Isaiah is a young, queer, trans poet of colour from France who likes to use too many labels and too many pronouns. Currently unemployed after obtaining a degree in Applied Foreign Languages, hy spends most of his time consuming various media (mostly books), drinking tea and writing.

In an ever changing poetry style somewhere between diary entry, (love) letter and unrefined flash fiction, Isaiah explores themes of love, transsexuality, relationships and how he fits in the world. Hy is greatly inspired by other trans poets and creators, Ocean Vuong’s works and his favourite musical artists (namely, The Amazing Devil, Hozier and Ethel Cain). 

You can find Isaiah on Instagram @unmentionablefag 

Isaiah’s poetry stands out within Germination, striking in its experimental and highly visual nature. Hy is not afraid to play with language, space and grammar, taking everything we were taught by our English teachers and turning it on its head. It’s this boldness that I admire, and the care that comes with it. Isaiah not only considers every word, but every breath, every tilt and turn of our voice to wrap around the brackets and slashes, or to stretch over the letters in a word broken by space.

TEIRESIAN – What does the word ‘germination’ mean to you?

ISAIAH – Germination, to me, is all about possibilities, at least when applied to human beings instead of plants. Though our life could be seen as similar to that of plants, since we germinate in a body like little seeds in the earth, and start small like seedlings, the growth from ‘seed’ to ‘seedling’ is not necessarily limited to birth and childhood. It seems to me, especially in the case of queer and trans people, that we are continually going through the process of germination; discovering and growing more into ourselves, and the possibilities are endless as we become older. Instead of a birth, I see it as constant rebirth as our identities evolve, change, consolidate.

T – Your poem, ‘when the summer ends, i am God and its creation’ relies heavily on visuals, using the space between lines, words and even letters, and painting a picture with punctuation marks. How are these visual aspects of your work integral to the message you’re trying to convey?

I – This poem was the first of mine where I really experimented and played with format, and though it was in part instinctual, I think I was trying to translate the hesitation I felt (and still feel sometimes) about my own body and my own growth. Growing is not a linear nor an easy experience, sometimes you have to pause and take a breath, sometimes you have to let moments take up more space to fully comprehend them. I also think poetry needs some constraints to be able to run free, so limiting myself to a square format (something I already often do, as I format most of my work in an Instagram-friendly way) forced me to play around with the spaces to ensure the text fitted in it. Punctuation marks are definitely integral to the message in this poem, I made a conscious choice for each one, which is why there is none at the very end: the sentence doesn’t end, because I continue to grow beyond it. 

T – In your poem, trans identity and God are placed together, and the line between the trans narrator and God is blurred and then obliterated. I especially love the provocative end to this piece: ‘dirty transsexual pledged to self godhood’. How did your own feelings around religion influence this poem? Would you say this is a reclamation of holy imagery that is denied from trans people, or something else entirely?

I – This is a very interesting question, because I’ve always felt a sort of reluctance to include God in my work, since I didn’t grow up religious; yet it is a theme I find myself going back to very often. I think there is a sort of taboo surrounding religion, especially Christianity, that made me think it was disrespectful, or not my place, to talk about God without having first hand experience with It; but the imagery and connotations are such useful and powerful tools in poetry, that I couldn’t let them go. Being trans, and queer, I constantly see Christian (and other religious) people using God and religion as a way to excuse atrocious behaviours towards the LGBTQIA+ community; so this poem is definitely a reclamation of holy imagery in direct response to that. 

As I said, I did not grow up religious, but I had religious grandparents, visited so many churches and cathedrals as a child, went to mass a few times, so it was still a presence in my life, and faith is something I think about a lot. The closest I have ever felt to God, or to any kind of godhood, is in learning to love myself, and I learned to love myself through loving fellow trans people; in my mind, the two are inextricably linked. 

T – You’re French, have studied Applied Foreign Languages, and write a lot of your poetry in English. How does this multilingual background impact your writing, and your approach to language overall?

I – The more languages you learn, the more you realise the meaning of words is really important. In our day-to-day conversations, we constantly use approximations—to downplay our emotions, to speak quickly enough, or simply because of a lack of vocabulary. With poems, I can take my time to find the words I need to fully express myself, and give something to people that is as close as possible as words can get to (my) emotions. It is known that talking or writing in a foreign language, once you know it well enough to do both naturally, is easier than doing so in your mother tongue; that is true for me: English allows me to be vulnerable in a way I can’t with French. Sometimes, though, French is what I need to write truthfully, so I do not shy from it, and I expect that if I ever learn a third language well enough to write poetry in it, I will do so.

