Grace Larkin
English PEN
London, England
A few weeks ago, English PEN hosted an event to celebrate Brave New Voices, a program celebrating multilingualism, translation, and creativity. Every year, PEN runs eight writing workshops for young refugees, asylum seekers, and migrants living in Greater London. English PEN then publishes an anthology of writing by the participants who range in age from around 12 to 26.
The program not only fosters a love of poetry and reading but also helps these students work with the English language (which many participants are only in the first stages of learning) to produce incredibly beautiful and profound work, even from the youngest kids. This was a really inspiring thing to see.
Joseph Harris, one of the workshop facilitators, said in his introduction to this year’s anthology that every session reminds him of why he became an English teacher and that he’ll never forget one young woman moving a room to tears with a poem about her grandmother.
At the event, the participants read poems they had written during the program. Some were about looking for a safer life in London and trying to find their place here. Many praised the beauty of their home and native language, for example: “My mother’s tongue/My first language/My red rose/The calm to my storm/Albanian, the language/To which I’m bonded” [1].
Some wrote descriptions of their countries—the food, the culture, and the traditions in everyday life: “My name is poetry/It is my father calling over and over/ When my father sits outside he listens to the sound of rain and the Quran” [2].
Many also talked about family they had left behind and uncertain futures: “No one knows what life will bring for us/And for a little girl who has left all her belongings in her house/With family and friends/Will she cuddle her lovely mum again?” [3].
There were many poems about the struggle of moving away from home or getting refugee status or feeling lost: “We are our own father/Finding a lawyer on arrival/And providing a video/To be accepted/We are our own mother, coping with the same clothes every day/Patiently waiting for the decision to be welcome/Meanwhile afraid to be rejected, and at risk to be detained/No hope, no dignity left in our bodies and souls/We lost the courage/We can no longer carry on, we fall back, starting from zero” [4].
[1] from the poem, “My Language,” by Anisa Shrika
[2] from “My Father in the Name” by Aliya Salat
[3] from “Smile” by Pegah Kermani
[4] from “A Word” by Sandra Mbala