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The January Children
In her dedication Safia Elhillo writes, “The January Children are the generation born in Sudan under British occupation, where children were assigned birth years by height, all given the birth date January 1.” What follows is a deeply personal collection of poems that describe the experience of navigating the postcolonial world as a stranger in one’s own land.
The January Children depicts displacement and longing while also questioning accepted truths about geography, history, nationhood, and home. The poems mythologize family histories until they break open, using them to explore aspects of Sudan’s history of colonial occupation, dictatorship, and diaspora. Several of the poems speak to the late Egyptian singer Abdelhalim Hafez, who addressed many of his songs to the asmarani—an Arabic term of endearment for a brown-skinned or dark-skinned person. Elhillo explores Arabness and Africanness and the tensions generated by a hyphenated identity in those two worlds.
No longer content to accept manmade borders, Elhillo navigates a new and reimagined world. Maintaining a sense of wonder in multiple landscapes and mindscapes of perpetually shifting values, she leads the reader through a postcolonial narrative that is equally terrifying and tender, melancholy and defiant.
The January Children depicts displacement and longing while also questioning accepted truths about geography, history, nationhood, and home. The poems mythologize family histories until they break open, using them to explore aspects of Sudan’s history of colonial occupation, dictatorship, and diaspora. Several of the poems speak to the late Egyptian singer Abdelhalim Hafez, who addressed many of his songs to the asmarani—an Arabic term of endearment for a brown-skinned or dark-skinned person. Elhillo explores Arabness and Africanness and the tensions generated by a hyphenated identity in those two worlds.
No longer content to accept manmade borders, Elhillo navigates a new and reimagined world. Maintaining a sense of wonder in multiple landscapes and mindscapes of perpetually shifting values, she leads the reader through a postcolonial narrative that is equally terrifying and tender, melancholy and defiant.
64 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 2017
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April 7, 2024
Reread (November 2020): Upon my reread, I decided to lower my rating to 3.5 stars. I still think that The January Children is a terrific poetry collection (that is better than most, btw) but it was somewhat harder for me personally to connect with the poems the second time around. Over the past two years, I read lots of different poetry collections and I think my taste has shifted somewhat to the more direct and cut-throat style (à la Danez Smith) as opposed to the more lyrical and metaphorical style of Safia Elhillo.
My favorite poems this time around were: "vocabulary" (it's still the most clever! I love the play with the double meaning of words and the complications of navigating between two languages that are vastly different), "second date" (which was surprising to me because this poem didn't stand out to me at all the first time around but now I relate to it so much because I also have a hard time to "undressing" and letting people see my inner feelings), "republic of the Sudan ministry of interior passport & immigration general directorate alien from sudanese origin passcard" (first of all, wow, what a title ... I'm not in love with the whole poem but the last two lines always make a chill run down my spines: "& last time i was home a soldier stopped the car / asked where i was from laughed when i said here") and "the part i keep forgetting" (I love the structure of the poem [the first part being the set up and the second part bringing the harsh reality in] and how relatable it is: I also often forget how privileged I am being in Germany and that I'm not in the midst of all the horrible things I so often worry about. It's hard to keep a distance when it's your own family and friends but it's important to remember your own positioning in the grand scheme of things. // "but the part i keep forgetting / is that i am at the jazz museum in harlem & i am hearing these stories / secondhand & i am hearing / the stories in english on television / & i am spared the smell i am cutting & pomegranates in my pretty kitchen / & my fingers are sweet red").
EDIT (April 2019): Safia is in Berlin this weekend for African Book Festival and I am going to see her tomorrow and so I thought I would start rereading her amazing poetry collection. Just thought I'd let ya know. K? Byeeee.
Original Review (July 2018):
I read The January Children over the course of three days. It’s a collection of 52 poems, mind you, usually I would have read it in thirty minutes—but Safia didn’t allow that. I needed to take my time, I even scribbled one drawing per poem into my copy because her words inspired me, to create something myself, to try something new, to let my thoughts wander, to think, to reflect. It is very rare for me to completely click with a poetry collection, there’s usually a lot of white noise and only some rare sparks of brilliancy; with Safia it was exactly the other way around: I almost enjoyed all of her poems, there were just a handful that I found unnecessary as they were repetitions of earlier poems wrapped in different words, apart from them, I was in love from beginning to end.
This collection of poetry was recommended to me by Shamina in 2017. I am somehow glad that it took me so long to finally pick it up, as I truly feel I read it at the right time in my life; a time during which I am reflecting a lot on my racial identity as well as where I belong, which spaces I am allowed to inhabit, who considers me as “other”, who considers me as “same”. A lot of Safia’s words rang very true to me and I am in awe that she managed to express herself so clearly. I love poetry that is easily accessible, I love it when I immediately feel like I “get it”, without the poetry feeling cheap and contrived. Safia chose her words very carefully, whether it be English or Arabic, everything fell effortlessly into place. Her train of thought runs smoothly throughout this collection. I never felt lost as a reader. I felt home.
