“When my ancestors come to greet me
At the outskirts of the other world,
I will be carrying in my hands, all the bags
Of leaves the wind has brought me
From my neighbor’s yard

When I cross over the threshold into the other
World, my ancestors will wonder
What it is I am carrying.”

(A fragment by Patricia Jabbeh Wesley)

What we carry, what binds us as poets, is the responsibility for our traditions. The importance of passing on traditions and making younger generations aware of the shoulders they stand on.

The responsibility of a poet is also to document and to archive. To be the chroniclers of our time. To say something meaningful about the world. The Poet Laureate of Barbados, Esther Phillips, says that in her country they are still searching for the bones of enslaved ancestors.

“There will come a time when we
find the burial grounds of our ancestors.
Let us, on those days, be silent –

The bones of truth will speak.

Mutilated, torn, splintered, broken,
these bones will tell us more than history
books or archives written before the darkness.”

Poetry in this time may well be about the bones we are still searching for. That we could discover at any moment. That we have just uncovered. And that tell us more than the history books.

The laureates and legends from various countries who have gathered here have taken it upon themselves to capture the spirit of the people, to challenge a specific national image, to question the status quo. And at the same time, to make people feel through their poetry.

The true challenge for poets is to be the chroniclers of our time. To counter the disappearance of memory, the erasure of histories. Like the history of Ukraine, preserved and protected by poets. Like the war in Liberia, recorded in the verses of its poets.

As long as there are wars, dictatorships, religious extremism, and social, racial, and gender injustice, poetry remains a necessity we simply cannot do without. Not only in terms of political engagement, as a form of soft power against hard power, but also in terms of the comfort and joy poetry brings to the reader or listener.

We see language shift in times of catastrophe. Metaphors fall away. Sometimes the times call for clearer, more realistic language than poetic language. But one piece of advice echoes through: do not lose sight of the beauty of art while writing about pain!

Thanks to what we now call the democratization of poetry, we no longer need institutions as much. We see a younger generation creating their own institutions, founding their own publishing houses and festivals. The establishment is, of course, still there for a reason, but it is no longer fundamental to succeed as a poet. This offers a landscape with more perspectives, more voices. It challenges the notions of what poetry is. It fosters more forms and celebrates multiplicity and diversity.

But even within the establishment, something is changing. Where the gatekeepers once mainly kept the gates shut, they now also listen with new ears, read with new eyes, and just as often open those gates. Ideas about what poetry is, are often related to traditional values, when poetry mainly happened around campfires, in temples and theaters. If you now want to vogue with it, dance with it, sing with it—then that too is poetry.

To combat the danger of forgetting, publishing remains important. And of course, it is also crucial for visibility. The Poet Laureate of Jamaica, Kwame Dawes, is partly responsible for publishing 150 African poets in the past 20 years. Before that, the West had little idea of African poets or those writing in the diaspora. It’s not that they didn’t exist—of course not! —, they simply weren’t being published. Just think about the absence of those 200 poets. Like bones that have not yet been found. 

Poets in the diaspora know how important it is to grow up with the voices of familiar poets—poets from your own community. Some of us, far from our ancestors’ homeland, admitted that in our younger years we would sometimes type “black poets” into Google. But thanks to the efforts of recent decades, that is no longer necessary.

Every country in the world should appoint a Poet Laureate. To convince governments of the importance of poetic storytellers for a nation. Because poets think about the lives, the experiences of a people. Because a cultural archive can thus be created. Because it brings attention to keeping languages alive – like Maltese. As chroniclers of this time. And whether you're writing a love poem, a poem about shoes, about ice cream, or about war: write with the sentiment of our time. Even with themes from laureates of times past, who wrote for coronations or about the beginning of spring: write them in today’s context, with the sentiment of now. Because a poem about spring, which now begins three times a year, is a political poem. But isn’t everything political once the poet opens their mouth?

An inevitable question: do we need to fear, as poets, this age of technology? What about AI and ChatGPT? There is a little fear, yes—but poetry remains something between people, and artificial intelligence cannot compete with that. AI can only produce something artificial. Are we sure about that? Yes, some poets are certain: poetry created by technology will never move you to tears.

Is there still the danger that we’re preaching to the choir? No, because the choir is not homogeneous. The parish is not one. Nor are the poets. Poetry is about individuals. Each individual sees the world in their own way.

To sustain a future generation of poets, we must also combat illiteracy. There needs to be more reading. By youth, and by poets too. Read, read, read—this is the advice echoing through every hall. Read each other, read everything you can get your hands on. And not less important: listen, listen. And write. About everything. About each other, about the other, about Grace Jones, about spring, about queer joy. Don’t lose sight of the beauty of art while writing about pain. Write for the ancestors, for the descendants. Carry on the traditions and express them. Create space for younger generations where they can be heard, where their own voice can be safeguarded, where dancing is allowed, where poetry is celebrated, where a community can be found, where the canon makes room for other, non-dominant languages. Poetry will remain resilient for the future if we continue to wonder and ask questions. Keep digging for the bones, let the bones speak. Our lives depend on it.

Thank you to all the poets for your poems and perspectives!