NEVER MARRY A WRITER

A snarky and brooding collection from a veteran poet.

Akinyemi’s seventh poetry collection presents cynical and sarcastic observations about social and political life. The poems—some in free verse, others rhymed and metered—are sorted into three sections: “Writing People,” “Writing the Writer,” and “Writing the World.” The works are preoccupied with toxic, painful relationships between spouses and families, pastors and religious believers, communities and politicians—with particularly bitter words for what the poet characterizes as Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari’s “meaningless change.” Poisonous communication styles come to the fore in the multipart titular poem, whose main characters take turns objectifying and hurting one another: Akinyemi rhymes abuse and muse and compares a partner’s sayings to spider poison. The author’s gaze sweeps across TV screens and internet browsers, condemning Instagram and the “venom” of “fake news.” He also conjures cultural environments, including scenes in Nigeria (he remembers “Grandma’s Red Soup” and the texture of garri-ijebu flour) and Great Britain, where racism simmers and an accent is “a spoiler alert…my origin wrapped / in eggshells.” Despite Akinyemi’s sardonic tones, some poems effectively give readers the sense that he’s advocating for sincerity. In one poem, two “imperfect people hunt for perfect partners” and ultimately work toward a resolution: “we laid our imperfections bare on the dinner table, / found closure and gave it another go.” At times, the poems feel self-important and overly dramatic, as when one speaker derides his “favour-hungry friends” for comparing him to writer Wole Soyinka even as he bemoans his own “untapped talent.” Still other poems expressively note that redemption can be found in prayer, “the school of life,” or the act of writing itself. One poem, for instance, asserts that writing is a cleansing act: “a writer is a laundry man— / he will wash your dirty laundry without a fuss.” Just in case, though, the speaker also preempts attacks on his own imperfections: “don’t be that bibliophile who is on the hunt for errors…let the love that beamed through these pages erase my scars.”

Bold, wry, and lyrical musings.