I was born in Lagos, Nigeria, the first of three. I have a sister who’s a year younger than me, and a brother who’s five years younger. My main memories of growing up are of my brother, my sister, my mum and school. Many of my friends from secondary school feel like my relatives today. At the time when I grew up, you were still allowed to play in the street, so I remember the friends I made on the street playing football and stuff like that.
When I was 16 I got a scholarship to study in Ireland. The first place I lived was Tralee. I landed in Dublin and thought Tralee must be another city, not far away. And it was this 4½-hour journey all the way down to the edge of Ireland.
My first impression was there were a lot fewer people. I had come from a city of 20 million. [There were several of us from Nigeria], and as a group of black kids, it was kind of odd walking the streets. We got a lot of looks. The college itself was nice. The programme was specifically for people who had come from abroad – a kind of transitional year. You had people from Saudi Arabia, Dubai, other African students, a good mix of people. But it was a huge cultural shock. I didn’t know how to cook at the time. I would go to the salad bar in Dunnes and fill up €5 worth, and that would pretty much be dinner every day.
After Tralee I studied pharmacy for four years at University College Cork. That was great fun. There were a lot more people. I met a lot of friends. The classes had more white Irish as well so that was when I actually started to integrate – it was very interesting. I would say if there’s a place in Ireland I started to become Irish, it would be Cork, especially because Cork has this deep tribal history.
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The very beginnings of spoken word poetry for me were through rap. I would rap with my friends in secondary school. I would rap in my room and record it and put it on Facebook. Then I found a spoken-word group on YouTube called P4CM, and another one called Striver’s Row. I remember being so fascinated. I used to listen to them every day. I knew this is what I’d love to do; this is a lot more freeing than rap – a lot more expressive, and relaxed and chilled.
When I moved to Dublin in 2016, I found Circle Sessions and Slam Sundays spoken word events. The first time I ever performed was a Slam Sunday. The whole day, I was rehearsing my lines. I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I came second my very first time performing. I was hooked then. I would do monthly slams in Filmbase in Temple Bar.
I started to meet more people through poetry. I met FeliSpeaks. I met Emmet O’Brien. I set up a collective, WeAreGriot. More gigs, more opportunities, more commissions started to come along. My friends were putting on shows. It became a career.
One of the very first poems I wrote when I first moved to Ireland was Lantern Smoke. It’s about a period of struggle – of trying to deal with the distance from your loved ones, trying to deal with the cultural distance. There are a lot of feelings of loneliness and sadness around that. I performed it at the Children’s Books Ireland Awards about two years ago, and someone from Gill Books came up to me afterwards and said she loved the poem and would love to turn it into a children’s book. I was like wow, yes. And that’s how Lantern Smoke, the picture book, came about.
The best thing about Ireland is that family and community is important. When I worked in a pharmacy in Dublin there were a lot of people I’d known for such a long time. It was such a close-knit community.
But on the other side of the coin, because Irish culture is based in family and community, it can feel like everyone who isn’t quite Irish or didn’t grow up like you did, isn’t a part of your family, isn’t a part of your culture. With the anti-immigration marches going on, obviously there’s a variety of factors behind them, but I think at the core is that sense: “Ireland is a place for the Irish.” When you hear that, you might think about your identity and your culture, but for me, when I hear that, I assume it’s coming from someone who’s full of aggression.
I’ve lived in Ireland for 15 years. I got married in 2022. We had our son in 2023, and we bought a house in Portlaoise at the end of 2023. I’ve been living there since, so I’m a Laois man now.
I think there is a respect that is given to poets in Ireland. There is a tradition of the spoken and written word. Having said that, I think it’s hard not to feel restricted by what is possible with traditional poetry, even with spoken word. A lot of performing poets end up doing a variety of other things. I’m also a film writer, a director, because it’s the only way to survive as an artist. But I remember going to a grand slam a few years ago, and there must have been 200 or 300 people in the room. You do get the audiences for a good poetry night, you really do.
In conversation with Niamh Donnelly. This interview is part of a series about well-known people’s lives and relationship with Ireland. Lantern Smoke by Dagogo Hart is published by Gill
