I find focus on NLNG Literature Prize money disconcerting – Ikeogu Oke

How have you coped with the pressures of being on the NLNG Shortlist? I have coped well. Very well. Having continued to write for the joy of it, producing new poems as often as I can, has ensured that I do. Has there been an obsession about the prize money? Does it bother you that […]

How have you coped with the pressures of being on the NLNG Shortlist?

I have coped well. Very well. Having continued to write for the joy of it, producing new poems as often as I can, has ensured that I do.

Has there been an obsession about the prize money? Does it bother you that there is so much focus on the money than on the literary merits of the shortlisted books?

Yes. And I find that extremely disconcerting, though not inexplicable given how our values have evolved – or should I say devolved? – over time, our increasing tendency to slide to the pecuniary side of things, and downwards.  Some people have reacted as if the contest is a mere lottery which you play with a book, and writers are not exempt from those who gawk at the mention of the prize money. And there has been someone, some self-acclaimed literary critic, who wondered why give such an amount to a Nigerian poet, who asked, “What have they written?”, as if being a Nigerian poet is synonymous with penury, or if the word poverty is a substitute for poetry. And I recall one of the critics suggesting splitting the prize money and using part of it to sponsor the type of venture he is involved in, which makes it criticism motivated by crass self-interest. 

But it all shows how some people have left the substance of a competition about art to focus on the shadow of the prize money, griping about or criticizing the latter for its size, and seemingly forgetting that some footballers with less brains and education than some of our poets could earn more than the amount in question as match allowance, for just ninety minutes of play.  And people run some city’s marathon for just one day – of course with long and strenuous preparation – and take home the equivalent of the prize money or more as winners. Yet such people cannot bear a poet, especially a Nigerian poet, getting such as the prize money for producing a book that may also have cost them much in terms of time, mental and material resources. 

The prize this year has been heavily criticized by your fellow poets for the calibre of books that made the initial longlist of 11. Do you think these criticisms were fair?

I have not read all the entries. And I think such criticism should have taken into account the relativism context of the adjudication. So if the tradition is to produce a longlist of eleven books, then it could be possible, and not unjustifiable, to produce a longlist that may contain some flawed poems as part of the best eleven. That speaks not of the bad judgment of the jurors as some seem to think but of the general standard of the entries. A mandatory choice of eleven best apples from a bunch might actually include some really bad, even rotten, apples. But what do you do if your mandate is to select that number of apples and announce the choice? And should those who have not seen, let alone examined, the rest of the bunch to determine how relatively better or worse they might be condemn your choice? What is their justification for the condemnation given such a comparative context for the adjudication? I think the real issue is that some people seem to lack the ability to think about these issues dispassionately, and with the necessary rigour.

Generally, poetry has had a difficult run with the prize. In 2009, the prize for poetry was not awarded. Some critics have suggested that the prize for poetry should be scrapped. Do you think there is a basis for these calls?

Poetry has had a difficult run not only with the prize but also with the world as a whole. As a poet, who has remained in active practice for about three decades, I know this to be a fact and perhaps more intimately than can be said for many others. And it has been such a growing source of concern to me that I have a line in The Heresiad, “To give a lifebuoy to a drowning art”, the drowning art being poetry, as part of my reason for writing the book. And I wonder how scrapping the prize for poetry would benefit those making the call or anyone else for that matter. I can’t see how. 

I also wonder the motive behind such calls. Could it be a case of, “Since I can’t have it no one else should,” like the attitude of some animal character in one of Aesop’s fables? I can understand not awarding the prize and withholding the prize money any year the judges think no entry merits it, but not scrapping the prize altogether.      

Do you agree that some people rush to publish collections specifically for the prize and these books don’t become available outside of the prize circuit? What are your thoughts on that?

Yes. But I don’t think it’s a problem, after all the ultimate aim is to arrive at one winning entry, which makes the adjudication comparable to a winnowing process that would lead to the discovery of one super grain of wheat even after separating the grains from the chaff, as it were. 

And if I may return to my analogy of the marathon, many enlist in the athletic event, some more serious contestants and with better preparedness and prospects of winning than the others. And quite some could drop by the wayside, as it were. But such occurrences do not vitiate the credibility of the contest or the victory of the eventual winner. And I cannot see that it should be different in a literary contest, including the one in question.     

Another criticism levelled against the long list this year, is the age of some of the writers on the list. Do you agree with the critics who think older writers should stay away from the prize?