The “January Children” are the generation born in Sudan under British occupation, where children were assigned birth years by height, all given the birth date January 1. At the beginning, Safia quotes Adonis: “How many centuries deep is your wound?” A question that contains a lot of pain and suffering for Black people, looking back at your ancestors, your grandmothers, your parents, there is a lot of trauma and hardship infused in your blood line. You cannot quite manage to completely shake yourself free from it, as you are one of its products.
To feel alienated from your “own” people (whatever that means) and the place you were born, the place you have grown up in, is a nasty feeling, I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. But sometimes it’s hard to feel like you truly belong when the society you live in has carved out no space for you. With the weight of the hopes and dreams and expectations of your parents on your shoulders who came to this country so that you would have a better life, I sometimes feel like I was set up to fail. How am I possibly going to meet all of those conflicting expectations? How can I be a “good” German and a “good” Women of Color and a good Cameroonian when all concepts seem to contradict one another.
The January Children is an incredibly personal collection, Safia writes with a vulnerability that is deeply engaging. There’s no escaping her words, I had to take all of them in, deal with how they affected me. I am very thankful that this collection exists. We need more writers to be brutally honest about themselves, even if they are not sure of who they are and where they are meant to be in the world.
My favorite poems this time around were: "vocabulary" (it's still the most clever! I love the play with the double meaning of words and the complications of navigating between two languages that are vastly different), "second date" (which was surprising to me because this poem didn't stand out to me at all the first time around but now I relate to it so much because I also have a hard time to "undressing" and letting people see my inner feelings), "republic of the Sudan ministry of interior passport & immigration general directorate alien from sudanese origin passcard" (first of all, wow, what a title ... I'm not in love with the whole poem but the last two lines always make a chill run down my spines: "& last time i was home a soldier stopped the car / asked where i was from laughed when i said here") and "the part i keep forgetting" (I love the structure of the poem [the first part being the set up and the second part bringing the harsh reality in] and how relatable it is: I also often forget how privileged I am being in Germany and that I'm not in the midst of all the horrible things I so often worry about. It's hard to keep a distance when it's your own family and friends but it's important to remember your own positioning in the grand scheme of things. // "but the part i keep forgetting / is that i am at the jazz museum in harlem & i am hearing these stories / secondhand & i am hearing / the stories in english on television / & i am spared the smell i am cutting & pomegranates in my pretty kitchen / & my fingers are sweet red").
EDIT (April 2019): Safia is in Berlin this weekend for African Book Festival and I am going to see her tomorrow and so I thought I would start rereading her amazing poetry collection. Just thought I'd let ya know. K? Byeeee.
Original Review (July 2018):
I read The January Children over the course of three days. It’s a collection of 52 poems, mind you, usually I would have read it in thirty minutes—but Safia didn’t allow that. I needed to take my time, I even scribbled one drawing per poem into my copy because her words inspired me, to create something myself, to try something new, to let my thoughts wander, to think, to reflect. It is very rare for me to completely click with a poetry collection, there’s usually a lot of white noise and only some rare sparks of brilliancy; with Safia it was exactly the other way around: I almost enjoyed all of her poems, there were just a handful that I found unnecessary as they were repetitions of earlier poems wrapped in different words, apart from them, I was in love from beginning to end.
This collection of poetry was recommended to me by Shamina in 2017. I am somehow glad that it took me so long to finally pick it up, as I truly feel I read it at the right time in my life; a time during which I am reflecting a lot on my racial identity as well as where I belong, which spaces I am allowed to inhabit, who considers me as “other”, who considers me as “same”. A lot of Safia’s words rang very true to me and I am in awe that she managed to express herself so clearly. I love poetry that is easily accessible, I love it when I immediately feel like I “get it”, without the poetry feeling cheap and contrived. Safia chose her words very carefully, whether it be English or Arabic, everything fell effortlessly into place. Her train of thought runs smoothly throughout this collection. I never felt lost as a reader. I felt home.
The “January Children” are the generation born in Sudan under British occupation, where children were assigned birth years by height, all given the birth date January 1. At the beginning, Safia quotes Adonis: “How many centuries deep is your wound?” A question that contains a lot of pain and suffering for Black people, looking back at your ancestors, your grandmothers, your parents, there is a lot of trauma and hardship infused in your blood line. You cannot quite manage to completely shake yourself free from it, as you are one of its products.
To feel alienated from your “own” people (whatever that means) and the place you were born, the place you have grown up in, is a nasty feeling, I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. But sometimes it’s hard to feel like you truly belong when the society you live in has carved out no space for you. With the weight of the hopes and dreams and expectations of your parents on your shoulders who came to this country so that you would have a better life, I sometimes feel like I was set up to fail. How am I possibly going to meet all of those conflicting expectations? How can I be a “good” German and a “good” Women of Color and a good Cameroonian when all concepts seem to contradict one another.
there’s a saying about women who cannotSafia is talking with an accent about home, she’s a lost girl full of all the wrong language, /stupid girl, atlantic got your tongue/, how can she reclaim what isn’t hers? Or is it? Safia doesn’t have the answers, but she has all the questions, she is full of them. What has distance done to her? /& last time i was home a soldier stopped the car asked where I was from laughed when i said here/
remember their homes how they love to mourn
what does not belong to them
The January Children is an incredibly personal collection, Safia writes with a vulnerability that is deeply engaging. There’s no escaping her words, I had to take all of them in, deal with how they affected me. I am very thankful that this collection exists. We need more writers to be brutally honest about themselves, even if they are not sure of who they are and where they are meant to be in the world.
