“Poetry is like alchemy”; The writer bridging the intersection of Afro-Futurism and queer stories.
Courtesy of Nour K.
Interviewed and written by Dalia Al-Dujaili.
Nour K. is a writer using poetry as a form of personal therapy and a political tool, discussing the possibilities of Afro-Futurism, African philosophies, and the importance of centring queer stories. Nour defines themselves as both part of, and apart from, the Sudanese diaspora and, although uncomfortable with the ‘poet’ label, their words spark magic on the page.
Following the release of their new poetry anthology, ‘Emerge(ncy)’, Azeema had the joy of speaking to Nour about how poetry can act as the intersection of the personal and the political, about the power of imagination and explored the stifling of nuanced identities.
Tell me about your journey to poetry; how did you discover you were a poet?
I still feel uncomfortable calling myself a poet, because, who does that? I've always written poetry even before acknowledging that it was poetry if that makes sense. I remember being thirteen and discovering the internet. I would basically follow a lot of poets and read their work. And that was the first time I realized people write and people share this stuff. But at that point, I just never saw my writing as something that I should share.
For me, poetry was just something that I almost kept to myself. When something would happen, I would just write a poem about it, it was like a log of my experiences. Then last year, I compiled all of the poems that I had and sort of created a manuscript. During the summer, one of my friends, as a birthday gift, took the manuscript and turned it into a physical book. It was a reality check.
“If you can imagine something to be possible, that's the first step to creating it.”
Tell me about your motivations behind your new ‘Emerge(ncy)’ anthology.
I was going through a period where a lot of things were changing. I just graduated and certain things were happening in my life which were also changing my worldview about how I deal with things. I realized I'm such a private person. Even though I'm so expressive and I'm so creative like I always had poetry as my therapy.
And when you say you are going through things, were they more private, personal things or were they also to do with the political climate of the time that we're living in?
It was actually less personal and more to do with how I was seeing myself as a person in the world. I felt some sort of responsibility in a way. I felt responsible to myself that I should share this. Being Sudanese, first of all, and then all of these other things like being non-binary and being spiritual, they're almost taboos that I'm living through, but at the same time, they have to be shared. And I felt a sense of responsibility that by expressing myself that in a way, I was sharing an experience that isn't talked about.
The title immediately spoke to me because of this sense of urgency in emergence, if you see what I mean. Today, we feel like there's a sense of urgency to emerge and to express yourself and to publicise your identity, which can be both positive and negative. Talk me through the significance of the title.
I would say there are two aspects to it. One of the reasons I chose it was a bit more personal. It's almost like closing a chapter and opening a new one. All of the poems that are included in the collection are things I've written throughout my teens - from twelve, thirteen, fourteen - up until twenty one. That's a long time. And a lot of things happened in that period. They weren't all good. There were depressive moments, there were moments where I struggled to understand what's going on with me in that adolescent stage. So, in a way, the title also is about the need to close that chapter, and another one opens.
The ‘emerge’ aspect of it is exactly what you were talking about. It's coming out of your shell and coming out of your restrictions. It was a really spiritual experience for me putting this out because I was introducing myself again to people that I've known for years. Kind of like a rebirth.
“It was the first time I had a serious, serious feeling of survivor's guilt. “
Could you tell me about a favourite poem of yours in the anthology?
So it's a poem called Mohammed. It’s about an actual encounter that I had in Barcelona with a refugee Muslim boy who was from Senegal. Me and a friend, we were the only black people on this beach. And he immediately came up to us and started talking to us. He told us, “I just came to Barcelona on a boat two weeks ago”. This is something that a lot of people know exists but they don't encounter it in that way. It was the first time I had a serious, serious feeling of survivor's guilt.
I don't relate to other Sudanese diasporas. In the Netherlands, or in the UK, or wherever it might be because it's my nationality. I have a Sudanese passport. I'm more of an ex-pat, so I'm thinking about these things even more because that could have easily been me.
I look at the news and a few weeks ago, there was a boat full of Sudanese people who were trying to get to Europe and it drowned. I sat down on that beach, and I wrote that poem. I don't know if it's my favourite, but it's a very significant one for me.