I think that was one of the more ridiculous of the criticisms. And I wonder if those behind it actually read the rules for the completion. Or they would have realised that it is a competition about writing that required you to enter a book of poetry and not your age. And that the adjudication is based on a book entered by each individual contestant regardless of their age, provided that attains a certain threshold, what I consider the age of personal responsibility, and that the judges are apparently not supposed to know the age of the contestants. What sort of country would we be building by awarding literary honours to people based on age, even if their works do not merit it? Of course it is possible for a young writer to produce first-rate literature as Pushkin and Achebe did, and many others have done, at relatively young ages. And many young and old writers have also produced shoddy works. 

So the emphasis should be on the quality of the writer’s work and not their age. And I recall the entry rules specifying that the competition would be judged strictly on the basis of merit. There seems a sinister hint in such criticism of some people being intent on committing generational literary parricide. And I hope I am having a wrong impression. But beyond all this, those who would rather have literary prizes awarded on the basis of age can go on and establish and fund such prizes and of course set the age limits for participation and let’s see if the prizes would be above criticism. Or shouldn’t it be the more prizes the merrier?

Your poetry is noted for its angry and sometimes introspective reflection on political and social issues. Would you say poetry, especially by Africans, need to touch on these issues to have some relevance?

That is true of some of my poems. My other poems have a different orientation. Poetry by Africans may or may not touch on these issues to have some relevance. Poetry is, for me, a means of creating beautiful and enduring writing regardless of the theme and what prompts one to write. And I think that should be the focus of every poet.  

Your poetry has been praised by Nobel laureate, the late Nadine Gordimer. Did this praise add any pressure on you as you were writing your latest, The Heresiad?

The praise came after I had almost finished work on The Heresiad. I actually gave Nadine Gordimer a gift of a manuscript of The Heresiad during our first meeting at her house in 2008. Then she initiated a reading game in which she would read a line selected at random and ask me to read the next, sitting next to her in a settee. It was prime fun for me; and I think for her too. I can say this because before I left, she gave me a gift of her latest book at the time, Beethoven was One-sixteenth Black, autographed “For Ikeogu Oke, To mark the pleasure of our meeting”. But I made minor changes on that manuscript before its publication this year. 

Regarding the praise putting me under pressure, it has been more in the form of my needing to work hard, assuming hard work is all it takes, to produce work deserving of her high praise, and not to let her memory down now that she’s late, considering that she actually put her reputation on the line by making those laudatory pronouncements in my favour.   

The Heresiad is a single epic poem. African oral poetry used to dwell on epics but that tradition has waned. What made you revive this poetic tradition in your work?

I have always been interested in the grandiose in poetry, and the epic is to me the best exemplification of this. After reading the epics by Homer, Virgil and Milton as a much younger poet I, dreamt of writing an epic myself. I had just turned twenty-one. Then an event happened the next year that provided what I saw as the perfect theme and stimulus. Then came the waves of couplets sweeping through my mind in gripping moments of afflatus, which make up The Heresiad. 

Composing usually frenziedly, I had the first draft of The Heresiad ready four years later, before I would enrol for my undergraduate studies in the same city where I conceived and started writing it. But I continued to work on it for a total of twenty-seven years. I thought returning to or reviving this poetic tradition in a way different from what we are all used to, considering the musicality that pervades The Heresiad, could help generate much needed interest for poetry at a time its fortunes seem to be in constant decline.   

There is a focus on lyricism in The Heresiad. Was this something you had to work hard on? What did you have to do to find the right flow?

My poetry could seem effortlessly lyrical, even musical, rather as a function of writing instinctively. I didn’t have to work hard to realise the type of lyricism in The Heresiad, and the cadenced music is ingrained in the meter, a total fusion.  I think I have a natural ear for the music of words. And I rarely have to work hard to realise that perfect blend of rhythm, lyricism and musicality which I think good poetry should reflect, and which I feel fortunate to see pervade The Heresiad.  

What are your thoughts on the competition in the NLGN shortlist? Both Ogaga Ifowodo and Tanure Ojaide are accomplished poets. What have been your thoughts on their entries?

The competition in the NLNG shortlist is strong. And Ifowodo and Ojaide are indeed accomplished poets of my long acquaintance. I think their entries are remarkable. 

Poetry is quite popular amongst poets, not so much with others. How do you think poetry can be saved, if you think it needs saving?

I think poetry needs saving. I think this can be done by poets producing works from which poets and none poets can derive pleasure and other forms of meaning. Humans are generally attracted to whatever gives them pleasure, and more so if they find such things useful in other ways. And poetry cannot be an exception. 

There should also be an emphasis on what I call catching them young for poetry, by which I mean winning over children to poetry by exposing them to poetic works they would find irresistible for their charm, and which should also be edifying, as all children’s literature should. Such a rescue effort for poetry should also be forwarding-looking, focusing on current and future generations.