August 5, 2018
4.5 stars
WOW. I'm at the point of reading poetry where most of it is forgettable, but I anticipate this will be one that lingers with me. So many powerful moments about being black, about feeling stranded between different cultures, and navigating memories vs. reality. Touching, but made me tearful. Definitely a stand-out collection I've read all year.
WOW. I'm at the point of reading poetry where most of it is forgettable, but I anticipate this will be one that lingers with me. So many powerful moments about being black, about feeling stranded between different cultures, and navigating memories vs. reality. Touching, but made me tearful. Definitely a stand-out collection I've read all year.
April 9, 2017
“It is not presumptuous of me to declare that what we have here in The January Children is the first sound of what will be a remarkable noise in African poetry. Safia Elhillo has already laid out in this collection a complex foundation for a rich and ambitious body of work. What is unmistakable is her authority as a poet- she writes with great control and economy, but also with a vulnerability that is deeply engaging. Above all, her poems are filled with delight- a quality of humor that is never trite but always honest and insightful.”
-Kwame Dawes
Poet Kwame Dawes presents a comprehensive and extensive forward in the beginning that readers can use as a guide while reading Safia’s poetry, it also provides context to the relationship with the late Abdel Halim Hafez, the iconic Egyptian Singer who is at the center of a number of Safia’s poems in this mesmerizing collection. Hence, the forward here, is an essential part of this book.
Safia’s poetry in this collection takes us back in time, to the days of [I came from a sudan that had gardens & magnolia flowers], just before “all the alcohol in Khartoum was poured into the nile”, tell us about when “police arrive/ rip lanterns from trees/ & fire a shot”, and fills our hearts with nostalgia, pain and grief when she reminds us of our aunts in sudan with “their men lost or upstairs sleeping or done to America to look for work”…
Safia puts into rhythmical, well-articulated words the agony, the heartache and the confusion of a whole generation from second-generation immigrants, Diaspora millennials, and daughters who ask “did our mothers invent loneliness or did make them out mothers”…
Safia’s book is not only about our generation, the millennials, but also about the generation of Abdel Halim Hafez, the ones who found themselves in his heartbroken voice, who loved themselves because he loved the brown in them, the ones who passed on their loneliness, and their heartbreaks to their daughters.. Safia’s book is about the “fourteen brown/ nightingales diving/ in the name of/ a communal beloved”
“The January Children” is not only about romance and Abdel halim “we learned love from a dead man/ you understand my problem”, and it is definitely not only about the history of distress and misery in post 1989 Sudan “Above all, the story of Sudan/is the record of a fight against/ nature” “& dalia’s been arrested & yousif’s been arrested sudan broke my mother’s heart”, it is about all shapes, colors and scents of love, angst, hope, millennials, family, police brutality, lost countries, oceans crossed, music, lyrics and words diluted, Arabic, English, languages mixed in a girl belonging to two, no three nations, belonging, this, is a book about the melancholy of belonging and not belonging.
“here I am little dagger ready/ to make a home in your shirt pocket/ answer me answer me”
'Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.' And that is exactly what The January Children would do to the reader, it is a collection of poetry that takes your breath away, and leave you speechless and immersed in an ocean of emotions. Powerful, personal and heartfelt as it should be, this book is a must for both poetry readers and those who are not into poetry.
“I guess I see the parallel i am brown like her i am always halfway gone like her
i’m not as cruel but I have tried it’s just like the lyric says i cant sing but it goes
طمنوني الأسمراني عملة ايه الغربة فيه
reassure me how is the browngirl what has distance done to her”
Personal Note/thoughts:
Speaking on more personal an intimate level, I must admit that it has taken me more than a week to read this book, because after 2-3 poems I fall into tears and sobs, because my heart is still breaking over Sudan [sudan broke my mother’s heart], it did the same to me. Different stories, circumstances, and diverse causes but the agony is the same. I haven't been back home in 4 years because I am too weak to face my pain, and this book took me back there, to where I am running from.
I have loved Abdel halim since I was 9 or 10, my mother taught me to love him, or maybe I inherited his love from her. She spoke in his accent, that's how she was raised and taught in the British Colonialism and then Nimeiry days, which she spoke of all the time , my mother was a January child and I miss her, like I miss Sudan.
