The passing of a great poet

The Passing of Poet Benjamin Zephaniah

Benjamin is dead? I found the news too difficult to take. It reached me and hit me while I was in Vienna. Now I’ve just returned to London. Once home, I checked and read carefully the last email from him. It was dated October 18, some seven weeks ago. If the reports can be believed, then he must have just been diagnosed with brain cancer. In the note, he didn’t mention his illness, saying he was well. He also talked about May, my actress daughter. “Wouldn’t it be great if May ever acted in one of my plays?” he said. Perhaps he didn’t want to tell others about his illness; perhaps he was still hopeful. In the same email, he told me that he was spending time in Birmingham, taking care of his ailing mother, with whom he had a close relationship. He was a filial son. A good man.

I met Benjamin in Beijing some 13 years ago when he went there for a literature festival. Apart from literature festivals, he used to go to China every year to practice Tai Qi.

We became friends. He often came over to our house in Beijing for dinner, entertained the girls with all sorts of stories, and inspired them to read and write poems. When I came over to the UK, I visited him in his house in Lincolnshire, which had a lovely view of the open fields in the front. Once he even drove me around in his race car.

In spring, 2019, he took me to see the Nelson Mandela exhibition in London, for which he was interviewed. While Mandela was in jail, Benjamin had sent his music tapes to him, which was much appreciated. Both men were champions against racism. When the staff members at the exhibition recognized him, everyone wanted to have a photo with him, and he patiently obliged. I had not realized how famous he was in the UK.

Now he’s gone, but I am sure that his remarkable story will stay, inspiring generations to come.

He ended his email by saying: stay good. I will. You, too, my friend.