Fuck / Sunflowers by Inua Ellams
For October, the Poem of the Month I have chosen is poet and playwright Inua Ellams’ poem Fuck / Sunflowers which is published in The White Review.
The poem follows Tyrone, who, after a school trip to the countryside where he encounters a field of sunflowers, longs to remain there with them, their “black faces / [and] their petals like flattened crowns” calling him back after his return home to the city. The poem is beautifully vivid, recalling the wonderment of a city kid finding themselves amongst the vastness of nature. It describes the childhood innocence and fascination with things that are unfamiliar, how the world seems so huge when looking at the sky or a field which seems to go on forever.
For the first time Tyrone looks up at the enormous sky “as if into the face of God” and examines its many “tonalities / the contours of the countries of clouds”. He is obsessed with the sunflowers, the way they look in the field. He wants to stay there with them, plants “saplings of his spirit” in the soil so that he can grow alongside them.
I love the way Ellams describes the sunflowers as his kin, the way their “black faces” echo the black skin of his thumb, of his own face. The petals are “like flattened crown or ruffled halos” of gold, as though they are holy or possess some kind of higher power. Something that struck me about this poem, is Tyrone’s complete want to give himself over to nature, to surround himself completely by those sunflowers.
When he gets back home to the city, he fills his bedroom with the flowers, but they don’t quite live up to the wild sunflowers in those fields. This desire to bring the outside in, is something I can relate to. Without a garden, I have filled my small flat with plants to try and replicate the beauty of nature inside. For me it is enough, but for Tyrone it isn’t.
The poem reaches a dramatic conclusion when he “walk[ed] out his fourth floor window to join [the sunflowers] / and […] never came home”, indicating that he jumped to his death. It is a morbid ending, but perhaps speaks to the feeling of claustrophobia in a city, the uncleanness of the air, all of the pollution. After seeing what life could be like in the open fields, the brightness of the sun, the stars in the sky at night, for some it’s hard to go back to a life of traffic, concrete buildings and toxic fumes.
I find the title of the poem an interesting one. Fuck / Sunflowers to me initially sounded like hatefulness toward sunflowers, a dislike for them. This is reinforced by the first line of the poem where the narrator begins with “What I’m trying to say is / Kelechi hates sunflowers / because Tyrone grew obsessed”. It’s not clear who Kelechi is, but after reading the poem it seems that Kelechi might be a close friend or family member, who hates sunflowers after the role they play in Tyrone’s demise.
I did also wonder, however, if the title could be read as “fuck, sunflowers” showing a kind of awe of sunflowers. In this reading, it might portray how Tyrone feels about the plants. The poem has a religious feel, as though Tyrone is worshiping the earth. Phrases such as “the face of God”, “choir of black faces”, “ruffled haloes” and “saplings of his spirit” reinforce the religious theme and indicates that perhaps Tyrone’s obsession with the sunflowers, his need to stay amongst nature, is tied in with some kind of religious awakening.
He is “brought […] down to his knees” as though he is praying. It could possibly be read that the sunflowers symbolise angels, that Tyrone’s desire the join them has to do with a want to be absolved of sin, to be holy himself.
The story of this poem is one that feels relevant to our current times. The disillusionment with city life seems to be a familiar thing, especially amongst younger people, their concern for the environment and climate crisis as well as how stifling cities can feel, especially now with the COVID restrictions. It is a poem that speaks of the beauty of nature, of the enduring lure of open spaces and clean air. But it is also a poem that in some ways highlights the fact that non-white people have been disproportionately affected by both the climate crisis and COVID-19.
Tyrone is scolded by his teacher for the mud he carries back with him from the fields, and he ultimately loses his life because he is unable to escape the confinement of “city bricks” and flee to an unencumbered sky. The ending of the poem reads almost like a departure into a utopia, as though Tyrone is finally able to escape into a world in which he can thrive.
You can read the poem or listen to it here.
Rochelle Roberts