“& in my mouth what exactly
i am not named in the very first language i call Arabic my mother tongue
& mourn only that orphaning i mime
i name nubia & hear only what I cannot speak
i point to my body point to a pyramid & point to a spot on the map
& what is left is only water”
-Kwame Dawes
Poet Kwame Dawes presents a comprehensive and extensive forward in the beginning that readers can use as a guide while reading Safia’s poetry, it also provides context to the relationship with the late Abdel Halim Hafez, the iconic Egyptian Singer who is at the center of a number of Safia’s poems in this mesmerizing collection. Hence, the forward here, is an essential part of this book.
Safia’s poetry in this collection takes us back in time, to the days of [I came from a sudan that had gardens & magnolia flowers], just before “all the alcohol in Khartoum was poured into the nile”, tell us about when “police arrive/ rip lanterns from trees/ & fire a shot”, and fills our hearts with nostalgia, pain and grief when she reminds us of our aunts in sudan with “their men lost or upstairs sleeping or done to America to look for work”…
Safia puts into rhythmical, well-articulated words the agony, the heartache and the confusion of a whole generation from second-generation immigrants, Diaspora millennials, and daughters who ask “did our mothers invent loneliness or did make them out mothers”…
Safia’s book is not only about our generation, the millennials, but also about the generation of Abdel Halim Hafez, the ones who found themselves in his heartbroken voice, who loved themselves because he loved the brown in them, the ones who passed on their loneliness, and their heartbreaks to their daughters.. Safia’s book is about the “fourteen brown/ nightingales diving/ in the name of/ a communal beloved”
“The January Children” is not only about romance and Abdel halim “we learned love from a dead man/ you understand my problem”, and it is definitely not only about the history of distress and misery in post 1989 Sudan “Above all, the story of Sudan/is the record of a fight against/ nature” “& dalia’s been arrested & yousif’s been arrested sudan broke my mother’s heart”, it is about all shapes, colors and scents of love, angst, hope, millennials, family, police brutality, lost countries, oceans crossed, music, lyrics and words diluted, Arabic, English, languages mixed in a girl belonging to two, no three nations, belonging, this, is a book about the melancholy of belonging and not belonging.
“here I am little dagger ready/ to make a home in your shirt pocket/ answer me answer me”
'Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.' And that is exactly what The January Children would do to the reader, it is a collection of poetry that takes your breath away, and leave you speechless and immersed in an ocean of emotions. Powerful, personal and heartfelt as it should be, this book is a must for both poetry readers and those who are not into poetry.
“I guess I see the parallel i am brown like her i am always halfway gone like her
i’m not as cruel but I have tried it’s just like the lyric says i cant sing but it goes
طمنوني الأسمراني عملة ايه الغربة فيه
reassure me how is the browngirl what has distance done to her”
Personal Note/thoughts:
Speaking on more personal an intimate level, I must admit that it has taken me more than a week to read this book, because after 2-3 poems I fall into tears and sobs, because my heart is still breaking over Sudan [sudan broke my mother’s heart], it did the same to me. Different stories, circumstances, and diverse causes but the agony is the same. I haven't been back home in 4 years because I am too weak to face my pain, and this book took me back there, to where I am running from.
I have loved Abdel halim since I was 9 or 10, my mother taught me to love him, or maybe I inherited his love from her. She spoke in his accent, that's how she was raised and taught in the British Colonialism and then Nimeiry days, which she spoke of all the time , my mother was a January child and I miss her, like I miss Sudan.
“& in my mouth what exactly
i am not named in the very first language i call Arabic my mother tongue
& mourn only that orphaning i mime
i name nubia & hear only what I cannot speak
i point to my body point to a pyramid & point to a spot on the map
& what is left is only water”
December 30, 2016
"& what is a country but the drawing of a line"I first encountered the poet Safia Elhillo when I read New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set, where my favorite was What I Learned in the Fire, which must be listened to. So I jumped at this collection of her poetry, her first!
Another reason is that Safia is Sudanese-American, so her background and themes fit nicely with my Africa 2016 reading project. She says herself that she is from nowhere, or at least that must be how it feels.
Highlights:
asmarani makes prayer
"...a border-shaped wound will
be licked clean...."
vocabulary
(this one must be seen because it combines Arabic words with English.. for now listen to her read it)
Another poem, untitled, is in the video above. When she performs them, she threads them together like a larger story, which is amazing. There is a series of poems about her mother in a former version of Sudan, beautiful.
"did our mothers invent loneliness or did it make them our mothers were we
fathered by silence or just looking to explain away this quiet..."
to make use of water
(another one to hear, a slightly different version is here)
Powerful, moving, personal... this is what I always want poetry to be.
(Thanks to the publisher for granting me early access via NetGalley)
August 23, 2022
DAY 18 of The Sealey Challenge
The January Children by Safia Elhillo, English with Arabic phrases translated by the author - Sudan/US
° Poetry Themes: diaspora, post-colonial Sudan, Arabic/English comparative linguistics, title influenced by Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children
The January Children by Safia Elhillo, English with Arabic phrases translated by the author - Sudan/US
° Poetry Themes: diaspora, post-colonial Sudan, Arabic/English comparative linguistics, title influenced by Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children
February 26, 2017
!!! https://africanbookaddict.com/2017/02...