“Words, they're like magic. Poetry is like alchemy.”
What do you think it is about poetry specifically that you think can deliver a message better than other creative forms?
Words, they're like magic. Poetry is like alchemy, right? Because you are creating an image in someone's mind. But you're not using any visual tool. You're just using language. And that, to me, is a form of alchemy.
With music, for example, you're listening to it. That's the whole point. With visual art, you're looking at it, that's the whole point. And all of these things induce emotions. But with poetry, it's using the most fundamental thing to humans, which is language. It's something so basic and primal and it can induce a memory of visuals and can even induce music.
I think it serves as a really powerful political tool too. For example, there's a Sudanese poet who wrote, “Your government is the same person who is the one that kills your offspring” And it's really hard to translate from Arabic, but it’s trying to say the one who rules you is the same person that kills your child. And that became a slogan for us. He was also prosecuted for that poem.
What came to my mind was Mahmoud Darwish’s ‘Identity Card’ poem. I'm not sure if you're familiar with it, but the first line is, “Write down! I am an Arab. My ID card number is 50,000”. And in the same way, it’s become almost a slogan that embodies the Arab struggle. And for Palestinians especially.
I noticed you label yourself as an ‘Afro Futurist’ and I know that through your work because you're not just a poet, you're obviously a writer as well. Why is that so important to you?
Afro-futurism; what really sticks out for me is the philosophy of it, the ability to imagine a future, that's really powerful for so many communities that are not able to imagine a future. I do a lot of work related to queer communities. At the moment, I'm trying to uncover queer stories and tell those stories from my own region and surrounding regions. And Afro-Futurism is a huge part of that because these communities literally cannot conceive of what the future looks like for them in those countries.
So the ability to imagine is so powerful, and that's why I emphasise it so much. I consume a lot of Afro-Futurist art. And it's just a way of telling yourself that the future is possible and that it could be completely different. The ability to have that radical imagination that has no restrictions is really important. If you can imagine something to be possible, that's the first step to creating it.
Courtesy of Nour K.
That's really beautiful, radical imagination. I completely agree. Mark Fisher wrote a book called Post-Capitalist Dreams and he talks about the inability to imagine any other alternative to capitalism. But what you're saying is that, to imagine an alternative to capitalism is actually radical in itself, because we're directly opposing that thought structure that is so ingrained in us.
Can you tell me about any Afro-Futurist work that you recommend?
There's this guy, Joshua Mays and he does these beautiful Afro-Futurist murals and paintings. It's like a manifestation, to put an Afro-Futurist image with a person’s story is a way of saying, this person has a future like this.
Also, I don't know if you know the platform Free Black University. It's actually a UK organization. The phrase ‘radical imagination’, I took it from that platform. It focuses on decolonizing the curriculum in a very, very deeply radical way. Making academic work accessible to people who are not able to attend universities and institutions.
Education could be completely different and it can centre African philosophies and ways Black people, in general, can be at the centre of these institutions and they can be acknowledged.
“There's no way to express this besides through poetry.”
What are you hoping for in the future? Are you hoping to continue to produce poetry and is there another anthology in the making? Or do you want to shift your focus to other forms of creativity?
Currently, I am working on this new project. It's inspired by one of the articles I wrote for AZ Magazine. The article is about compulsory heterosexuality from an African perspective. So much came out of that, people responding to it and talking to me about it, inspiring me so that I decided, this could become its own platform. So at the moment, I'm working on building a journalistic work of queer stories from North Africa and East Africa.
I’ve had someone who was sharing his story with me block me out of fear. Gender nonconforming people and queer people in these regions face a lot of harassment and they face a lot of difficulties when it comes to sharing any of their stories. So I'm trying to tackle that at the moment. Hopefully, I can produce something that people can look at and say, “wow, these people exist. And there's a future for this.
But with poetry, I'm using it as therapy right now. I'm writing poetry every time I feel stuck or I encounter something that makes me go “there's no way to express this besides through poetry.”