The mastery of form is undoubtedly the fundamental tool of original literary imagination. Hence, no proper evaluation of Odubanjo’s collection can be made without an ample regard for his uncanny style, his cultivated form. Even if the ambitious imaginative expansion of his central character were a commonplace practice in contemporary poetry (it is not, by the way), Odubanjo approaches originality with an equally ambitious style, creating a strangeness that is not easily assimilated. For original poetry is inherently recalcitrant—resistant to duplication, much like good poetry, when the two are not synonymous. In Odubanjo’s poetic performance, however, ‘originality is more than a requirement [of his] . . . poetry’. To borrow the words of the inimitable Australian critic Clive James in ‘Two Essays on Theodore Roethke’, ‘it is a description of it.’

To begin assimilating the strangeness born of this originality, one approach is to consider Adam as Vendler describes poetry in ‘Three Acts of Criticism’: ‘prose written for maximum inefficiency.’ This view perfectly captures this distinction between prose and poetry, where the liberties that define poetry are abominable to prosaic efficiency. Vendler elaborates: ‘The well-known concision and even hermeticism of poetry (“real” poetry) stems precisely from this “inefficiency” in conveying information (while aiming at maximum efficiency in emotional kinaesthesia).’ This is where we arrive at what Odubanjo’s spiralling narrative structure (as in ‘A Story About Water’), catawampus energy (as in ‘Man’), indeterminate syntax (as in ‘Adam’s Law’) and disjunctive tones (as in ‘A Story Without Water’) accomplish—a maximum efficiency in emotional movement.

After the poet releases us from the chaotically disjointed, cynical, absurdist and disconsolate ambience of ‘Adam’s Law’—a poem that spits facts about Nigerian political realities, samples Dagrin’s verse in ‘Democracy’ and ends, rather marvellously, without a definitive ending—he grants us a brief reprieve, spanning three pages, to catch our breath. Yet, this respite is short-lived, as we are soon confronted by ‘Man’, with its ‘manic’ repetitiveness and restless alliteration. Kinetically energetic, rhythmically cohesive and disruptively compelling, the poem, ‘Man’, delivers maximum efficiency in emotional kinaesthesia. It builds intense emotions through its relentless wordplay, seamlessly aligning with its thematic focus on masculinity, power dynamics and identity. As the closing poem of the book, it also channels the energies of the preceding poems into a concentrated, emotionally charged finale that leaves a lasting impression on the reader. The final lines, which convey a sense of communal identity and ritual, culminate in an almost comical call for spiritual affirmation, reads:

go mano-a-mano with the badman
the mannish winner takes mansion and manilla
but if man know you then it’s just mandem innit
come nyam manna at the mangrove we the menace and
the manager singing mantra till the morning come
in the name of my man and my man somebody say amen

The poem, spelling both fervour and difficulty, functionally reiterates music as an ardent medium for the suggestion of meaning.

Good poetry, as Odubanjo demonstrates in this book, is that which, by taking itself seriously—even in disrupting conventions—illuminates rather than confounds our sense of its imaginative truth. Odubanjo’s uncanniness is particularly striking because the sheer force of the newness he discovers, perfects and sustains, concentrates our attention on his aspirations through the serious and energetic handling of their elements—from figurations to poetic language. Indeed, we have no option but to listen to the paradoxical music of experience, of devastating yet nostalgic introspections, that Adam plays. Hence, our attention is commandeered because Odubanjo employs a linguistic transference that unites us with an imaginative reflection of what is, at its core, our own reality. Throughout the book, Odubanjo asserts that we are Adam and Adam is us—not only in innocence, whether historical or moral, but also in boundless possibilities⎈