Reading the Forward by Kwame Dawes is imperative if you want to understand and appreciate this collection lol.
Thank you to Netgalley via University of Nebraska Press for the e-ARC.
Reading the Forward by Kwame Dawes is imperative if you want to understand and appreciate this collection lol.
Thank you to Netgalley via University of Nebraska Press for the e-ARC.
December 13, 2025
Identity
self-care
home
music
love
language
race
nostalgia
family
translation
caesura
silence
aesthetics
punctuation
experience
autobiography
representation
inspiration
heterogeneity
fluidity.
self-care
home
music
love
language
race
nostalgia
family
translation
caesura
silence
aesthetics
punctuation
experience
autobiography
representation
inspiration
heterogeneity
fluidity.
April 24, 2017
Not what I look for in a poetry collection in terms of form, but I love the themes of colonization, diaspora, and the issues of identity these states create in the author.
March 20, 2024
I liked a lot of these poems especially the ones that were about the singer and the ones that repeated them or style.
October 17, 2018
this book is incredible in everything it handles and invites the reader into as it arcs and explores. my relationship to language and to the double-edged sword of culture and history will not be the same since reading the january children. very grateful for safia elhillo's writing.
!!!!!!!!
thx
!!!!!!!!
thx
July 10, 2023
4.5/5
“when i answer my voice / is hoarse from disuse i am afraid of my body & the ways / that it fails me”
“maybe it is too easy to blame / mortality on our capacity for love / the slow death that is putting / your breath in another’s body”
safia elhillo is masterfully poignant and playful, this collection is extremely concise and familiar with itself. the constant calls to abdelhalim hafez and the questions as to what he means when he calls to the brown girl is absolutely stunning, painful, and girlishly immature in a way that feels so honest. elhillo’s grip on language as material is phenomenal, her relationship to arabic, as though arabic were a character in itself, is deeply emphatic, and her ability to flesh out the beauty of the dual is magical especially because it can so easily be corny. amazing work that is so simple and complex and loud and ridiculously quiet.
“when i answer my voice / is hoarse from disuse i am afraid of my body & the ways / that it fails me”
“maybe it is too easy to blame / mortality on our capacity for love / the slow death that is putting / your breath in another’s body”
safia elhillo is masterfully poignant and playful, this collection is extremely concise and familiar with itself. the constant calls to abdelhalim hafez and the questions as to what he means when he calls to the brown girl is absolutely stunning, painful, and girlishly immature in a way that feels so honest. elhillo’s grip on language as material is phenomenal, her relationship to arabic, as though arabic were a character in itself, is deeply emphatic, and her ability to flesh out the beauty of the dual is magical especially because it can so easily be corny. amazing work that is so simple and complex and loud and ridiculously quiet.
December 24, 2024
& what is a country but the drawing of a line i draw thick black
lines around my
eyes & they are a country & thick red lines around my lips & they
are a country
& the knife that chops the onions draws a smooth line through my
finger & that is a
country & the tightening denim presses a soft purple line into my
belly &
when i smile like my mother a line flashes between my two front
teeth & for every
country i lose i make another & i make another
lines around my
eyes & they are a country & thick red lines around my lips & they
are a country
& the knife that chops the onions draws a smooth line through my
finger & that is a
country & the tightening denim presses a soft purple line into my
belly &
when i smile like my mother a line flashes between my two front
teeth & for every
country i lose i make another & i make another
April 17, 2018
I occasionally go to a local poetry slam/open mic type of thing at a lounge nearby on Wednesdays, and on one of the random nights I decided to attend, Safia Elhillo was the featured poet. I hadn't heard of her before, hadn't researched her prior to attending, and hadn't even checked who would be performing. After the open mic portion, she came up and read a collection of selected works.
As soon as she said a word in Arabic I teared up because I. am. so. here. for WoC especially MUSLIM WoC honing their craft and speaking up.
As she went on I found my self straight up crying because her work is beautiful and quirky and thought-provoking and so so important all at the same time. I immediately went home and ordered The January Children on Amazon and followed her on all her social media. I've read this book several times, and I have it sitting on my coffee table to go back to certain pieces often and to show random people who come to my apartment bits of her work (including my dad who does not care for poetry at all and is in no way sentimental; and he loved it).
As soon as she said a word in Arabic I teared up because I. am. so. here. for WoC especially MUSLIM WoC honing their craft and speaking up.
As she went on I found my self straight up crying because her work is beautiful and quirky and thought-provoking and so so important all at the same time. I immediately went home and ordered The January Children on Amazon and followed her on all her social media. I've read this book several times, and I have it sitting on my coffee table to go back to certain pieces often and to show random people who come to my apartment bits of her work (including my dad who does not care for poetry at all and is in no way sentimental; and he loved it).
