Theory of Shouting

A word in the first place is a noise,

Says Le Guin, and Touam Bona, Hartman,

& Césaire agree, speaking of a different

Form of communication,

One happening beneath feet,

& at the same time in air.

I feel it now, despite, because of,

This physics of wandering,

You and I in liana theory.

I shout in the street on Briggate at the bus stop,

On the bus to Roundhay, even in the white church, IIIII

Pentecostal rastaman,

Peter Tosh-esque,

Forgot a shout in Downtown & Parade

& ah going back to find it.

Imagine Mahalia slapping hands &

The clap’s material force

Causes the air itself to buckle,

Pulling something out of the ground

& from the people—whole congregation churning,

Squirming, whole song dipping YESSS! & back.

Can you understand this kind

Of asking of the world? The one I’m recalling

Now for you, shoals of uncatchable minnows?

This kind of loud and secret asking. You’re

Just beside me, outside me,

& yet you just can’t

Find me.

Notes:

This poem is part of the folio “Freed Verse: A Reckoning of Black British Poets.” Read the rest of the folio in the September 2025 issue.

Source: Poetry (September 2025)