ways in many of second or third generation immigrants. She describes the shame in looking back to Africa and shame of not knowing it well enough, not feeling like you can call it home. This rang true for me because, while I'm not an African American, despite knowing that my family history in Africa and India is in my blood, my skin and my culture, I know that I'll feel no more than a tourist in all of these places.
Another personally pertinent issue was that of 'brown babies' being taught predominantly about Caucasian heroes and writers but not really being able to relate and also feeling that Black people's work is not equal to that of White counterparts and only given small doses of it. This is true in not only the American system but also the British system, having studied English Literature up to degree level. I wouldn't want to undermine all literature produced by Caucasian writers because there is definitely a lot to learn from many of the works but English literature from people of colour is few and far between. And when it is present it is analysed like a key into a new world, which in some ways it is, but sometimes one would think there's a sort of "what have these newly civilised people have to say?' intrigue. For centuries many writers have travelled to the East or come into contact with Eastern cultures through literature, people, trade etc. and have found inspiration and even whole stories from these cultures but hardly or never give much credit to them, since the Western version must be superior and the only one worth talking about. Having said that, the works of oppressed people of any race ought to be valued because they'll always show you a truth the privileged can never describe.
nejma, meaning star in Arabic but also a girl's name, is the 'daughter' Waheed gives birth to and thus raises through her poetry. Through this collection we learn about difficult childhoods and ways to overcome them or even avoid them, learning to be confident and independent. She also uses this collection to speak about history, for example Mandela and his contributions, the symbol he is and was and his legacy, since any well-rounded education will teach you about where you come from and inspire you to be a better person.
Since I can't speak about all of the themes raised in the collections, I'll give you a list of a few so you can see if it peaks your interest. Waheed discusses issues relating to single-parent childhood, womanhood, belief, independence and self expression, colonisation (theft of resources and people) and decolonisation, growing up being self conscious, love, trust, writing poetry, identity, beauty, kindness, abuse, media portrayal, sincerity, finding and feeling at home.
Waheed encourages people of colour to love themselves through her work but there is a lot of pain and resentment in these collections, referring to all that we need to deal with in our personal and social psychologies. Waheed uses metaphors of nature generously but carefully to bring you back to universal origins and goodness, bringing you back to the earth from which we come. I'm glad I could share some of these moments with Waheed's words, knowing that they are a profound part of her.
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