December 27, 2019
Reading Sofia Elhillo’s “The January Children” I thought about the ways poetry captures both personal and collective memory. These poems mythologize the experience of being from Sudan under colonial rule and immigrating to a country where memory remains real. Elhilo captures this in code-switching, fragmented thoughts, and ethereal language. “& in my mouth what exactly / i am nor named in the very first language....i mime....& hear only what i cannot speak...” These haunting poems are a searching for place and name. They give voice to the generation of Sudanese born under colonial rule who are all five January 1 as a birth date.
June 2, 2019
“Poetry is a political act because it involves telling the truth.” June Jordan.
The January Children is full of personal truths about identity, about rifts, about sense of place and about language. I loved learning about Elhillo's history, the appeal and racial politics Abdelhalim and his music, and engaging with her unwavering questions about who she is and how she is perceived in the world.
The poet disregards punctuations and structures her poems in unique ways so it might be tempting to dismiss this book. But I would caution against it because the poems themselves are striking.
The January Children is full of personal truths about identity, about rifts, about sense of place and about language. I loved learning about Elhillo's history, the appeal and racial politics Abdelhalim and his music, and engaging with her unwavering questions about who she is and how she is perceived in the world.
The poet disregards punctuations and structures her poems in unique ways so it might be tempting to dismiss this book. But I would caution against it because the poems themselves are striking.
November 23, 2024
3/7/19: I don't even know how to say which poems were my favorite because this whole collection is so incredible. I read a library copy but I plan to purchase this and reread it soon (kicking myself for not buying this when I saw her read last summer--everything she read then gave me chills, I should've known I'd need to own this).
January 5, 2024
A few things I love about this: elhillo plays with language translation and uses it as guiding questions in her pieces. Abdelhalim as a marker of a culture and something that has endured beyond her political country. I can’t not love musings about home.
This collection of poems feels like a mind map: we circle an idea a few times, and then we move away-but not too far.
This collection of poems feels like a mind map: we circle an idea a few times, and then we move away-but not too far.
May 30, 2018
This is a really fantastic collection centering on the British occupation of Sudan, about the navigation of borders and postcolonial space upon returning to a home one no longer recognizes or feels at home in.
June 4, 2018
After listening to her perform excerpts at Calabash I had to get this book and I read it all in one sitting. It's beautiful, powerful and magnetic.
March 24, 2021
You think you're unique then you read some poetry book and you find out someone else has been having all your thoughts.
March 30, 2024
the last time marvin gaye was heard in the sudan
at a party in omdourman . . . . lights strung among the date palms
my not-yet mother . . . . honey legs in a skirt . . . . opens her mouth
& the night air is the gap in her teeth
she sings in a lilting english to a slow song
while bodies around her pair off & press close
before he is my father . . . . my father smokes
a cigarette & shows all his teeth when he laughs
wants to ask the darkgold girl how her english got so good
what the words mean . . . . & could he sing
something sometime . . . . into the gap in her teeth
but first . . . . police arrive
rip lanterns from trees . . . . & fire a shot
through the final notes of the song . . . . & tonight
my parents do not meet.
Poetry is the intersection of form and content; great poetry is where content and form are integrated seamlessly. You can admire the content as well as the structure. Safia Elhillo's collection The January Children contains engrossing content--but the form is lacking. Elhillo examines her exile while reflecting on having no language, no home, and a subordinate racial identity. Her series of poems addressing the Egyptian heartthrob Adel Halim Hafez and how the Arabic language is often too fluid for accurate translation is enlightening and engrossing. Based on her content alone, her collection soars.
But the form is lacking. Consisting of no capital letters or pronunciation and a generous amount of empty space, there is nothing special about how the verse is structured. Much of the verse comes across as profound observations chopped into small sentences with spacing.
Still, I enjoyed Elhillo's collection. I will definitely read more and, hopefully, her craft will one day match her wonderful mind.
second quarantine with adelhalim hafez
the lyrics do not . . . . translate
arabic. . . . is all verbs. . . .for what
stays still. . . .in other languages
to morning what the
translation to awake cannot
honor. . . .cannot contain the rhyme
with to swim. . . . to make
the night. . . .a body of water
i am here now & I am not buoyant
i am twenty-four. . . .& always
sick. . . .small for my age & always
translating. . . . i cannot sleep
through the night
no language. . . .has given me
the rhyme. . . .between ocean &
wound. . . . . that i know to be true
sometimes. . . . . when the doctors
draw the blood . . . . . . . . . . . i feel
the word at the edge of my tongue
halim sings. . . . . . . .aghraq
i am drowning. . . . .i am drowning
the single word. . . . for all the water
in his throat. . . .does not translate
halim sings. . . .teach me to kill
the tear in its duct. . . . .halim sings
i have no experience. . . . . .in love
nor have i a boat. . . . .& i know he
cannot rest. . . . . . . . cannot swim
through the night
i am looking. . . . for a voice. . . . .with
a wound in it. . . . . .a man who could
only have died. . . . . . . .by a form of
drowning. . . . . .let the song take
its time. . . . . . . let the ocean close
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .back up
April 2, 2023
2023 Book Riot Read Harder challenge task # 20: Read a book of poetry by a BIPOC or queer author.
I read this book a while ago but what I remember most vividly about this poetry collection is that Safia Elhillo wrote so eloquently about complex and complicated issues such as colonialism, exile, identity, and navigating multigenerational relationships.
