So what’s a nice girl like me doing in a posh boys’ school? A year ago I was contacted by Roland Martin, one of the English staff at Eton, to give a performance followed by a Q&A at the Eton Summer School. This annual event invites bright A-level candidates to enhance their learning and enable them to gain places in top universities. I jumped at the chance. For the past four years I’ve been a part-time lecturer in creative writing. I currently teach at the University of Kent at Canterbury. I’ve previously delivered workshops in a wide range of comprehensive schools. Most schools target Year 10, kids beginning their GCSEs and who are predominantly disillusioned with poetry. I rarely had the opportunity to engage with sixth-formers who fall between these two camps. I’m also friendly with some ex-Etonians and was curious to see what it was like.
I arrived in Eton that hot July day, denim-clad and in high spirits. I could remember what it was like when I did my A levels, my passion for English literature, a passion that opened the door to read English at Pembroke College, Oxford. That passion was mirrored in the faces of my audience, students and staff alike. My performance, which ranged from a rap celebrating the oral tradition to a sonnet dedicated to the literary, was ecstatically applauded. The subsequent questions reminded me that I didn’t always have to preach to the unconverted. Preaching to the converted is good for the soul. I met most of the English department and warmed to them instantly. When the head of English, Jeffrey Branch, asked if I’d consider being Poet-in-residence in 2005, my gut reaction was “Yes, please!”
My own beginnings as a poet came at school. I remember vividly my first meeting with The Wife of Bath — she had five husbands, broad hips and a gap-toothed smile. When she came to tell her tale, she spent more time revealing her chequered life story than the story itself. How could an A-level student resist? I’d written poetry regularly since the age of 14 — not your angst-ridden Plath-inspired free verse. No. My poems were song-like, always rhymed and often in the voices of my peers — mods and soulies who enhanced the North Wales coast with their sharp suits and slick spins. So when I was introduced to Chaucer’s 29 pilgrims, a hobby became an obsession. I wrote thousands of rhyming couplets on an ancient typewriter celebrating every youth cult of the early 1980s.
The Canterbury Tales opened a door in my head years before I had the privilege of working with the performance poetry promoters Apples & Snakes, before I knew about the performance poetry scene, even what performance poetry was. It wasn’t just its three- dimensional characters, it was the concept of entertaining with poetry. And what’s more, in The Canterbury Tales, the teller of the best tale would receive a free supper as a prize. It wasn’t just performance poetry, it was a live poetry competition, a poetry slam.
My three-week stint as Poet-in-residence at Eton College will culminate in two poetry slams, one for lower and one for upper school. The modern poetry slam, which originated in Chicago, is a lively evening of entertainment. At informal slams, three judges are picked randomly from the audience who assess (in marks out of ten) literary content, performance technique and audience response. There are three rounds, the climax of which is a head-to-head between the winner and the runner-up. In my experience, poetry slams are poetry readings with an edge. It will be a first for Eton.
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The boys will also meet The Wife of Bafa, my Nigerian incarnation of The Wife of Bath, experience a wide range of poetry on video, CD, the Underground and human skin. They will debate issues such as “stage” versus “page” poetry, the Petrarchan versus the Shakepearean sonnet, formal versus free verse. I aim to facilitate their writing. Some boys will see their work published in a pamphlet: some will perform. Some will do both.
Any poet who has worked in a school will understand that the greatest challenge is inspiring the teachers. If the teachers have knowledge and enthusiasm for your work, the visit is a success. If not, you walk into a classroom cold and leave wondering whether it’s worth repeating the challenge.
There’s also the issue of duration. Poets are often asked to do a day in a school incorporating an assembly and three to five different classes. The school gets their money’s worth and you have a fulfilling experience. However, after several years you yearn for long-term contact with the pupils: you want to see them develop over time. I’ve now had the privilege of working on several longer-term school projects and am looking forward to this one.
My recent appointment at Eton — “But you’re a bold, black, subversive, female performance poet and they’re the bastion of the male establishment!” — has challenged the status quo. There’s no question that most Eton pupils are from highly privileged backgrounds and the school harbours the intellectual elite. And I don’t deny that my trademark is poetry with an edge, accessible to all whether I’m writing a rap or a sestina. But maybe that’s the point. I’ve never made distinctions about my audience and I love that poetry can reach across cultural divides. Eton has never had anyone like me in the post and I have lots of creative and challenging ideas to offer. They’ve opened the door and I’m stepping in.
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Patience Agbabi will be performing as part of the Africa 2005 series at the Purcell Room, South Bank Centre, London SE1, on April 7