Not my actual one – the one that I use in my work.
A combination of fear, doubt, grief, the weight of the world. I feel silenced and flummoxed and am trying to just listen, learn, and act. No one needs to hear what I have to say right now, but I can still spread the word of others.
Today, though, here’s a white man. Wendell Berry, a Kentuckian, even. This poem is for me, and, when he wrote it, also for himself, as a reminder of how to do this thing that, for me, in many ways, is as reflexive as breath.
We will someday come out of these things – pandemics, the clutch of systemic racism – and be, hopefully, better on the other side.
For now, here is a note to self for when I have more to say.
How to Be a Poet
(to remind myself)
i
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.
ii
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
iii
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
I am finding all sorts of beautiful and heartbreaking and hopeful voices in my travels these days. I am trying to moderate my intake of the interwebs, so I am simply posting without broadcasting.
Today’s poem, “For My People” by Margaret Walker, is presented here in two forms: the written form, as is usual, and above, the poem read by Leah Ward Sears, a justice in the Supreme Court of Atlanta, Georgia.
So many layers when you add another voice to the reading of this, especially this particular voice. The video above is more than just the poem; it’s also a bit about Sears’s life and why she chose this as her favorite poem. She is connected to this poem through her life as a child, and then again in her life’s work.
Please enjoy.
For My People
For my people everywhere singing their slave songs
repeatedly: their dirges and their ditties and their blues
and jubilees, praying their prayers nightly to an
unknown god, bending their knees humbly to an
unseen power;
For my people lending their strength to the years, to the
gone years and the now years and the maybe years,
washing ironing cooking scrubbing sewing mending
hoeing plowing digging planting pruning patching
dragging along never gaining never reaping never
knowing and never understanding;
For my playmates in the clay and dust and sand of Alabama
backyards playing baptizing and preaching and doctor
and jail and soldier and school and mama and cooking
and playhouse and concert and store and hair and Miss
Choomby and company;
For the cramped bewildered years we went to school to learn
to know the reasons why and the answers to and the
people who and the places where and the days when, in
memory of the bitter hours when we discovered we
were black and poor and small and different and nobody
cared and nobody wondered and nobody understood;
For the boys and girls who grew in spite of these things to
be man and woman, to laugh and dance and sing and
play and drink their wine and religion and success, to
marry their playmates and bear children and then die
of consumption and anemia and lynching;
For my people thronging 47th Street in Chicago and Lenox
Avenue in New York and Rampart Street in New
Orleans, lost disinherited dispossessed and happy
people filling the cabarets and taverns and other
people’s pockets needing bread and shoes and milk and
land and money and something—something all our own;
For my people walking blindly spreading joy, losing time
being lazy, sleeping when hungry, shouting when
burdened, drinking when hopeless, tied, and shackled
and tangled among ourselves by the unseen creatures
who tower over us omnisciently and laugh;
For my people blundering and groping and floundering in
the dark of churches and schools and clubs and
societies, associations and councils and committees and
conventions, distressed and disturbed and deceived and
devoured by money-hungry glory-craving leeches,
preyed on by facile force of state and fad and novelty, by
false prophet and holy believer;
For my people standing staring trying to fashion a better way
from confusion, from hypocrisy and misunderstanding,
trying to fashion a world that will hold all the people,
all the faces, all the adams and eves and their countless
generations;
Let a new earth rise. Let another world be born. Let a
bloody peace be written in the sky. Let a second
generation full of courage issue forth; let a people
loving freedom come to growth. Let a beauty full of
healing and a strength of final clenching be the pulsing
in our spirits and our blood. Let the martial songs
be written, let the dirges disappear. Let a race of men now
rise and take control.
So here we are, already in June, with each month either accelerated beyond comprehension or dragging along. I can’t decide which one May was. Fast, maybe?
At any rate, it is increasingly harder to post links that aren’t a rallying cry for a full-bore revolution. Should I post links that continue to illuminate, or should I trust that the three people who regularly read this blog already know and endeavor to provide some sort of psychic relief?
It seems irresponsible to just post about food, but my god. It is unrelenting out there in the interwebs and on the social media. Several times in the past couple weeks my face has gone tingly and my arms have been numb. This is my nervous system reacting to what I am not able to process. I don’t know how much I can legitimately read to pass on.