There's an in-depth exploration about identity, which is often tied to the notion of home and language. At times the narrarator self-admonishes herself, as seen in the poem titled to make use of water; "stupid girl / atlantic got your tongue". In another poem titled origin stories, the narrarator says "some things you lose to mark time / yes men of course but also some hair / handful of teeth / is what i am told but all i lost is language / but i keep quiet & no one can tell". She also writes that the generation that left Sudan "had daughters full of all the wrong language".
Elhillo's exploration of home and what that means for someone who straddles both east and west really hit me to my core. In the poem titled origin stories she writes, "my grandfather brings me the season's first mangoes & tells me it is time to come home / i fill my mouth & i do not answer". There are stanzas scattered throughout this poetry collection with hard hitting lines like: "home is / a name / maryland / is my / sudan" and "the generation that would leave / to make nostalgia of these nights / to hyphenate their children / & grow gnarled by / every winter" and "i can't go home with you / home is a place in time" and " last time i was home / a soldier stopped the car / asked where i was from / laughed when i said here". Elhillo clearly captures the pain, loss, confusion, and burden that one faces when occupying this in-between space. She also writes about the guilt, such as when the narrarator tells herself that "half don't even make it out or across / you get to be ungrateful / you get to be homesick / from safe inside your blue / american passport / do you even understand what was lost / to bring you here".
Finally, Elhillo's perspectives on navigating multigenerational relationships are also spot on. Overall, this was a wonderful poetry collection. I can't wait to check out more of Elhillo's works as well as her poetry performances.
I read this book a while ago but what I remember most vividly about this poetry collection is that Safia Elhillo wrote so eloquently about complex and complicated issues such as colonialism, exile, identity, and navigating multigenerational relationships.
There's an in-depth exploration about identity, which is often tied to the notion of home and language. At times the narrarator self-admonishes herself, as seen in the poem titled to make use of water; "stupid girl / atlantic got your tongue". In another poem titled origin stories, the narrarator says "some things you lose to mark time / yes men of course but also some hair / handful of teeth / is what i am told but all i lost is language / but i keep quiet & no one can tell". She also writes that the generation that left Sudan "had daughters full of all the wrong language".
Elhillo's exploration of home and what that means for someone who straddles both east and west really hit me to my core. In the poem titled origin stories she writes, "my grandfather brings me the season's first mangoes & tells me it is time to come home / i fill my mouth & i do not answer". There are stanzas scattered throughout this poetry collection with hard hitting lines like: "home is / a name / maryland / is my / sudan" and "the generation that would leave / to make nostalgia of these nights / to hyphenate their children / & grow gnarled by / every winter" and "i can't go home with you / home is a place in time" and " last time i was home / a soldier stopped the car / asked where i was from / laughed when i said here". Elhillo clearly captures the pain, loss, confusion, and burden that one faces when occupying this in-between space. She also writes about the guilt, such as when the narrarator tells herself that "half don't even make it out or across / you get to be ungrateful / you get to be homesick / from safe inside your blue / american passport / do you even understand what was lost / to bring you here".
Finally, Elhillo's perspectives on navigating multigenerational relationships are also spot on. Overall, this was a wonderful poetry collection. I can't wait to check out more of Elhillo's works as well as her poetry performances.
January 24, 2025
2.5
I was not particularly fond of the format but some parts touched my deepest form. However, it was not as relatable as I thought it would be.
fav quotes:
"today this is my country i say their names
& all the holes left behind shaped like blackgirls
& blackboys are lit up by hundreds of faraway stars
today i woke up & was not dead & tomorrow
might be different but tomorrow does not exist
so i hold my mother's hand & kiss the brown valley
between each knuckle"
"by the blood of the englishman
by the blood of the american who stole
my country my mother & did not pay her dowry"
"halim who who died in a hospital
in London spent seven hours in a coffin
on an airplane left behind two siblings & four
hundred thousand widows haunts the balcony
of every girl born brown & far away"
"if you had known the water was deep/ would you have set sail
if you had known love would leave a scar/ would you have loved"
"smell winter scorching the untouched nile
wash the sudan of red geography
i grew & my rift grew
& another sudan was missing"
"i get my languages mixed up i look for answers in what is only music
i heard the lyric about a lost girl i thought you meant me"
"& in my mouth what exactly
i am not named in the very first language i call arabic mother tongue
& mourn only that orphaning i mime
i name nubia & hear only what i cannot speak
i point to the body point to a pyramid & point to a spot on the map
& what is left is only water"
I was not particularly fond of the format but some parts touched my deepest form. However, it was not as relatable as I thought it would be.
