Poets of Color



Elmaz Abinader, Instructor Office: 313 Mills Hall
510 430 2225 elmaz@earthlink.net
office hours: 5-6:30 Thursday and by appointment

Here are the texts for the class.
• Asian American Poetry: the Next Generation edited by Victoria Chang
• Voices from Leimert Park, ed by Shonda, Buchannan
• Effigies, An Anthology of New Indigenous Writing Pacific Rim, 2009, Okpik, Rexford McDougall, etc (Salt Publishing)
• The Wind Shifts, New Latino Poetry, Edited by Francisco Aragón
• The Essential Etheridge Knight by Etheridge Knight
• Mercy by Lucille Clifton
• Zodiac of Echoes by Khaled Mattawa
• Diwata by Barbara Jane Reyes


Sunday, September 9, 2012

I wish I were alive to witness June perform this poem.

RACIAL PROFILE #2.

It was so gripping, I had to read it aloud to my friends. They "hmmm"ed in unison.

June Jordan is easily one of my influences, and reading her poems reminded me of why it is I write. I've truthfully been grappling with my style of writing (on the low) since starting at Mills, as this is the first time in many years I've been around an array of writers with different styles. Naturally, it made me feel a little like "well, I'm not published yet, what does my writing have to look like for that to happen? Why is that my concern all of a sudden? Why do I rhyme so much?" And so on. Then, I read this poem.

BOOM. It hit me, strangely enough, like a July night in a Brooklyn club after the horns go off. (for context, it's this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u15mQ31WzZQ -- pay no mind to the video itself, please). Her use of repetition brings forth a steam that carries throughout the poem, and refuses to be silenced. I don't exactly know who the "you" she's referring to is, but I can only assume it's cops, and the institution that pays their salaries. This rings specific truth to the NYPD, as most of their policing is in Black/Brown neighborhoods -- "Black" in a NYC context being either African-American, or Caribbean-American. She embodies the true collective anger and frustration of a community (to this very minute) that is "over you over and over you over and over and over you", and over having to prove how not criminal it is. Also, "over" having to downplay or disengage with the culture of Jamaica, specifically its weather, its food, its indigenous people (Arawak), music, and the Disneyfication of the island itself. In this regard, she starts off with literal slaps to the face in the first stanza, engaging with a repeated use of hard "k" sounds:

You bring out the Jamaica in me
The killer hotsauce hot head knock
Dead slap face yell bellow yellow
Curry goat and ackee egomania
Mango maniac attack smack codfish
Salt to shrink a hippopotamus
In me


Killer. hot sauce. hot head knock...mango. maniac. attack. smack. codfish. salt to shrink a hippopotamus.

Unreeeeeal.

These everyday items in a Jamaican household are in themselves, used as literary weapons against a system that profiles us. She takes on the armor and passion and pain of her nation (1st or 2nd generation Jamaican doesn't make a difference), and ensures this pain is felt. The repeated usage of "in me" brings home the fact that her body holds this rage, lest the audience, her peers, or even her family forgets. 

You bring out the best behavior Sunday
Rice and peas in coconut oil and ganja
Fantasy and Arawak free or gone
To Rasta fury and a cane-field
Flaming slave revolt
In me

The second stanza seems, at first glance, seems to let down a bit, evoking Sunday behavior, ie, "day of rest" behavior; the one day of the week where you don't act out for fear of having to repent. The Sunday dinners with "rice and peas in coconut oil" and ganja, or coolin' out. She evokes Jamaica's indigenous people, the Arawaks, and seeming created fantasy of a history forgotten, "free or gone". By the end of the stanza, she 
re-imagines the fury of her ancestors, "Rasta fury and a cane-field flaming slave revolt". There is no Sunday's rest. There was no rest for her ancestors. Cane fields weren't actually sweet. 

And in the moment of continued racial profiling, all of this history comes to the surface.


Me no repent. 
Me no relent. 


She will not repent for this rage, nor for retaliation. She refuses to relent or back down from the unjust actions towards her people. This is such a crucial line to repeat in the poem, and speaks to the resilience of herself, her ancestors, and her own spirit. Even the last stanza, she couples it with the imagery of "spill[ing] no repent and no relent juice". She's making no mistakes to let any of her exact emotions loose from within her. She has no reason to, even when staring in the face of the oppressor, as this poem unflinchingly does. 

She uses the viciousness of "crocodiles", and the beating down of the "how close how hot" Jamaican sun ("oppressive" heat, some call it). In the midst of this, she questions the audience's perception of her:

You see me now 
you won't believe

as if she's assimilated beyond the Jamaican nature within her, given her prestige; she urges us all that she has not. This poem ties together her complexities with her identity as a Black bisexual established writer/activist, and her importance to stay true to her upbringing and community (even if it was difficult, ie, the relationship with her father). All of these identities are alive, and whenever injustice takes place, they are all pissed.