So we’ll start here: by taking one small action. If you are unsure of where to start in the fight for justice and equality for black folks, do one small thing. I, personally, started with educating myself. I read White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo and Tears We Cannot Stop: A Sermon To White America by Michael Eric Dyson (no more Amazon links on this blog; please go support your local bookseller), then KWeeks and I had many conversations about what we learned. Tears We Cannot Stop offers actual suggestions of things to do to make a difference as a white person, and I started to put those into action in my own life. The steps might be small, but they are in the right direction.
And for just a wee bit of entertainment to elaborate on another complicated issue that seems irrevocably tangled with everything else, here is Candy Shop – an animated short that interchangeably swaps almost 3,000 prescription drugs and syringes for similarly-shaped candies, all laid down on top of a groovy percussion track.
Finally, I offer a conversation with Ibram X. Kendi, author of the now-impossible to find book How To Be An Anti-racist. This conversation happened back in June 2019 and offers some insight into what (white) people can do to be more than just “not racist.”
“I like it when a flower or a little tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete. It’s so fuckin’ heroic.” George Carlin
When will the state-sanctioned killing of black people in this country stop? What is it in the DNA of white people born in the U.S. that allows them to cast their eye away from the senseless killing of our neighbors, our friends? How can we keep looking away from this injustice, this extermination of black people?
We are headed towards revolution, and I know which side I am on. It scares the shit out of me to think on it, but I would die if it meant equality and justice for black people. If one of us isn’t free, then none of us are free.
I, Too
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—
Goddamnit. I can’t post this week’s links without talking about George Floyd and Breanna Taylor. The death of George Floyd is now under investigation by the FBI, but we all know how that will most likely play out, even with a horrific video being widely circulated by the media. And as for the latter? Many Kentucky papers are shifting the focus to Taylor’s boyfriend, most likely to ease themselves out of the spotlight for killing Breanna Taylor.
In 2015, 104 unarmed black people were killed by police in the U.S., and only four of those cases resulted in convictions of the officers involved (at the time of the picture above, the officer who killed Walter Scott was still on trial. Michael Slager, the officer who shot Walter Scott, was convicted and given 20 years in prison – two years later.).
The United States must stop killing black people.White people must take action and join in the fight. If you are silent, you are complacent. NONE OF US IS FREE UNTIL ALL OF US ARE FREE.
Regular links below. If it feels wrong to keep reading, I am totally fine with that. Do what you need to do – if the links below help, take what you need.
So since we’ve rolled through baking sourdough bread and moved on to cookies, I propose we venture forth into biscotti territory. Last week, I made this biscotti recipe of mine using white chocolate chips, but the original deconstructed Nutella biscotti is, if I may say, fucking delicious. It is impossible to screw up and can be made in a variety of flavors. It only gets better as the days go by, but it never lasts long enough for me to see how long it lasts. Go make some. Pro tip: if you don’t have almond flour, make your own in a high-speed blender or food processor. This recipe does not require a fine almond flour.
Since it’s your business, check out this New York Times article on Tabitha Brown, the vegan TikTok star with a soothing voice and delicious food. You won’t really understand the hype without hearing the voice, so check her out on Instagram and TikTok – vegan or no, she is v comforting in these times.
Next, I have been trying to figure out ways to completely break up with Amazon. They are no good for anyone, and we all know it, BUT THEY’RE SO DAMN CONVENIENT. And then I read this: “The Max Borges Agency polled 1,108 people from the ages of 18 to 34 who’d bought tech products on Amazon in the last year. An astounding 44 percent said they’d rather give up sex than quit Amazon for a year, and 77 percent would choose Amazon over alcohol for a year.” Yikes. It’s really, really time to limit or eliminate purchasing on Amazon. See the full article here.
And finally, by the time you read this, a vaccination for COVID-19 may be heading to human trials, potentially ready by the fall. If this is true, it is the fastest a vaccination has ever been prepared in the history of such things. The next challenge becomes preparing billions of doses for all of humanity, and the inevitable cash grab by various pharmaceutical companies looking to profit. Isn’t saving millions of lives payment enough?
That’s it for this week. Perhaps as we turn the calendar to June (!!) we are turning a corner with coronavirus, quarantine, and humanity. I suppose we’ll see.
Be kind to each other. Wash your hands. Wear a mask.
