Dr Max Kinnings is a Reader in Creative Writing at Brunel University London.
Poet, novelist, musician, television presenter, actor, political activist, fierce advocate for animal rights, and proud troublemaker, Benjamin Zephaniah was a truly legendary figure within British popular culture. His death is a profound loss to all who knew him and the country as a whole.
I first got to know Benjamin in 2011 when he joined the university as Chair of Creative Writing. Head of Arts & Humanities at the time, Bill Leahy, asked me to show him around the campus and let him sit in on one of my classes so he could get a sense of the academic delivery on the programme. I’m not convinced one of my Comedy Writing lectures was necessarily the most academic of introductions to Brunel but the topic under discussion in class that day was the rise of alternative comedy in the late 1970s and early 1980s. We discussed the DIY aesthetic of punk and the rise of spoken word and stand-up comedy. This was obviously something that Benjamin was very much a part of at the time and he threw himself into the conversation, his easy-going and infinitely approachable demeanour, breaking down any sense of a barrier between young third year undergraduate students and the cultural icon in their midst. He was fascinating, and empowered the students to discuss their own lives and experiences.
It's the conversations with Benjamin that I will miss the most. Probably because I was one of the first member of the Creative Writing team that he had got to know at Brunel, he would often call on me for advice about academic procedures. As other members of the English and Creative Writing family at Brunel will attest to, brief conversations with Benjamin about work would often develop into long discussions on a myriad of topics from politics, music, and showbiz gossip, to plot lines in Peaky Blinders, travel destinations, his love of cars and of martial arts, and to joint pain in the middle-aged. He called me one time in 2019, not realising that I was away in China, teaching a short creative writing course at one of Brunel’s partner universities. It was the middle of the night for me but because of my jet lag, I was wide awake, and we chatted for a long time about his travels and experiences in China. I cherish the memory of that conversation; he was such a wonderful generous conversationalist.
Aware of my grief when my mother passed away a few years ago, Benjamin spontaneously delivered his poem, I Love My Mother to me – one-to-one in his office – to cheer me up. It was typical Benjamin: kind, thoughtful and bursting with emotional intelligence. It was also incredibly moving, and I will never forget his animated facial expressions and unmistakable delivery as he reached out to me through his art, as an act of kindness and reassurance.
Benjamin was one of life’s good guys. I’ll miss him enormously as I know we all will.
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