Aaishah Mayet hails from the City of Gold, Johannesburg, South Africa. She works in the Healthcare sector which, for her, has bridged the frontiers of our shared human experience. As a confessed bibliophile of many years, literature remains her teacher and her sanctuary. Her work has been featured in the International Human Rights Arts Festival, and published in Lotosblute, Agbowo, Praxis, Poetry Potion, Active Muse, Brittle Paper, The Lote Tree Press, and Amaliah.

Onyedikachi Chinedu: Hello, Aaishah! It’s a pleasure to have you featured as our poet of the month. On reading your poems, I discovered they employ materials cut out largely from the fashion industry. What are your interests in that line of work as a poet?

Aaishah Mayet: Hello, Onyedikachi! It is an honour to be here, and I thank you wholeheartedly for the opportunity. As a poet, I think it is important to draw inspiration from the rich patchwork of industries that embody the human experience as well as give ink to all threads of earthly existence. With reference to these particular poems, my interest was sewn together by the expression of clothing as a universal, cultural expression from antiquity. Biblically, Adam and Eve experienced their watershed moment when they lost their garments. Ever since, their generations have used garments to fit in and stand out, cover up, flaunt their beauty, sanctify and desecrate. Fashion is as ephemeral as it is permanent on fixed mannequins.

Onyedikachi Chinedu: In your poem, “Haute Couture” published in Brittle Paper, you write, “How does one coordinate vulnerability in an ensemble / When it stumbles on a catwalk / Lacking all finesse?” They reveal the contrasts in the speaker’s attitude towards an accessory or clothing. At once, the speaker’s distaste and likeness are contained in the poem, unfurling as they perform a judicial function. What effect did you intend with this on the reader, and what was the inspiration behind the poem?

Aaishah Mayet: “Haute Couture” was penned as a social commentary on our shared existential paradox. We are programmed to covet the perfect: to be wooed by red carpets, the lure of spotlights, glistening walkways, and the air of air-brushed high society. We term the truest expressions of our innermost emotions and realities avant-garde, implying that the sharp edges are a fringe experiment, and too uncomfortable to be mainstream. Yet, we can only find true connection and fulfilment at the drop of the masquerade when the scars show.

Onyedikachi: In “The Solace of Scapegoats,” you explore the usage of end rhymes in each stanza: “extravagant yarn / from the softest down /… casting solace / of smokescreens / for when grey and white matters.” What role does sound play in the language of your poems? How much attention goes into the selection of words for this purpose?

Aaishah: Rhythm is a crucial part of the language of my poems. Life has rhythm, and death is perceptibly flat. For me, giving that rhythm to my poetry is akin to giving life to the words. Sometimes, I use alliteration and rhyme in stanzas to create harmony; other times, I abandon these techniques completely when my verses strive to convey a cacophony of chaos.

Onyedikachi: Can you talk about your creative process?

Aaishah: The social psychologist Graham Wallace originally spoke about the five subconscious stages of the creative process viz: preparation, incubation, illumination, evaluation and verification. For me, preparation comes from critically thinking about my own and other’s experiences narrated in the news, what is witnessed first-hand and what is said and written about these experiences. Incubation happens when I allow these sensory inputs to filter through the intellect and deposit on the receptacle of my emotions. This visceral response illuminates my words, and I can only hope they will reach and resonate with a kindred soul.

Onyedikachi: Who are your major influences as a writer; the works you find yourself returning to either for the language, craft, or subject matter?

Aaishah: The craft of Shakespeare’s Macbeth and Dickens’s Tale of Two Cities have left an undeniable impression on me. The language and subject matter of Rudyard Kipling’s “If–,” Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken,” Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s “The Invitation,” Kahlil Gibran’s “On Love,” Maya Angelou’s “And Still I Rise,” Warsan Shire’s “Home,” and Amanda Gorman’s “The Hill We Climb” are the works that are indelible in their imprints of timeless wisdom, which I never tire of and to which I often return.

Museum of Swords

The finest gems of the earth
Adorn the handles for
Monumental slaughter
Why did you decorate your swords?

Did it comfort you?
Did it distract from the weight of the steel?
The red rings of your hands on her neck?
Why did you decorate your swords and your wife’s necks?

General, this is the Achilles’ heel
How such regalia are haunted by the ghouls of a conscience so repressed 
it could pass for silence
How no amount of polish can mask the scent of blood
How no anthem can drum out her screams