Shirley May is the author of She Wrote Her Own Eulogy and a revered figure in the UK’s spoken word scene.
Photographer: Nicole May
Shirley May is a first-generation Black British poet hailing from the Jamaican diaspora and a proud Mancunian. As a member of the Royal Society of Literature and a Fellow at Manchester Metropolitan University, she crafts evocative verses and leads as the CEO and Artistic Director of Young Identity. In this role, she mentors the city's youth, inspiring them to find their voices through poetry and performance. Her debut album, Rainfall encapsulates the essence of poetry to music. Shirley’s book, She Wrote Her Own Eulogy, is a profound blend of wisdom, memory, future, and hope. Blazing with emotion and challenging all the senses, this life-affirming collection demands to be read. Shirley’s poetic prowess can also be found in numerous poetry anthologies.
She was at the fore forefront
First published in the Guardian newspaper in the UK looking at the link between the slave trade is a part of a series in the newspaper about Manchester's forgotten activist it's apart of Cotton Capital look at the new papers link the transatlantic slave trade. Dedicated to Eloise Edwards MBE
1932 a birth date.
The forest awakes, to bird song.
de Komfa-man said ‘find you a hoatzin’s feather,
when born you a grilchlild’.
Good luck will follow she.
when nature's life electrifies air
and the trade wind blows.
Good luck will follow she.
Six years later, a daughter loses a mother,
It did not follow her there
Instead eternal was the banishing.
A stinking.
she learns resilience is living.
A convent school teaching,
Father’s love on frequent visits was home.
Marriage a cathedral, in Georgetown in 55.
It was easy to love this man with ambition.
Their love was unrestrained, provocative even.
The Komfa-woman said ‘Place a feather from a hoatzin bird
on the lintel of your door way and good luck will follow you.
The ancient will protect you, as you seek answers to love,
in a ugly world, where Mississippi was burning,
love made three children and the trade wind called
she to England, part of a new diaspora.
She arrived carrying a grip filled with expectation
and hoatzin feather and longing for Guyana.
Trinkets of gold given by her father
Lockett with, She mothers photograph,
Moss Side she destination. She was not ready
for the levels of the cold she would encounter in England.
The signs in the windows of houses
said not welcome. Go home.
Assassinations a killing field an unaudited
litany of names, rivers of blood. A putting down
of a revolution televised a jagged edge sword.
Komfa-man said ‘Place a feather of the hoatzin’s bird
on your mantle prepare she for battle,’
rooted an activist did Arise
Sempre Veritas (Always the Truth)
Sempre Veritas (Always the Truth) commissioned by the Imperial war museum in the UK, celebrating 75 years of HMT Empire Windrush and Caribbean soldiers who fought in the second world war.
They came from islands small,
It was a part of their blueprint. Churched men and women,
They were water coconut, white rum and Saturday soup contentment.
River people from Constitution, Wag water-rise, and Long Pond.
Whose distant origins held fast to stories from Ghana's Ashanti
they taught them to overstand.
They were Black was the Berries, sweet was the juice
Empire's shadow and emancipation's grace and truth.
They were Christmas carnivals, a nation of many, yet one people.
More than 10,000 souls their destination, UK
For valour and glory, they came. To a land unready
for their resplendent Sacrifice that could War down the strongest,
Some camped in Filey for a while. This new vanguard,
with overcoats and blankets to bear winter's harsh,
Some were excited to see the snow on the northern plains
no home comforts for twelve distinguished Bajan sons, and the daughters
They heard the call to duty, first as ground crew volunteers,
Yet willing to burn bright as boomer pilots if given half a chance
Sacrificial lambs, as they served and survived in the army, navy, and RAF,
willing to be the first to taste the bitter pill while taking to the skies,
Amongst the volunteers were Engine room labourers, clerks,
nurses, kitchen hands, and farmers willing to work on war-torn land.
they crossed oceans deep to face racism and prejudice.
Yet they remained pioneers, filled with pride for the arms of a mother.
They held up at standard. Those who came from the Caribbean
when they heard a call for unity.
They brought the vitality of youth, and the wisdom of time.
Some met a fate as casualties, others victorious adventures,
Black was the Berries sweet was not this bruise, yet principled to the end, they marched for triumphal stories mixed with laughter, aspirational dreams,
Those left behind will sing a praise song for souls lost to the long stillness
Life's changes wouldn’t dim their remembering for so many curious minds.
Those who came from Ten thousand splendid sons and daughters.
Whose names we shall not forget.
Alkebulan
Teach me the ways of the Queens
and kings of our ancestral lineage.
