Book Review – ‘I Am Nobody’s Nigger’ – Dean Atta [The Westbourne Press]

From the outset, the forces driving I Am Nobody’s Nigger are clear for all to see. Described as a collection of perspectives on race, sexuality and London life, Dean Atta’s style is direct, honest, vivid, and at times brutal. These thirty-five poems span a wide range of ‘current’ issues, which are sure to be empathised with by anyone who has ever been 17. The infamous London Riots of 2011, sexual promiscuity, the eternal dilemma of ‘love/love lost’, and mental health are just some of the key ones that Atta draws in to focus.

Perusing the contents page, Atta’s honesty leaks from the page: ‘Young, Black and Gay’, ‘Therapy’, and ‘Matters of the Heart’ are amongst the most thought provoking. Just flicking through several pages and you’ll see that there are as many writing styles are there are issues. Each is unique, moving through an infinite variety of sentence lengths and stanza sizes, giving the collection a sense of pace that runs parallel to the ebbs and tides of emotive and sexual energy running constantly.
Opener ‘Forty Things I Never Said’ runs like a tap, releasing a current of contrasts that define Atta’s personality and mentality through negative space:

“I always wished I grew up on an estate
I wish I were straight
I don’t like to read
I wish I was white
I think most poetry is shit
I always wanted to be an emcee.”
-Forty Things I Never Said
Pages 7-8

The collection begins at its most societal: ‘Young, Black and Gay’, ‘Revolution’, ‘Fatherless Nation’, and ‘Therapy’ all display Atta as an extrovert, staring down the barrel of society’s gun and offering up: ‘Me nah wait for your recognition/Me jus fire upon you with verbal ammunition’. ‘Revolution’ is point-blank poetry, snarling almost as it tears through youth, freedom, community, and imploring you to listen to the wisdom of your elders. Whilst ‘Fatherless Nation’ reads rawer than any Tyler the Creator lyric about vacant fathers ever has, again in its honest, and also in its defiance to be better than the generation before.

These beginning poems are by far the strongest, ringing the most empathetically as you see in his words the issues that affect people right now, in this day and age, in a city called London. Half way through the collection, after a series of more introvert and personal poems, ‘Smash and Grab’ ups the pace in a distant recount of the riots. In Cyprus at the time, and removed from the digital dialogue of the Internet, Atta’s account is detached but far from impersonal. He sees that the blame is on everyone, not just the rioters themselves, for “What’s truly criminal is the neglect / With which we have raised these children”:

“We have raised these children. We can’t just blame
The parents, social media, the police or politicians
In a way, I was glad to see our young realised
Their power that hot night, even if only in destruction”
-Smash and Grab
Pages 40-42

Much of what follows after returns to the introvert, split between the struggle of love and lust. Regaled with stories of one night stands, love lost, flings, and flirts, the way to Atta’s heart is clearly left bare; however, the levels of empathy that are felt when reading through the poems of society-charged angst are not to be found here. The pace is slower, certainly, and the use of words remains brilliant throughout, but one can’t help feeling that perhaps Atta’s true talent is in observing what is outside, not what is inside.

There are, as always, some key distinctions, especially in the case of ‘Keys to the City’, which showcases the perfect blend of looking both outside and in. The narrative, running across six pages, recounts the story of John, left to the streets with only the memory of his love for company. As he tries to find her he falls to demanding money from Dean, who goes through the same contemptible thought process that we all go through: he judges John for no reason. Dean refuses to give money but offers food instead, whereby, not satisfied, John walks on driven by desperation to commit the sort of act worthy of a Daily Mail headline. Yet it would be a shame to give too much away as the story, whilst brutal, is clearly recognisable, and in itself is worth the price of the book alone.

I Am Nobody’s Nigger is a clever, diverse, and deeply interesting collection of poems from a poet with a knowledgeable view of the world, seen direct from the streets of London and recounted honestly. This is twenty-first century poetry, accessible and understandable to anyone with the sorts of digital identities that we nowadays collect like we once did Pokémon cards. Atta is insightful, frank, and concise, and this book shouldn’t sit uneasily against the classicist poetry in any collection. Or perhaps it should be the start of your collection.

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