In search of localised wisdom, Cherwell spoke to one of Oxford’s own. Poetry sensation, Birmingham Young Poet Laureate (2018-20), Foyle Young Poet of the Year (2017) and English student at Oxford, Aliyah Begum talked all things ‘literature as a side hustle’ with us.
How did you become a poet?
“I’ve always been writing ever since I can remember. I think I wrote my first poem in year two. It was very simple like, you know, six lines, abab,” that’s poetry talk for the rhyme scheme, “nothing too groundbreaking. I had been writing stories, but then I magically realised that poems are a lot shorter, and therefore less hassle.” That’s some realisation for a seven year-old.
Before the Bodleian, there was Aliyah’s local library. “In the West Midlands, we have Poetry on Loan; they have little postcards that they get local poets to write poems on. I used to collect those in the library.
“And then I think Secondary School is when I got more into it. We had a spoken word club. And so – as lame as it sounds – we would meet every Friday lunchtime. Then I started going to open mic nights in central Birmingham.”
The poet truly punched above her weight. “They were always adult poets doing their thing, and then I’d go on stage with like, ‘Oh, this is my first time on open mic night. I’m 11 and I’m going to read a poem about anti-capitalism or anti-racism or something.’ So I think the spoken word scene in Bermingham was where I really grew as a poet. It led to the Poet Laureateship and me taking poetry seriously for myself.”
Aliyah said that current Poet Laureate for Birmingham, Jasmine Gardosi was central to her precocious appearances at open mic nights. But, naturally, placed ‘mum’ in the category of champion. Watching Aliyah metamorphose from shy Year 7 into poet extraordinaire, “I think she could see how much performance boosted my confidence and how much I loved it.”
But, over the course of ten years, with an Oxonian hiatus planted in the middle, “the landscape has changed. Some of the more grassroots open mic nights are now in Symphony Hall or theatres. It’s cool to see the old ones get bigger and the new ones pop up.”
Thoughts? “It’s the natural progression of how things go. Poetry Jam, that was a kind of community. It would be in the Java Lounge and small coffee shops – probably breaking a million health and safety violations because there were no fire exits. People would be sat on the floor in between rounds.”
There’s a demand for this. “So they would scale up the venues each time and then they’d probably get more funding and the Arts Council would get involved. But it’s nice to see grassroots open mic nights still pop up in pubs and social clubs. I think that’s something I really missed in Oxford.”
What’s different about Oxford’s poetry world?
“The thing I love about poetry is it’s so inclusive and warm and welcoming. Being used to Birmingham, where a lot of people look like me, especially in the poetry scene and coming to Oxford where you go into the lecture theatre and it’s a room full of white girls – I found that quite intimidating in first year.”
Then, Aliyah gushed at the “exciting and vibrant” potential of Oxford’s writers: “they produce such beautiful, amazing pieces of work.” But, when you’ve been milling around with 20-something professional poets since you were 11, university poetry will seem very fledgling.
“It’s a really exciting scene but it is a little bit insular – maybe that’s just Oxford in general – I think there could be more collaboration. Like, there could be so much more collaboration between societies and magazines, and even with the local community. Oxford Poetry Library, for example, does brilliant writing workshops and community sessions.” Inside and outside the University, “the poetry scene in Oxford is brilliant, and there’s so much opportunity. We’re really lucky to be in this city of poets.”
Is your poetry framed by a cityscape – Birmingham or Oxford?
“In terms of the literary world, there are maybe two districts: spoken word and performance poetry, and then a kind of more so called highbrow or literary poetry.” Aliyah pauses then to say “even the term ‘highbrow’ is a whole thing in itself because it comes from racist phrenology.”
“Poetry that I learned in Birmingham and grew up with was spoken word and communal. Whereas at Oxford, it does feel like there’s a tendency to turn towards the literary and to try to replicate those institutions. For example, the Oxford Review of Books is like the London Review of Books. In Oxford, poetry is trying to lean more towards the institutional side of literature rather than the communal side of it.”
So, Aliyah is doing the work of building a bridge between the two. “I think there is a space for both spoken word and orthodox literary poetry to co-exist – and they must – but, at the moment, I don’t like how supposedly highbrow poetry is valued more than spoken word perhaps.”
COP26, Young Poet Laureateship – how do you reconcile your poetry with institution?
The ‘institution’ of Young Poet Laureate was not without its pitfalls. “I did work with schools and libraries sometimes, but most of the time, it felt like I was more of a spokesperson or presenting, which I love to do. But I think I wish I had the chance to be more kind of actually engaging with young people and advocating for poetry directly with them.”
Aliyah seems unsettled by our constant need to be validated by pre-existing institutions. “I think what I’m going to realise as I’m getting older is that it’s fine to not seek validation from these institutions. It’s not as bad with poetry as it is with novels or art but prizes or certain organisations tend to provide validation. I love poetry because it can be radical and grassroots. And, not to bang on about capitalism, but the value of poetry is contingent on how much money it can raise. So trying to feel proud about poetry and being able to love poetry outside of those institutions and prizes is something that I think is really important. It’s something that I’m trying to try to get better at – challenging where I think I get validation from.”
Again, this comes in the form of community where validation is just as much about the groups of people you engage with. Another institution Aliyah is involved with is The Poetry Society.
“I love the Poetry Society. I interned with them over summer. You can really tell that they care about poetry, they care about young people, and they just want to give young people more opportunities to write and to make poetry more accessible.” Sometimes, pre-existing frameworks are invaluable to establishing community. Like with Foyles Young Poets, “it does introduce you to a kind of network of like minded people.”
Even still, poetry seems to be Aliyah’s means of challenging this notion of ‘institution’ in a way that is unavoidable.
