Winner of the Raz/Shumaker Prairie Schooner Book Prize in Poetry Longlisted for the 2025 National Book Award in Poetry Longlisted for the 2026  PEN/Voelcker Award for Poetry Collection     In Gbenga Adesina’s groundbreaking debut book of poems, a defiant and wise exploration of exile, voyages, and spiritual odysseys, we encounter figures embarking on journeys haunted by history―a son keeps dreaming he carried his dead father across the sea; a young Black father, tired of fear and breathlessness, travels with his son in search of the ghost of James Baldwin―to Paris, the south of France, Turkey, and Senegal to investigate his ancestral roots; and finally, a group of immigrants on small boats in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea sing in order not to drown, in a stunning sequence that invokes the middle passage. In a lyrical voice at once new and surprisingly ancient, Adesina’s Death Does Not End at the Sea explores the complexity of elusive citizenship, an immigrant’s brokenhearted prayer for a new beginning, a chorus of elegies, and a cosmic love song between the living and the dead. “ Death Does Not End at the Sea is more than a great first book, it’s a mature reworking of contemporary elegy. Gbenga Adesina reconfigures the loss/ghost of his father into odes celebrating vulnerability and personality—as well as Fela Kuti in Versace and a globetrotting James Baldwin. The tender, scrutinizing spirit of Baldwin guides these beautiful meditations on the nature of love and grief. Death Does Not End at the Sea is more than a debut, it’s a revelation.”—Terrance Hayes author of Lighthead , winner of the National Book Award for Poetry “In Death Does Not End at the Sea , Gbenga Adesina carries us into startlingly capacious configurations of time and grief and kinship. Sublime, lucid, unforgettable. It is a gift to live to be touched by Adesina’s exquisite music.” ―Aracelis Girmay, Winner of the Whiting Award and Knight Family Professor of Creative Writing at Stanford University. “Gbenga Adesina’s Death Does Not End at the Sea is a requiem for kinship, familial bonds, tethered histories, and splintered branches that always remember their roots. Adesina bridges memory both personal and collective with the migratory movements of global Black life. What results is a poetry in witness and celebration, a tenderness and veneration, a welcome song in our dawn!”—Matthew Shenoda, author of Tahrir Suite: Poems and The Way of the Earth “ Death Does Not End at the Sea is a collection from a poet who has matured in voice and craft. Every line quivers with a deft music. The layering of meaning, philosophy, hope, grief, rebirth, ethical questioning, and song is unsurpassed. A major talent and an important voice, Gbenga Adesina has earned every victory in this book, every accolade it will earn, and every moment of luminosity, of which there are many. In this breathtaking work we encounter a poet who carries this tradition with an easy grace. Beautiful.”—Chris Abani, author of Smoking the Bible Gbenga Adesina , a Nigerian poet and essayist, is the inaugural Mellon Postdoctoral Fellow in Global Black and Diasporic Poetry at the Furious Flower Poetry Center, James Madison University. He received his Masters in Fine Arts from New York University, where he was mentored by Yusef Komunyakaa. He is the cofounder and editor of A Long House , a journal of diasporic art, thought, and literature. He has won multiple fellowships, and his poems have appeared in the Paris Review , Harvard Review , Guernica , Narrative , Yale Review , The Best American Poetry , the New York Times Magazine , and elsewhere.   Glory Glory of plums, femur of Glory. Glory of ferns on a dark platter. Glory of willows, Glory of Stag beetles Glory of the long obedience of the kingfisher. Glory of waterbirds, Glory of thirst. Glory of the Latin of the dead and their grammar composed entirely of decay. Glory of the eyes of my father which, when he died, closed inside his grave, and opened even more brightly inside me. Glory of dark horses running furiously inside their own dark horses. I CarrIed My Father Across the Sea He was a child. He was dead. He was the shaft of a long- tailed astrapia. He was a forest of bruise. He wore a door on his face. He wore the black suit of his wedding. The square pocket was still full of his vows. He was light to carry, his burdens and vows had bled out of him. He was heavy with the responsibility of the dead. What sort of a son leaves his father chained to fatherhood? I lifted and propped him up with my frame. I measured the length of him with my length. The feet stuck in sea sand, his weak knees, his arms gripped my sides. As the currents rose, the collar on his broken neck flared into a float. The gash the surgeon’s knife left on his head became a halo, it signaled in the dark. I put my nose to his nose. I put my finger in his mouth. I tied his i