Arboretum’s new Poet in Residence releases powerful poem
Arji Manuelpillai (pictured), an acclaimed poet and performer with a passion for community arts, has been named the new Poet in Residence at the National Memorial Arboretum in Staffordshire.
To mark his appointment and to reflect upon the various commemorative events which took place at the Arboretum to mark the 80th anniversary of VE Day (8 May), Arji has created a powerful new poem, titled: I will be with you (in apple blossom time). The piece is just one of many artistic interpretations that Arji will create during his two-year residency at the Arboretum.
A familiar face in community arts across the UK and internationally, Arji brings more than 15 years of experience working in settings such as prisons, youth clubs, and cultural landmarks including The Southbank Centre, The Barbican, and The Young Vic.
He said: “This is honestly a dream gig. I’ve spent years connecting people through creativity, and this residency gives me the chance to play, experiment, and dive into stories that matter – from veterans, to families just wandering through the Arboretum. I’m excited to create poems and workshops that spark curiosity and help people see this amazing space in new ways.”
Rachel Smith, head of Learning and Participation at the National Memorial Arboretum, said: “While we were sad to say goodbye to our former Poet in Residence, Dan Simpson, Arji has already made a powerful impression. His VE Day poem is moving, thought-provoking, and has resonated deeply with those who have read and listened to it.”
A recording of Arji’s poem can be downloaded HERE and is written below:
I will be with you (in apple blossom time)
Today the sky is still and it is surprising.
Today a cloud is just a cloud and a bird sings
and it isn’t a siren. Nobody is screaming today.
Two men giggle in the street, a girl kisses a boy.
Today, everybody remembers how it is to laugh,
to embrace each other, to drink with a stranger.
A trestle dragged from a shelter, laid like future,
chairs cobbled out of anything they can find.
Spam sandwiches and homemade lemonade,
and all of the street from here to number 86
rattling into dancing, into singing, into saying
I’m so glad you’re alive and I love you, I love you.
On this day they remember who they are.
Beckoned by the flags like a child’s waving hands,
By the music and celebration. Today they laugh
till they cry, till they weep and stare up
at a window where a woman grabs her mouth
like she is holding in a ghost.
A piece of her is not in the street laughing.
A piece of her never returned.
