On Being a Poet in Residence

Still Rising: Voices from the flood

 Being chosen as Poet in Residence for StAnza’s Translation Award was an honour, but more than anything, it was a learning experience. I walked into the festival with a project close to my heart, but I left with so much more—new perspectives, new connections, and a renewed understanding of what poetry can do. That’s why I wanted to take a moment to reflect and share some of what stayed with me.

Performing at StAnza wasn’t just about my words—it was about carrying other people’s voices. The collective poem, Only the People Save the People, was built from survivors’ testimonies. Saying their words aloud, first in Spanish, then in English, felt like an act of solidarity. I wanted the audience to hear the grit in those voices, the way grief and resilience tangled together.

Another great aspect of my performance included a recording of Valencian poet Laura Giordiani, whom I had the pleasure to meet as part of my research. When she shared her poem Flood with me, I knew right away it had to be part of the performance. The fact that it opened with a line from John Burnside—a Scottish and a Valencian poet writing about the same kind of destruction—felt like poetry doing what it does best: stitching together what geography keeps apart.

 

StAnza also gave me the chance to push my own creative boundaries. Thanks to the support of the Edwin Morgan Trust, I experimented with concrete poetry for the first time (The Lament of the Rain). Morgan understood that poetry isn’t just about beauty—it’s about rebuilding, reimagining, and finding new ways to give language to what feels unspeakable.

Beyond the performances, the festival was a whirlwind of brilliant conversations—meeting Ilisha Purcell, the other resident poet, swapping notes on our projects, discovering new work in the packed programme. The team made sure everything ran smoothly, even when tech tried to stage a rebellion.

But most of all, I’m grateful to the audience. You listened. You made space for these voices. And in the end, that’s what poetry is all about—connection, attention, and the willingness to carry each other’s stories forward.

Nazaret Ranea

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