I know the spring that wells from them,
It’s one of worth and a watching,
a welcome,
a wonderment,
of the wondering.
It comes from Oshun,
Yemọja,
Mami Wata,
Takhar and Shango.
Those who wield infinitely the weight of Gods,
Provide the life force to life.
In them are love and liberty, loyalty,
acknowledgement.
My offering at your table is one
Of a seeker, of scholarship and philosophy
of the soothsayer waiting,
so I might know the ways of Queens
and kings,
those who live in our past
and divine our future.
Belonging belongs to us.
Veiled Spirit
When we turn,
the heart turns with you.
It’s that understanding
that makes you flee,
the black hole of accumulating vicious talk.
Recognising pestilence
and the locusts that devour fields of truth,
leaving no substance, only their lies.
Coruscating light, diffused into fatigue,
stress, squeezing life from you.
Calling themselves your advocates,
their armor rusts over time.
No good thing is foundin those
who de-light you in
their greeting!
When we turn,the heart turns with you.
Healing is not there;
dogs return to upspilled stomachs,
infecting you with their pain.
They air kiss you in public,
looping arms through yours
to make others believe lies.
Your heart turns knowing their acts,
will make you a victim, in time.
So listen to the Goddess
run for cover, find the high realms for
protection.
Call the Gods for their mantras,
Be soothed by the balm of Gilihad.
No good thing is found
in those who de- light you in
their greeting!
The heart turns with you.
Mami Wata in your thoughts,
she turns with you too,
giving a new perspective on life,
spiritual, is your mother.
Her healing mysticism,
illuminating your soul.
When you turn, you go back to
the jars your mother taught you to drink,
from, lakes of stillness, and cleansing.
No good thing is found
in those who de-light you in
their greeting!
THE INTERVIEW
This interview was conducted between Shirley May and Jae Nichelle on Sept 28, 2024.
In “She was at the forefront,” a poem about activist Elouise Edwards, you use repeated instruction about the power of the feather of a hoatzin bird. What led you to use this directive to carry us through the poem?
The feather of a hoatzin bird symbolises something ancient and rare, representing both strength and fragility. I wanted to convey Elouise Edwards’ unique position in history—someone who carries the weight of generations, much like a bird that has evolved through centuries. The hoatzin bird is indigenous to Guyana, and that is partly why I used it in the poem. During my research, I learned that the bird is prehistoric and only found in that country. The iconology of the feather connects to the traditions of the old world before enforced religion was imposed on African people and the indigenous people of Guyana. The feather symbolised good luck, and I wanted to create a bond between the place, the people, and ultimately the concept of home.
I so love the final line of “Alkebulan.” How do you remain connected to your ancestry?
Staying connected to my ancestry involves a continuous process of learning, storytelling, and honouring the voices that came before me. I find this connection through the work I do with Young Identity, through writing and spoken word that reflects our shared history, and by engaging with the cultural practices and traditions that have been passed down. My writing serves as a bridge to my heritage, allowing me to explore and share those stories.
My mother always plays a significant part in my writing. She influenced me to write as she always kept a journal. Part of my journey as a writer has been to jot down thoughts that come into my head—sometimes on a napkin, sometimes on the back of an envelope. Trust me, I have a bag full of bits and pieces, not just books, but fragments that reflect my thoughts. One day, I hope to put them all in order. My mother also wrote about her children and our connection to each other, which sparked my interest in genealogy. Due to the history of the Caribbean, and Jamaica in particular, I wanted to know more about our roots and our connections to the religions and folklore of our original homeland. My mother would always tell stories of Jamaica and her love for her ancestry, which inspired me to write about the grandmothers she taught me about Arabella Phipps, Ida Harvey, and my great-great-grandmother whose name was Rosina Walker. I know little about them, so as I work on this new collection, I plan to draw from my mother’s knowledge of those women and explore that history further. She Wrote Her Own Eulogy was my first collection while I’ve been in lots of different anthologies it was a privilege to be published in 2018 in my own right.
A couple of these poems were commissioned by various organizations. How do you approach a commissioned piece? What do you do if you don’t feel inspired by the subject?
When I approach a commissioned piece, I always start by immersing myself in the purpose of the commission—understanding the audience, the intention, and the emotions behind the subject. If I struggle to feel inspired, I try to find a personal connection to the topic, something that resonates with my own experiences. I also allow myself space and time to explore different perspectives until I find a way in, sometimes through research or drawing on similar themes in my past work.
I try to do as much research on the people as possible. If they have people who are still alive, I try to talk to them to understand a person’s character, especially if I am in contact with them. I’ve been lucky enough to know many of the women I have been commissioned to write about—like Kath Lock, Louise Da-Cocodia, and Elouise Edwards. They were all activists and friends of my mother, and they became major influences in the UK. In many ways, their activism shaped my own.
