A battle with unappreciated brilliance and a poet’s self-reflection on a great poem falling flat on stage.
“If you want to evoke emotions and a response from people, give them something relatable.” — Dike Chukwumerije
There is a particular kind of heartbreak that comes when a poet steps offstage after delivering what they know is a powerful piece — only to be met with silence. A few may snap, a handful may cheer, but the majority remain unmoved. The references that seemed so vivid in your mind, the philosophical layers you carefully stitched into the lines — they float past the audience, uncaught.
This is not an uncommon experience. James Ademuyiwa and Adedayo Agarau, two brilliant Nigerian poets, have faced it. Agarau eventually abandoned performance poetry for the page, where his intricate metaphors could linger in the reader’s mind rather than demand instant comprehension. There is a quiet tragedy in realizing that the beauty you crafted is not merely overlooked but unrecognized.
It’s moments like these that force reflection: Is brilliance enough?
The Friction Between Stage and Substance
There’s a long-standing tension between traditional literary poets and spoken word artists. Some critics of spoken word accuse it of being theatrics over thought — of dazzling rhythm masking shallow waters. On the flip side, “music poets” counter that poetry is not just for the lofty few. It should connect, engage, carry people along.
Both camps seem to quietly resent the other — perhaps “resent” is a strong word, but you can feel the disdain when these debates arise.
My early understanding of this divide came from music. The conscious, “woke” kind. And I mean millennial woke, not the meme-ified Gen Z version. Back when “woke” meant something deeply introspective and socially aware — not a catchphrase for internet wars or a branding tool for obscenity.
Artists like Beautiful Nubia, Kendrick Lamar, and J. Cole often sit in this liminal space. Critically acclaimed, adored by niche audiences, but rarely commanding the mass adoration that flows so easily to more accessible acts — your Drakes, your Lil Waynes, or the mumble rap movement.
Even in cinema, this dichotomy plays out. Christopher Nolan may have cracked the commercial code with The Dark Knight, but films like Inception, Interstellar, and Tenet still leave many viewers confused or cold. Just last month, a friend fell asleep watching Oppenheimer while I sat riveted, spellbound by the weight of science and moral reckoning on screen.
Why does depth so often fail to translate to mass appreciation? Why does brilliance feel like a secret handshake among a few?
A Poem, A Parley, A Pain Misunderstood
My own moment of reckoning came after performing a deeply personal poem titled My Parley with Depression at the Abuja Literary Society. I had bled into that piece — every word carried weight. But the room? Cold. Quiet. Detached.
A few critics didn’t mince words. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t get it,” one said bluntly.
The words stung. How could they not understand? If this community — literary, educated, supposedly attuned to nuance — couldn’t grasp my pain, who would?
In hindsight, I see the arrogance of my early thinking — the belief that a lack of understanding was a reflection of their intellect, not my delivery. Part of me still holds to that defensiveness. But I’ve come to realize that communication is a two-way street, and a poet’s job isn’t merely to be profound, but also to be clear. A poem that fails to connect may not be the failure of the audience — but a failure of the poet.
Thankfully, Dike Chukwumerije, a poet and critic I deeply respect, offered clarity. “If you want to evoke emotions and a response from people,” he said, “give them something relatable.” My abstract, philosophical piece was never going to achieve the emotional reaction I sought — not because it was bad, but because it wasn’t for them.
The Elite Language of Art
This is why poetry is often seen as elitist. When poets fill their work with dense metaphors and obscure references, they create barriers. Some wear this exclusivity as a badge of honor, looking down on those who don’t “get it.” But poetry should not be a cipher.
But here’s the humbling truth: Not every poem is for every audience. And maybe — not every audience needs to rise to meet the poem. Maybe the poet needs to stoop, to translate the divine into the human. To render thought as flesh, not just spirit.
Where Do We Go From Here?
This isn’t a call to dumb down our work. It’s a challenge to respect our audience without compromising our voice. To recognize when a performance needs clarity, not condescension. And when our work falls flat — not because it lacked brilliance, but because brilliance isn’t always enough.
In the end, we all want to be understood. And perhaps the poet’s real calling isn’t to remain a wanderer speaking in tongues — but to be a bridge. Between thought and feeling. Between idea and experience.
Some may argue that in striving to be accessible, we risk eroding the mystery and intellectual joy of layered art. Not everything should be simple. There’s value in a poem that challenges you, that reveals itself slowly. While it is true, that poetry’s richness often lies in its ambiguity, not every communication is to be a poem. In fact, maybe not all poems should be a poem’s poem. The solution isn’t to strip poems of their complexity, but to build clearer paths into that complexity.
“Simplicity is not about dumbing down; it’s about opening up.”
For those in communications — especially brand storytelling — this reflection mirrors the importance of audience alignment. You may have a powerful message, but if your audience doesn’t feel seen or understood, it’s a missed opportunity.
- Audience Awareness is Everything — Whether in poetry, branding, or public speaking, knowing who you’re addressing determines how you frame your message.
- Depth ≠ Obscurity — Complexity should enrich, not exclude. The best art makes profound ideas feel accessible.
- The Danger of Elitism — When creators pride themselves on being “misunderstood,” they risk irrelevance.
- Adaptation is Not Surrender — Adjusting your delivery doesn’t mean diluting your message — it means ensuring it lands.
Final Thought
The poet’s curse — and privilege — is the eternal negotiation between artistic integrity and audience connection. The greatest poets master both. Will you?