My favorite line by far is this:

You betta to make room for the mongoose poet.

I. Am. LIVING. Here, she's speaking to a specific audience of readership -- those who are her peers, those who have elevated her to this place of prestige. The "mongoose" to her represents the poetry that is for those folks who donate to the WWF. Those who would rather listen to safe, approachable poetry, that doesn't deal with the issues of people, or is burdened with the responsibility of writing for a people whose culture is silenced or condensed. If you can't handle all of these portions of her identity, then sweep her over, and make room for someone that can be digested. How can her contained emotions be summed up? She's "over you". Wishes to forget about it, to move on with her life, away from the oppression and work at the hand of massa. But, unfortunately, she cannot. This is "Racial Profile #2", which inevitably means #3 is on the way (or has already happened). Yes, she is enraged, but in order to preserve herself, in order to care for herself, to ensure she doesn't fall over the edge, she has to throw up her hands about it, and wait for the next poem to register.

So much more to say, especially in regards to "Poem for the New York Times" and "To Be Continued". Oh, and Chris Abani's "Aphasia" & "Say Something About Child's Play". I'll save that for my comment on another blog, because this may turn out to be a 15-20 pager. I'll spare y'all.

Peace,
Uni Q.


6 comments:

  1. I love how in-depth your analysis of June's poem is. Love, love. You helped me understand it in a more in-depth way (ugh, sorry for the repetition, I'm at the hospital right now), but yes, thank you.

    Also wanted to comment on your first paragraph on voice: 'June Jordan is easily one of my influences, and reading her poems reminded me of why it is I write. I've truthfully been grappling with my style of writing (on the low) since starting at Mills, as this is the first time in many years I've been around an array of writers with different styles. Naturally, it made me feel a little like "well, I'm not published yet, what does my writing have to look like for that to happen? Why is that my concern all of a sudden? Why do I rhyme so much?" And so on. Then, I read this poem.'

    I love discovering which writers inspire other writers. It's a natural process and progression, and allows me to see what triggers another kindred spirit. The fact that you found 'why you write x-way' from another writer reflects what writing should universally do--speak to someone and remind them of things they constantly forget. Great, brava.

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  2. "Speak to someone and remind them of things they constantly forget" the realest, Melissa!! That's exactly what happened. Thanks for noticing just how deep she hit me!

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  3. "I've truthfully been grappling with my style of writing (on the low) since starting at Mills, as this is the first time in many years I've been around an array of writers with different styles."

    Yes! To ALL of this. Except for my grapple hasn't been on the low. I've been very vocal abt how different my work is from a lot of the work I've experienced since being on campus. And for a moment in time i second-guessed my talent due to my inability to write "like that" (whatever "that" is). But then I, like you, found my way back to the center of things. My things. Things like June Jordan's work, Sonia Sanchez' work, Staceyann Chin's work, Rachel McKibbens work. And then i realized writing like "that" isn't even what I'm about because my talent begs for me to write like ME. We can only be authentic to our own voices, right?

    Anyway, let me get back on track here. lol. I love the way you broke this poem down. June Jordan never fails to bleed into every single aspect of her poetry, from the repetition, to the alliteration, down to her line breaks. I can't get enough. You highlighted some of my favorite parts also. Can't wait for the in-class discussion on these!

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    1. "And for a moment in time i second-guessed my talent due to my inability to write "like that" (whatever "that" is). But then I, like you, found my way back to the center of things. My things."

      *clap* *clap* *clap*

      Thank you Chanel for understanding!! We gotta rap more about this. Cuz chillleee, already I'm like...sweatin. And I know I don't have to be! We can only be authentic to our own voices. That's the heartbeat of why we write. And I'm just glad these poets literally saved my life in terms of remembering just why...

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  4. "These everyday items in a Jamaican household are in themselves, used as literary weapons against a system that profiles us."

    totally! and titling the poem "racial profile #2" and then invoking all of these words, sounds, items, experiences, foods is a direct slap in the face to anyone doing the profiling. like, "you think you know me? you think you know us?" she throws back the actual "racial profile," the actual composition of culture and experience-- defined by those who are actually a part of it. it's the anti-disneyfied version (also, "disneyfication"--hell yeah, i think we should be adding that to our poetic terms glossary).

    this commentary is so deep and full, thanks Unique. i especially appreciate how you unpack your favorite line. and also your insight on the title, that inevitably a #3, #4, #5 is gonna come.
    "This is "Racial Profile #2", which inevitably means #3 is on the way (or has already happened). Yes, she is enraged, but in order to preserve herself, in order to care for herself, to ensure she doesn't fall over the edge, she has to throw up her hands about it, and wait for the next poem to register."

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    1. HAAAAAA disneyfication is totally goin on the list!!

      I appreciate your insight on how "she throws back the actual 'racial profile', the actual composition of culture and experience -- defined by those who are actually a part of it." Soooo real!

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