jemilea's 2024 festival blog
Jemilea Wisdom-Baako, who won the Poetry London Pamphlet Prize for her debut Grey Coats and Nokia Phones, reflects on her participation in the 2024 Festival.
On Water
The brisk winter air, pebble beach and calm waters set the scene as poets bustled to find seats in Ballroom Arts. I had the privilege of participating in the First Pamphlet poets showcase alongside Kat Dixon and Eric Yip. After Tamar Yoseloff's introduction, Eric took the mic first, his language-rich poems navigating themes of place, love, and relationships. His endings particularly moved me, especially the line "someday you might walk in and find a story already holding sorrow in its hands." The room embraced my own reading as I opened doors to teenagehood, sharing tales of first crushes, Nokia phone memories, and bedroom scenes. Kat commanded the space with her powerful presence, her poems reminiscent of that friend you make on a night out—her words shimmering like glitter all the way home.
Inside the Editor's Mind
The editors' panel discussion drew a full house, each of us clutching our rejection letters like silent witnesses as Tamar facilitated an illuminating conversation between Sarah Howe, Jacob Sam-La Rose, and Michael Laskey. The room erupted in laughter when Michael shared an anecdote about a poet who, upon receiving editing suggestions, returned their poem torn to pieces with a note saying "you do it"—perhaps a visceral representation of how rejection can wound our poetic hearts.
The panel challenged common assumptions about the editor-poet relationship. Sarah Howe pushed back against the "mentor" label, describing it instead as "a friendship of mutual respect and trust." Jacob Sam-La Rose spoke of creating safe spaces for experimentation, wanting poets to feel "comfortable to flirt with the notion of failure to make discoveries." While their approaches differed, all agreed that editorial friction could "propel the poems forward," and emphasised their commitment to preserving each poet's authentic voice rather than creating echoes of themselves.
Crafting the First Pamphlet
The afternoon workshop with Eric and Kat and I brought together fifteen poets at various stages of their journey, from tentative beginners to confident craftspeople. We began by examining Kayo Chingonyi's work, comparing first drafts to final versions, which sparked lively discussions about the writing process. Poets debated the merits of handwriting versus typing, the role of the reader, and the eternal question: is a poem ever truly finished?
The sequence-building exercise revealed how differently we each read and interpret poetry, with passionate debates about the "correct" order of just three poems. The session concluded with honest conversations about imposter syndrome, competition experiences, and the publishing process. Eric's closing reminder to remember why we write—beyond the poetry economy—resonated deeply.
Barbican Young Poets
The evening drawing near, the sun yawning in the distance, we gather to hear readings from Esme Allman, Zahrah Sheikh and Katie O’Pray. It is a great evening of differing voices and styles, each poet masterful at their craft, weaving their words like a canopy of silver string above our heads. Esme journeys us through a variety of poems, on knowing, on water, on selling sunset and an ekphrastic poem from an exhibition by Arthur Jaffar: "slip knowing into a gold clutch bag / my mother is an ocean. A bad sea". Zahrah is enthralling, her reading a portal into a temple of her words, the silence reverent, postured: "a storm eating itself/when the water is at your knees you will kneel."
Katie’s reading is a tender invitation into the self, identity, eating disorders, parental relationships, healing and finding community: "my gender falling in clumps / we remembered how to hold each other still". The poem linking her journey of becoming an aunty to her own personal healing was especially moving: "when you were born I was feeble I became safer I softened everywhere". Such vital and poignant voices; I’m looking forward to following their journeys.
The Poetry Community
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Beyond the scheduled events, the festival's true heart beat in the margins: poets browsing the bookshop, sharing experiences over coffee, exchanging resources, and lifting each other up. This weekend reminded me that poetry isn't just about words on a page—it's about the community we build, the stories we share, and the connections we forge.
In these moments of reciprocal joy and appreciation, I witnessed poetry's real power: its ability to bring people together, to help us understand ourselves and each other, and to create spaces where vulnerability becomes strength. The festival wasn't just an event; it was a celebration of the enduring power of words to connect, challenge, and change us.