I’d love to hear more about Young Identity, the youth writing collective you co-founded. What has been your favorite Young Identity event so far? What made it impactful?
Young Identity has always been about giving young people a platform to express themselves authentically. My motto has been to those who have funded our organisation “Could you give me enough funding for those at risk of excelling” because so much of what we are given is about prevention when it should be about supporting young people to discover their voice.
One of my favorite projects was Alphabus, a play produced in partnership with the Manchester International Festival. It’s also one of my favorite pieces because my daughter, Nicole May, was the dramaturg on this project. She is the executive director of our organisation, and her work consists of producing, writing, and directing. The project included a dance collective from the United States called The Dream Ring, directed by Reggie “Rock” Gray. They perform a type of hip-hop-forward, reggae-inspired dance called “Flexing.” The story dealt with censorship and how withholding knowledge prevents people from accessing the truth. It showed that if we only have a book with some of the words in it, we naturally seek a book that contains the whole story. The production emphasized the importance of good knowledge, and it was the biggest project Young Identity had ever done as a small community of writers on such a significant stage. It was a privilege to work with the right budget and to explore the possibilities of combining poetry, dance, and music in that way. It was impactful because it showed the potential of our work when given proper resources.
What was it like recording your album Rainfall? How did you decide what musical sound you wanted to achieve?
Recording Rainfall was a deeply emotional journey. I wanted to create a soundscape that felt organic, rooted in my own experiences of growth, loss, and hope. I worked closely with Clive Hunte, who wrote and produced all the music. The process started before COVID, and during the pandemic, we adapted by using remote technology—I learned how to take over my computer to record myself while Clive worked from his home. Later, we came together for post-production. The album was inspired by 20 years of writing, as I hadn’t produced much of my own work while supporting others in their poetic careers. It was an opportunity to finally share my own voice. The album was put out by Jonny Jay, a legendary producer in my hometown of Manchester, under the label T9. You can find the poetry album here: Rainfall on Apple Music.
What are three songs you would recommend to someone that would give them a glimpse into your personality?
I would recommend “Four Women” by Nina Simone, “Redemption Song” by Bob Marley, and “Try a Little Tenderness” by Otis Redding. Each of these songs speaks to different facets of my personality: resilience, a deep connection to freedom and justice, and an underlying tenderness and care for others.
What places in Manchester feel like home to you?
Old Trafford is home to me, with its rich cultural diversity, it’s also where we run some of our community workshops for Young Identity where we meet and share poetry.
Additionally, Whitworth Art Gallery is dear to me. I spent a lot of my teenage years wandering through its exhibits, sitting and musing over the paintings. I remember they had an Andy Warhol piece that I loved, and I’d sit there and dream about being a dancer and an artist. Poetry didn’t come naturally to me at first as I am neuro-diverse dyslexic; however, places like the Whitworth helped me find the poetic essence in visual art. Withington Library was another important space where I discovered books and fostered a love for literature it was a safe place for me.
How can people support you right now?
Supporting me right now means supporting the work of Young Identity and the young voices that are growing through this community. It also means showing up for our events, sharing our stories, and advocating for the arts, especially for marginalised voices. You can buy my book She Wrote Her Own Eulogy, published by Wrecking Ball Press, or my album Rainfall. You can also support Young Identity by donating to help us continue our work with marginalised young people.
Name another Black woman writer people should know.
I would say that it’s difficult to name just one Black woman writer who has influenced me because most of those who have had a significant impact on me come from America. Poets like Maya Angelou, Sonia Sanchez, and Sunni Patterson—who I met at Brave New Voices—have been hugely influential.
When it comes to British contemporary writers, I particularly like Tolu Agbelusi, who is a Nigerian British, poet, playwright, performer, educator and lawyer whose work addresses the unperformed self, womanhood, and the art of living. She recently published her first collection for Jacaranda's book, "Locating Strongwoman”. Writing about women's voices and experiences is important to me, and she does it well.
I also admire Mahogany Browne. I met Mahogany over 20 years ago while she was on tour with Diké Omja, a British-born contemporary poet who introduced us to the art of great performance poetry RIP Young King. What I love about Mahogany she can silence a room and make an audience listen—she’s a “Jedi” in poetry performance terms. She is, in my opinion, one of the best performance poets in the world. Her ability to captivate an audience is truly exceptional. As I mentioned there is no one black woman Poet that I would pin that accolade onto because there are so many writers and influencers of which I am under their spell. I really just want a more equitable space for black women writers.
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Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats.