I do not see how it is possible to live in Nigeria or be Nigerian and write art for art’s sake. I think a poet should be the voice of her society. It… - Toyin Adewale-Gabriel

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I do not see how it is possible to live in Nigeria or be Nigerian and write art for art’s sake. I think a poet should be the voice of her society. It has been so from ancient times. Contemporary Nigerian poetry still reflects the pulse of the society, the disappointment with our poor leadership and a voice for the common man. There is a lot more innovation now, the use of multimedia, fusing music and drama, a marriage of the arts. Admirable efforts to actually make a living from writing.

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About Toyin Adewale-Gabriel

Toyin Adewale-Gabriel (born 1969) is a Nigerian writer. She writes poetry and has worked as a literary critic for The Guardian, Post Express and The Daily Times. Adewale-Gabriel writes in both English and in German. Born in Ibadan, Nigeria, Toyin received her M.A. Lit. degree from Obafemi Awolowo University. She was the co-founder and coordinator for several years of the Association of Writers of Nigeria

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Alternative Names: Toyin Adewale
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Additional quotes by Toyin Adewale-Gabriel

I was working with the poems as visual imagery, how it impacts the reader on paper and how it can be read in different directions with various layers of meaning, reflecting the many-sidedness, the enigma that an individual is. I think, often times, the poem decides how it wants to take life. Sometimes, you try to develop it in a certain direction and you see that’s not working, so you just let it be.

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Song of a first born daughter to the beats of gangan.
I am the first fruit of your loins.
Seasoned with grace.
Seasoned with salt.
I stride to drumbeats.
Flywhisks attend my hands.
Like anklets of brass, joy encircles.
I am the consolation,
born for the day of affliction.
I am the vigour,
the virgin seed,
roosting under coverlets of aso-oke.
Down the winding road, I nurture the handkerchiefs
for champions who cry...
Behold the daughter,
your blessed harvest.
Your basket of plump yams.
Your scented one.

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