surely i am able to write poems...

Lucille Clifton is a woman i have cherished for most of my writing life. having spent a considerable amount of time in my hometown for most of her life (not to mention the being poet laureate of Murrrlin, yes!), it's only natural to feel so drawn and connected to her. this however, was the first time I encountered her book Mercy. her spirit's words are right on time for mine.

so, it should come of no surprise that "surely i am able to write poems"...struck chords, rang bells, and zapped my consciousness to fire:

"surely i am able to write poems
celebrating grass and how the blue
in the sky can flow green or red
and the waters lean against the 
chesapeake (!!!) shore like a familiar,
poems about nature and landscape
surely   but whenever i begin
"the trees wave their knotted branches
and..." why
is there under that poem always
an other poem?" 

talk. about. it.

i've been thinking lately about the poets of color expanding our literary field, form, and content, being able to write about more than, say, the pain and struggle of our history and present. it seems whenever some of us traverse this, and our writing becomes about nature or the investigation of language (ie Harryette Mullen-esque), it is impossible to do this objectively. in writing to these, it's not just about the trees, the seas, or the ABC's, per se; it still gets woven into the threads of ourselves, our histories, and the stories that aren't being told. in a similar vein, i was talking with barbara jane reyes about this, and about the writing of objects, inanimate (ie, a t-shirt), or living (nature) and its importance to us as writers. it to me is a privilege to be able to write about a shirt objectively, as just being a shirt, and not have it conjure something from underneath it that's more pressing (a shirt that my mother gave me, shirt from my first concert, you know, random sentimental memories that are still pressing on my brain).

clearly, this is still representative of a culture shock of sorts that i've encountered coming into mills and reading/absorbing the poetry we're reading in class, and that of my peers. everyday, i am reminded of a question of purpose, and remembering what that is, and the beautiful differences abound in writing. this purpose lucille was still pondering on into her later years, which were carved out into this poem. it's as if someone just asked her a question about writing about nature, seeing its colors with her first, second, and third eye, and why her writing is so entrenched in blackness, womanness, history, slavery, family, the body, etc. first off, she throws it back that it's not that she can't write these poems, surely she is able to! but clearly, these things are not separate from nature; we just have a different relationship to nature. and, it's getting at what's underneath it in order to love and appreciate it, as we can love and appreciate ourselves, our ancestors, our culture, past and present. i love lucille especially for her "both/and" understanding of life, instead of "either/or", recognizing the intersections and the beauty of our experiences, and the numerous intersections of our own identities, with all of its influences on our writing. this poem gets to the heart of that.

even in poems like "the river between us", this belief shines through; it is not a divisive poem, instead recognizing the varying lineages that brought two men to the same river (one for fishing, the other being baptized), with "their hunger that defined them":

one, a man who knew he could 
feed himself if it all came down, 
the other a man who knew he needed help.

this is about more than color. it is
about how we learn to see ourselves.
it is about geography and memory.

it is about being poor people
in america.

though she starts at their respective differences, she creates a thread of survival through the poem for poor folks, a testament to the collective desire and necessity of fathers looking out for their family, protecting them on the outside (this way, through food). she juxtaposes him with her father, in a desire to cleanse his spirit, who thus sets the tone of love, rejuvenation, and redemption for himself and his family.

i found a quote from lucille, discussing language, that i think applies to this poem as well:
"all understandings of language involve more than the dictionary definition of a word. So the more one knows about who is using the word, the more the reader brings to a fuller understanding of what is meant." 

with this in mind, she multiplies the meaning of hunger to describe a literal and spiritual place in this poem, thus connecting the two paths.

also, the line "how we learn to see ourselves", rings another meaning: does this black child in particular, in this part of the country, get to ever see the water as a source of actual food, ie, fish? or will it be etched into their memories/consciousness as purely baptismal? this brings so much history with it, given the importance of water as cleansing/"washing us white as snow" as a Christian ritual for black folks. still, lucille sees the collective struggle of the poor in amerikkka, having to get by, live, and love by any and all means.

so glad we get to read her this semester! this work is truly, truly comfort to my soul.