“I think poetry is inherently political. Even if you’re writing about a rosebush that you see outside, the fact that you’ve got the chance to, you’ve got time away from work, you’ve got time away from other responsibilities, that’s – I don’t want to say privilege because I think it should be right – but you’re lucky to be able to write poetry.”
Alongside nine other young poets, Aliyah Begum was chosen to perform at COP26. “It felt like a glorified careers fair. There were companies trying to sell themselves to you. It was just very icky.”
So poetry becomes a method of political protest. “I did a Poets for Palestine event at Worcester last year. And that was inspired by Anthony Anaxagorou who did a national Poets for Palestine event. Poetry is a way of honouring and listening to voices that are being suppressed.
“Poetry is political because it’s so immediate. You can write a novel but a) that takes time to write b) you have to find a publisher and give people time to read it. Whereas a poem, you can share it online or in person; it’s a lot more digestible and is a more immediate way of conveying your opinion.”
Can one make a career out of tearing down the walls of conformity through poetry?
“All I know is I want to work with people and words. I just know that poetry is going to be something that always stays with me.”
You can’t say fairer than that.
With thanks to Aliyah Begum for this interview.
Aliyah’s poetry can be found on the Poetry Society website.
You can find her most recent work, Apples and Snakes, here.
Let it be?
The last month has too frequently left me wondering what the obsession with revivals and reunions is all about. We know that die-hard fans beg for reboots or prequels, and arguably this is a fine enough justification, but what is interesting is that far too often they end up being disappointing. For me, the nail in the coffin was the failed revival of two parts of pop culture that I hold in high esteem: The Hunger Games and The Beatles.
I’ve always slightly cringed at band reunions and movie remakes. After a while, you wonder how many more Star Wars movies can be released, or how many times The Spice Girls can go on a reunion tour. There are countless examples of media reboots that have flopped and failed to add anything to their franchises, even when it wasn’t necessary. Just a few include the 2019 Charlie’s Angels movie, the 2011 Mean Girls 2 sequel, or the band All Saints 2006 reunion wherein the band members soon after claimed (falsely) that they would never reunite again. You might think I sound cynical as these releases seem to be in good taste or ‘for the fans’. But when historically these revivals never live up to the original, you’re left thinking: who or what was that really for?
When thinking about it, most of my favourite shows or movies have been the ones that didn’t milk their potential. Whilst it’s painful we’ll never get another season of Phoebe Waller Bridge’s Fleabag, or Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant’s British edition of The Office, their brilliance partially lies in the fact we are left wanting more. We don’t know everything there is to know about all the characters, and their storylines are not tightly wrapped up. This makes returning to them even more enjoyable, as it feels like you are constantly learning something new about beloved characters. But what a prequel like The Ballad of the Songbirds and Snakes or a song such as Now and Then does, is it ruins their sacredness. Too much is revealed, and we lose interest in its legacy. We are let it on John Lennon’s private demos, and the question as to whether revolutionary music was left unreleased is partially resolved. Equally, when the origins of The Hunger Games are over-explained, our excitement or intrigue is pacified. And so, the franchises become less interesting, despite the fact the intention is the opposite.
Considering The Beatles are the bestselling artists in history and The Hunger Games trilogy is the third highest-grossing movie based on a young adult book of all time, I have felt further confused about the motivation for the revivals. Clearly, there is no argument that either of the brands would need something to keep up interest or lengthen their legacy. On top of this, both are avidly critically acclaimed. It’s not then as if there was an undiscovered masterpiece that would change the whole perception of either’s reputation. So, what we are left with is two majorly mediocre pieces of work that are not only distasteful for the lack of artistic integrity and poor quality but also clear examples of greed.
Also, on a simpler level, it was hard not to feel offended by how bad both revivals were. Whilst contrasting in content, The Beatles’ Now and Then, and The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes represent the same issue. They fell into the trap of being lazy and underdeveloped. What happens is we see money-grabbing studios and producers convinced that the brand’s legacy and loyal fanbase justify them releasing anything as long as it’s new; regardless of the quality. And, to an extent, they aren’t wholly wrong. I still bought tickets to see the movie, and I still streamed the song. But the difference was I came out of both experiences confused by what I had just seen and heard. I came out having lost respect for both franchises, knowing how brilliant the work that had come before had been, and knowing that this is how a new generation would perceive both things. And I’m not the only one to think this.
Before George Harrison’s death in the ‘90s, The Beatles had already attempted to release Now and Then. However, the technology at the time wasn’t good enough, and Lennon’s voice could not be separated adequately to clearly hear the lyrics. In the twelve-minute documentary released about the making of the song, Paul McCartney revealed Harrison said the original attempt at the demo was “fucking rubbish” and that he hoped “someone does this to all my crap demos after I’m dead – turn them into hit songs”. McCartney’s case for releasing the song was that it was in memory of his friends. However, when one of said friends, who is now dead, actively challenged its release, you’ve got to wonder how true this is. Not only does this comment made by Harrison confirm my lacklustre feelings towards the track, but it also poses a moral question about releasing work by someone who can no longer consent. Whilst it isn’t for me to decide, it does add another layer of discomfort in knowing we can’t be sure that this is what George Harrison or John Lennon would have wanted.
Of course, there will always be examples that break the mould. Toy Story 4 was a beautiful homage to the original movies, and ABBA’s Voyage Show continues to receive rave reviews. But this doesn’t make up for the countless awful remakes, sequels, prequels, and revivals that tarnish what once were remarkable pieces of work. Because ultimately, what the half–baked reboots do is leave you wondering if the thing you so cherished to begin with, was ever really that good.