fav quotes:
"today this is my country i say their names
& all the holes left behind shaped like blackgirls
& blackboys are lit up by hundreds of faraway stars
today i woke up & was not dead & tomorrow
might be different but tomorrow does not exist
so i hold my mother's hand & kiss the brown valley
between each knuckle"
"by the blood of the englishman
by the blood of the american who stole
my country my mother & did not pay her dowry"
"halim who who died in a hospital
in London spent seven hours in a coffin
on an airplane left behind two siblings & four
hundred thousand widows haunts the balcony
of every girl born brown & far away"
"if you had known the water was deep/ would you have set sail
if you had known love would leave a scar/ would you have loved"
"smell winter scorching the untouched nile
wash the sudan of red geography
i grew & my rift grew
& another sudan was missing"
"i get my languages mixed up i look for answers in what is only music
i heard the lyric about a lost girl i thought you meant me"
"& in my mouth what exactly
i am not named in the very first language i call arabic mother tongue
& mourn only that orphaning i mime
i name nubia & hear only what i cannot speak
i point to the body point to a pyramid & point to a spot on the map
& what is left is only water"
June 21, 2017
I am neither a poet nor a particularly frequent reader of poetry, so I can't say that this review will be too incisive.
What can I say about The January Children? First, it is beautiful, and it feels like home. Unlike Safia, I am neither black nor Sudanese, but I am Egyptian, the daughter of immigrants, and the themes of colonialism and diaspora resonated with me. Safia talks about the similarities that bind Egyptians and Sudanese and Nubians and the frequent racism and colorism that pulls us apart. She also spends a great many poems talking about Abdelhalim Hafez, probably the most popular and beloved Egyptian singer of all time. My childhood is so infused with memories of Abdelhalim Hafez that it was impossible not to feel that glow of nostalgia whenever he was brought up.
And now here is where I show that I am really not a poet: I didn't really...get the placement of everything? The way the lines were broken up, the way the poems were structured, only confused me. I'm not sure I really "got" everything the way I was meant to. I think the peculiar form of the poetry is what stopped me from really truly loving it. This collection definitely deserves a second read, however; it's a lot richer and denser than it may seem at first glance.
What can I say about The January Children? First, it is beautiful, and it feels like home. Unlike Safia, I am neither black nor Sudanese, but I am Egyptian, the daughter of immigrants, and the themes of colonialism and diaspora resonated with me. Safia talks about the similarities that bind Egyptians and Sudanese and Nubians and the frequent racism and colorism that pulls us apart. She also spends a great many poems talking about Abdelhalim Hafez, probably the most popular and beloved Egyptian singer of all time. My childhood is so infused with memories of Abdelhalim Hafez that it was impossible not to feel that glow of nostalgia whenever he was brought up.
And now here is where I show that I am really not a poet: I didn't really...get the placement of everything? The way the lines were broken up, the way the poems were structured, only confused me. I'm not sure I really "got" everything the way I was meant to. I think the peculiar form of the poetry is what stopped me from really truly loving it. This collection definitely deserves a second read, however; it's a lot richer and denser than it may seem at first glance.
September 22, 2024
There’s so much music in this book (yes I gave myself a mini education on Abdelhalim Hafiz while reading it). There’s so much family in this book—the feeling of our mothers and grandmothers braided into us from the very beginning, how their approvals and disapprovals are tattooed into our skin. There’s so much longing in this book—looking across a life, across borders, across to a country you aren’t in but belong in but are often not recognized in. There’s so many ways this book from a young Sudanese-American poet makes me understand better my old Polish-American dad whose boarding school experiences made him feel he had no place he truly belonged, no cultures that would claim him despite whatever claims he made for himself.
October 8, 2024
i didn’t like this one as much as i’ve liked her other collections, but i think this one played with arabic a lot more and that was the main barrier rather than something i hold against her. i loved the through line of dates and interviews with an egyptian pop star and thought that was a phenomenal vehicle for reflecting on herself through different lenses. this book made me understand more about colorism and specifically how it works in sudan, but without being didactic. nice!
March 25, 2019
A powerful book of poems by a Sudanese poet living in the US, exploring themes of place, home, identity, and the repercussions of injustice and displacement brought about by colonialism. Elhillo’s use of Arabic throughout the book reinforces the themes she explores by reminding readers that translation is a constant and deliberate action. Highly recommend also reading the foreword by Kwame Dawes.
April 18, 2017
" i get my languages mixed up i look for answers in what is only music
i heard the lyric about a lost girl i thought you meant me"
So many beautiful poems. You can't help but fall in love with the Sudan that Safia writes about.
i heard the lyric about a lost girl i thought you meant me"
So many beautiful poems. You can't help but fall in love with the Sudan that Safia writes about.
February 17, 2018
Haunting and lyrical, Elhillo writes for Sudanese people of the diaspora. As such, not all of her words were easy to understand, but that's because these poems were not for me. I still enjoyed their beauty and the glimpse at lives unlike my own.
July 11, 2022
This book is so good it inspired me to write a poem in the middle of it. Unbelievably real, touching, emotional, and honest. I love this book so much. It is clever and beautiful.
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