Rey’s diptych, ‘a pretty flower or a boy’ parts i and ii feature across a spread in Germination. Part i also features as Germination’s cover image! For this interview, though, I wanted to give part ii some love, as you won’t have seen this design as frequently as the first on our socials.

Rey Hope is a neuroqueer environmentalist and creative from South Devon, now living in Cardiff. He is the co-founder of Dyddiau Du, a queer and neurodivergent community library and hub for art & literature, and co-host of Cardiff Collage Club. Having studied Wildlife Ecology and Conservation Science at UWE Bristol, his creative work endeavours to intertwine art and environmental practices. 

Their specialty lies in exploring identity, place, queerness, disability and nature, often through foraged and found objects, and collages of disjointed landscapes and disembodied limbs. They independently curated an exhibition at Dyddiau Du titled ‘Fluid, Hylif’ in June of 2023, exploring queer ecology and showcasing work alongside 11 other artists. Since, he has exhibited at G39 and The Turner House. He is also part of the Our Earth, Our History project with Amgueddfa Cymru, and the Peak Peers programme with Peak Cymru.

You can find Rey on Instagram @reyhopeb / @sprogspawn

Rey’s diptych couldn’t be more perfect for Germination. The daisies, the green, the text about kissing a boy in Spring. Everything about this is rooted in nature and the world around us, and I love the feeling of nostalgia that these two connected pieces elicit in me.

TEIRESIAN – What does the word ‘germination’ mean to you?

REY HOPE – Germination conjures feelings of resilience and ongoing transformation that connects to the human experience. I think of growth as a non-linear path and as a continuous process of change and renewal. Within those are cycles of birth and death that embrace letting go of ideas, particular times or parts of yourself. Sometimes that can be hard to do, but there’s always potential for new beginnings and things returning. 

T – Collage is a medium you use often to depict experiences surrounding both trans identity and disability. How does this medium lend itself so well to expressing these two aspects of life?

R – I enjoy the process of pulling disparate pieces together, mirroring a sense of self with the fragmented nature of collage. Different aspects of identity and material intersect and intertwine, to create surreal and dreamlike representations of complex interactions with the world. I’m often exploring the feeling of ‘haunting’, encapsulating the disconnect with gender and the body I inhabit, through symbolism of detachment and disembodied limbs. 

The element of reclamation and reconstruction also resonates profoundly, repurposing found, donated and foraged materials into new contexts. Using collage as a medium is also about accessibility, utilising materials that are inexpensive or easy to come by. Reflecting shared experiences within trans and disabled communities, where there are common struggles in navigating socioeconomic barriers and access to resources, is important to my artistic practice and workshops.  

T – In your diptych, ‘a pretty flower or a boy’, themes of love, nature and transness intertwine. What inspired you to create this comparison between a trans boy and a flower, concluded beautifully in the line ‘a transboy is found in every meadow’?

R – I am constantly exploring the blurred lines between a body and a landscape. In this piece, I leant into ideas of tender romance and homoeroticism in response to stereotypical notions of limp wrists and pansies associated with gay men. The details of intimacy and anatomy are embraced in comparisons of masculinity and the daisy. 

The meadow dreams of re-defining common conceptions of binary transitions and expectations through celebration of genderqueer perspectives, and fluidity in identity and expression. 

In the process of creating this work, I came to affirm myself in gentle masculinity. 

T – You’ve worked on some impressive projects centred around art, nature and community, such as Dyddiau Du. What is your main motivation for getting involved with or leading these projects, and what makes them important?

R – At its core it stems out of necessity and building community as a means of survival. 

Personally, I was struggling to navigate life post-university, amidst an employment crisis and pandemic, and going through an intense period of change and self-realisation. While queer spaces are gradually gaining visibility and acceptance, there is still a glaring lack of support structures and spaces designed with neurodivergent and disabled communities in mind. Creating opportunities for ourselves, unfortunately, becomes essential when there are still so many systemic barriers to accessing them elsewhere. 

The name Dyddiau Du, ‘dark days’, aims to reflect this, with community care and skill-sharing contributing to our collective resilience. Being part of a wider creative community with CARNEDD, as well as throughout Cardiff and the rest of Wales feels very powerful, and in many ways saved my life in a time when I was feeling very lost and unsure. These projects create space, and foster solidarity, empowerment and hope for the future.