Birds Don’t Fly for Pleasure by Táíwò Hassan

Grateful acknowledgment is made to the editors of the following publications, in which these poems originally appeared, sometimes in earlier forms: “This Is How We Mourn You, Kẹ́hìńdé,” Second Skin Mag; “dear brother,” Olney Magazine; “A Letter to My Sister,” Praxis Magazine for Arts and Literature; “A Testament of Bloom,” Uncanny Magazine; “Ẹdúnjobí: A Love Letter” and “When I Say I Love You,” Ice Floe Press; “On Treading Through The Women In Me,” Lucent Dreaming; “i’m here, mother, i’m here,” Nigerian NewsDirect; “Nostalgia,” Sledgehammer Press; “Thirteen Ways of Looking at My Mother’s Radio,” Dust Poetry Magazine; “Salat,” Imam Collective.

The poem “some boys don’t wear colours of the wind” was the first runner-up in the Tenth Anniversary Poetry Competion held by Mentally Aware Nigeria Initiative (MANI) and was published online at www.project-covid.ng.

“In his debut chapbook Táíwò Hassan makes ‘the invisible string we’ve always held on to’—that is, Kẹ́hìǹdé, his twin, whose death is a chief reason for the weaving of this trembling flame, and himself—visible, so that we can be partakers of his grief; but also of his beauty. This poet knows and shows that beauty is possible even in a throbbing wound. At turns fierce, always burning, the wonder lies however in how Hassan sings— and the music here is delightful—pain so tenderly, and how his grief finds expression in all things. There’s a ‘Coffee’ poem that is more than the sum of its parts: ‘a look at these/ foams and i hear seagulls singing a dirge.// a graveyard black bliss two creams flowerbeds & sugar. . ./ the kettle hums in whistles, my nose catches a whiff/ of God, this body finds the right note & a ceremony of names/ begin.’ We hear in his singing the women who have molded him, whom he loves deeply—his mother, sometimes his sister—and though the blade sings here too, he finds warmth and comfort in ‘souvenirs of affection.’ This poetry is steeped in the Yorùbá tradition. Birds may not fly for pleasure, yes, but tenderness, Hassan plays, is what gets them off the ground and makes their wings move; and maybe, maybe if they move enough one day they will know pleasure, and reckon with beauty. Here is a grave that houses ‘guilt and wonder.’ Welcome; have a seat.”

— Ernest O. Ògúnyẹmí, Assistant Editor of COUNTERCLOCK Journal

“Birds Don’t Fly for Pleasure is simply a riveting constellation of emotions documented with tender language. Poet and vocalist, Táíwò Hassan acknowledges the existence of bodies, pain, grief and love as an interplay between flight, The self, nostalgia and family. This collection is a handbook for survival as language is used as a rite of passage to explore identity, solace and a kind of fondness that takes only courage to confront. Hassan uses simple words in truth to mirror the yearning and morphing of the soul above and beyond fears and into hope. You will read this book with your heart in your hands.”

— Roseline Mgbodichinma, Fiction Contributing Editor of Barren Magazine

“When I say that Birds Don’t Fly for Pleasure is a book of mourning, I don’t mean that the poems are dressed in black; these poems burst with fires and sun, butterflies and blood. These poems will sit with you over ginger tea to talk about mothers and brothers, or they’ll forget you’re even present and talk directly to the absent loved ones instead: ‘a whiff of you and i stretch into everything / that carries guilt and regrets and hope,’ Táíwò Hassan writes in “Lagos Boy.” What a gorgeous and moving debut!”

—Katie Manning, author of Tasty Other and 28,065 Nights

“Táíwò Hassan, in this impressive collection, dives into the murky waters of memory. Fetching out a fistful of verses, the chapbook offers songs of grief and loss, dirges mourning what once flourished in the poet’s growing heart: joy. But that boyish joy, like a toddler’s tooth, has departed with age. Cast, now, over the poet’s mature heart is a depression stubborn, unwilling to weaken and fade. His experiences with loss leave holes, hollows where the absence echoes. Guided by the fluid, engaging language and images, which reflect the poet’s painterly abilities, we also wade through family photographs, witnessing bits of maternal love and the firm bond of blood. Placing these few moments of tenderness among the larger body of the work proves, perhaps, that the ability to appreciate beauty is still present, unhampered by the obvious gloom. Birds Don’t Fly for Pleasure is a chronicle of a poet’s journey towards metamorphosis. Somehow—even with the stain and linger of perpetual sorrow, the dark river of trauma—a light is present. There is still a hunger of the body to stumble on joy despite the insecurities and anxiety seeking to cripple it. We learn that regardless of every ache, Hassan never forgets to end with hope.”

—Samuel A. Adeyemi, author of Heaven is a Metaphor