A Poet and Dilemma of Squeezing Water from Stone

Even without an academic background in poetry, Dike Chukwumerije has wormed his way into the industry’s consciousness as a leading Nigerian spoken-word and performance poet and author. This stood him in good stead for his recent role as one of the judges of this year’s edition of the NLNG-sponsored Nigeria Literature Prize, an experience he shares with Okechukwu Uwaezuoke

It appears that something else, possibly exhaustion, lurks behind that serene demeanour that is frequently thought to be the hallmark of great thinkers. That probably explains why Dike Chukwumerije’s demeanour seems to have an air of stoicism about it. Or, could it simply be his reaction to the oppressive sultriness of that sun-drenched Thursday afternoon? Given the circumstances, it is quite a commendable effort by the luminary of the Nigerian literary landscape, who until recently was one of the two non-ivory tower judges at this year’s Nigeria Literature Prize, to sit through the over-an-hour-long interview at the poolside bar of the Stratton Hotel in Abuja’s upmarket Asokoro neighbourhood.

Well, didn’t he recently sift through over 200 poetry collections—287 to be exact—to find a winner for the $100,000 literary prize, which rotates annually among the literary genres of prose fiction, poetry, drama, and children’s literature this year? This is even when the initial elimination process seems to have been made easier by the poor publishing and editorial quality of some of these poetry collections, which bordered mostly on grammatical errors, page numbering, and how amateurish they were.

Nonetheless, Chukwumerije is impressed by the sheer number of entries—the highest since the prize’s inception in 2004, according to the prize’s sponsors, Nigeria Liquified Natural Gas. This, he says, indicates the vibrancy of the Nigerian literary scene at the grassroots level. There was, for instance, the diversity of themes and styles, which made the judges’ tasks less monotonous. “So, you don’t just have one dominant theme with everybody writing about the same thing,” he recalls. “People are letting their imaginations run free and wild and coming at poetry in different ways. So, you have some that are writing in the traditional ways—stanza, verse, and all that—some people writing poetry in a prosaic way, some who are futuristic, some historical, some religious, and some non-religious.”

A quick rewind to his school years. He recalls a few themes, largely post-colonial in nature, being explored in poetry. “But now you have people writing poetry about everything. So, the ones that eventually made the cut were really impressive on account of the sheer diversity of their themes.”

Now came the hardest part of the judging process: deciding the eventual winner from the lot. And among the works that made the cut, many showed a lot of promise. Here was when it became obvious that being a judge was hard. Even selecting the 11 who made the long list turned out to be difficult, and many were the times the judges debated over their choices. There were times when a book had to be eliminated because it contained more errors than another. “Sometimes it comes down to that, editing errors, publishing errors, things like that… You have to find a reason for this one to advance over that one. So, many of the books showed great quality; you know, a lot of them, and I was impressed.”

Looking back, the celebrated Nigerian spoken word and performance artist shudders at the thought of having had to bear the burden of adjudication. “It was very difficult,” he confesses. “I don’t think I would want to be judged after this. It was very difficult because sometimes you have agonising moments because you know how everybody is desiring to win.”

Now that the choice of a winner has long since been made, he doubts the result would have been radically different even with a different set of judges. For instance, Romeo Oriogun’s Nomad, which eventually won the first prize, was a favourite throughout the judging process. The objective criteria of the process will likely make it certain to be picked by any set of judges. Then, of course, the judging process was so rigorous that even the judges had to explain why they liked a particular book and persuade their colleagues to support their decision. This usually came in the form of robust conversations and very heated debates. “So, in that sense, you can have one or two books that wouldn’t have come up with a different set of judges but would have with another set of judges.”

It’s not difficult to see why narrowing down the entries from 11 to three and then to the eventual winner seems so difficult. Any wonder why the 43-year-old likens the experience to squeezing water from a stone?

But the adjudication was not on poetry alone. The judges also chose a winner for the literary criticism prize, which was worth N1, 000,000. Apparently, most of the entries—over 90 per cent—had nothing to do with literary criticism. “People didn’t even read the requirements for this. Some even sent in poems and short stories. If you are entering a competition, make sure you know what it is about and what it requires of you.”

Then, there is also the problem of poor publishing quality, which Chukwumerije thinks needs to be addressed as a way of improving the quality of the prize. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to expect a publisher who wants to win $100,000 to invest in the publishing process. Here, he adds, the NLNG may need to intervene by introducing a kind of recognition for the best publisher, albeit in the form of a plaque. “Something that says, ‘We see you, we recognise you.’ It could even be a workshop for that publisher. But I have a feeling something is intervening in the publishing space.” 

He also calls for more recognition for the literary criticism prize, adding that there is too much disparity in the prizes. And talking about literary criticism, he adds that it is a very important part of the industry. “The industry cannot grow without a robust criticism sub-industry,” he argues. “I think that that sub-sector needs to be encouraged. Because you get quality writing when you have robust criticism. And then your writing is better ‘mined’ by society for academic purposes. It is also the critic that brings it up and shows you how it’s relevant to you and society. So that’s a sub-sector that I think the NLNG—if they so desire— can perhaps support a bit better.”

Then, there is the diversity in the composition of the members of the judging panel. Chukwumerije thinks it is an innovation that should be continued because literature is very diverse and dynamic. “You shouldn’t have just academics, you should also have practising creatives on the judging panel, and you should also try to reflect demographics like age, gender, and those sorts of considerations.”

Also, given the overwhelming number of entries, he warms up to the idea of a possible increase in the number of judges, even when he concedes that the decision is up to the organisers. This could be necessary whenever there are more entries than usual.

But then, aren’t there scenarios where a judge’s perception of poetry influences his or her preference for an entry? And would he, a very dedicated member of the Abuja Literary Society and a self-proclaimed socially conscious poet, favour an entry that aligns with his creative disposition? Not necessarily, he says, because there are other factors to consider, such as delivery and who the entry is competing against.

Trained as a lawyer, Chukwumerije never studied literature beyond secondary school, nor is he a “serial attendee” of creative writing workshops. Yet the Nigerian spoken-word and performance poet and author of eight books is unarguably one of the leading figures in the contemporary Nigerian literary scene.