Memory, the ethereal companion of vanity, guides humanity across a footbridge mounted with the nails of longing and nostalgia. At the confluence of loss and memory is a splash of recollection. Glory to memory— how it enlivens the things we've lost.
In this spirit, the poets in this issue take us on a journey through the corridors of loss, echoing with the remnants of what once was. Each unique poem offers a glimpse into the saudade of what has slipped through our fingers— lost loves, fading memories, and cherished connections.
Whichever it is that enjoys the warmth of the fondness of our minds, our recollection takes distinct shape, so are the events that trigger them. Ameen Animashaun revealed in “The Lazarus Effect" that “they say we do not choose/ what we remember, but we can choose how/ we remember,” as his poem personam reminisced their lost one through painting.
Samuel Betiku's wistful ache in “At the Churchyard" is in the silence that follows the minute a dead father is lowered into the earth. To receive fortitude, he admonished: “So go home. Let go of the silence. Sing his light.”
Chinua Ezenwa-Ohaeto tells us in “Temporal Causality Loop" that loss doesn't have to be tangible— sometimes we lose courage, other times, it may be the loss of innocence.
But Tariq Agboola's “Channel 8" tears down the taxonomy of loss, different things that withdraw our cherished ones from our grips: say bullets, kidnapping, or banditry. Unfortunately, “in this country the news chooses which bodies to mourn.” But then, as he states further, “the news read dead names and the weather forecasts: 31°C/ today, heavy rainfall— the weather too sympathizes with us.”
It is through these poignant words that we find solace, that in the bittersweet beauty of remembrance, echoes of the past can be transformed into sources of resilience and growth.
As a way to soften the blow of losses, other poets ride us towards the shadow of identity. Who are we in the grand tapestry of existence? From Wash-Anigboro Harry's “Ibadan," to Joshua Effiong's “24th Revolution around the Sun," we navigate the labyrinthine of self-discovery into the core layers of what shape our sense of self.
In “Funnel," Zaynab Iliyasu Bobi boldly fondles the fragments of culture and the harmonious discordance of our existence to describe the nuances that give colour to our identities. We read “i am i am i am i am i am i am/ i am any -thing/ but myself until i say/ my name or when/ my tongue wakes up/ in the middle of a talk.”
In a world that quickly goes silent about gone souls, poetry becomes our voice, resonating with the hidden depths buried within us. Through the interplay of love, loss, and relentless introspection, our poets have woven together splinters of memories and bring light to the intricacies of our identity.
Therefore now, I am humbled to invite you to meet these poems, each of which is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, an ode to our ability to find words in the face of silence and meaning amidst chaos. It is my hope that this symphony of emotions and reflections envelops you, our dear readers, in an embrace that echoes beyond the pages of the issue.