Antoinette: I am so pleased with how forthcoming you are answering this question. I had been hesitant to ask it, knowing that this is a topic you have most likely been asked to speak on over and over. We are in a unique time in this country’s history as it pertains to race. Some are touting this as the post racial/racialism age, yet racism seems to be mutating into new and more challenging strains. So, issues of racial identity and existential crisis seem to be more important than ever. Do you see this affecting the course of poetry, particularly black poetry? Should it be? Is there such a thing as black poetry?
Tara: I don’t know if it’s an existential crisis unless having a diverse family and/or community frightens you. There’s always been this hopeful idea that we’re done with racism, but we’re not. There are still a lot of people who have not acknowledged some of the basic things about the diverse and omitted history and culture of America, and on a much larger scope, the world. There’s a reason why bell hooks, Aaron McGruder, and Tim Wise are talking about these issues, and why people like Ann Coulter and Rush Limbaugh are on the other end of the spectrum. It’s profitable to polarize people and not get them to look realistically at the economic, social, educational and health of the country. It’s easy to distract people. For example, I was floored to see how Lebron James got so much prime time television coverage when citizens in Oakland were rushing to bunker down against possible riots when the verdict declared Mehserle guilty of involuntary manslaughter in the murder of Oscar Grant.
In terms needing to say “black poetry”, I feel like this is a question a distraction and pull us away from writing the poems, reviewing the work, writing essays, publishing and starting our own literary institutions. On one hand, do we have “white poetry”? No, not really. On the other hand, I think our poetry is inherently infused with all of our selves that comprise our identity. It’s inescapable. All the parts of you impact your writing—your experiences, your reading choices, your aesthetic choices, your vocabulary, and the people around you. There is no non-influenced bubble where poetry happens, and those conversations where people discuss how politics is contributing to the decline of poetry annoy me too. I want to ask someone to explain if “Dulce Et Decorum Est” or Audre Lorde’s “Power” is not a good poem because they are bogged down by politics. Please justify Robert Hayden or Gwendolyn Brooks to me! What do you think about the implications of insisting on the term “black poetry”?
Antoinette: Well… [Sighs] You have really gone deep. I am not sure that I can advocate for a “black poetry” or a” black aesthetic.” There are so many ways to be black. I have been accused of not being black enough. It hurts. Even wrote a poem about it. [Laughs] Even so, I know that race is a social construct that is not going away. It is foundational; fundamental to how our world works and perceives privilege and place. Therefore, I feel compelled to want people of color to define their poetics for themselves. People of color should shape the conversation and the literary criticism about their own work. The conversation and criticism will occur. Additionally, no one lives outside of the body politic. We are birthed into our worlds and identities by the body politic. We must define ourselves in its shadow. So, we might like to just write and be, but it is not that simple.
Tara: I completely hear what you’re saying. We hurt each other all the time and get caught up in the labeling.
One of the things that I really enjoyed about Psalm of the Sunflower, is that you redefine a progression of a woman's life in so many ways from courtship to family, separation and grieving, then healing, and eventually romance. Could you talk a little bit about how that took shape?
Antoinette: When I began writing Psalm of the Sunflower, I hadn’t written for ten years. I had devoted myself to being a wife and mother. I was a part of a very legalistic church that felt all art should glorify God and when I tried to write hymns and psalms, well, they weren’t any good. So, ten years passed. When I returned to writing, I didn’t really know I was writing a book. I was finding myself and that process led me to the page. I think the arc that emerged in the book is the arc that I lived while writing it. It wasn’t until I sat down to order the manuscript that I saw for myself how I had moved through these stages. My process is very different now. While Psalm of the Sunflower grew wholly organically, my two subsequent manuscripts were written with the end in mind.
Tara: It always amazes me how many writers have left a religious practice that restrained their writing. It makes me wonder about other challenges that you may have faced in writing? I know I've felt pretty lucky, but I've been so single-minded at times that I've made a lot of sacrifices.
Antoinette: Yeah. Religion is a curious thing. On one hand, I am very grateful for all that I learned from my education, experiences and encounters with various religious traditions. A lot of it I still hold dear and much of it remains as my moral compass. On the other hand, I have witnessed firsthand how some people literally lose their “souls” at the hands of unscrupulous or legalistic traditions. But, that’s another book. For me, Psalm of the Sunflower speaks to some of this. It is hard to miss the many metaphors drawn from various religious traditions, but here they are my solace and not my undoing. Two things have been an enemy of my writing: my former religious practice and time. My former religious practice steeped me in fear, condemnation and learned helplessness. Time didn’t wait for me to right myself and begin to write again. Now, I have made peace with the passing of time and have learned to rest in my faith and spirituality.
Tara: Ultimately, it's about balance. I think it's also interesting how people derive so many interpretations from a text when writers can and do make intuitive choices, right? You're mentioning the metaphors from religious traditions, but because you know them so well, it may not be intentional until you revise or select poems. Or if you think about the sequence or what goes in each section, there may be an idea of a progression, and it resonates from this feeling that simply says this is right. I have that "feeling" often before I begin a poem, even if I decide on a deliberate form for a poem.
Antoinette: Tara, in all honesty, I shudder when I hear the word “balance” these days. [sighs] We all want, maybe even need, it. But, no one seems to know how to find it. As for my metaphors from religious traditions, I think it is the language I know. These stories and parables are such a part of my upbringing and adult life; they are the shorthand I speak. Funny that these metaphors find themselves next to metaphors of Billie Holliday and red lipstick. People are complicated and layered. I like that about people. They are treasure troves of metaphor, language and experience. I love that art allows an audience to peel back these layers.
Tara: In the first section, the color red emerges again and again. It's a sort of sensual color but also a sort of lifeblood pulsing through these poems, did you start out with this in mind? How did these poems come together as you were constructing the book?
Antoinette: I had to go back and look. [Laughing] I can’t say that it was intentional. Thinking about it now, this time in my life was a very visceral and raw time – a red time. Menarche refers to the first menstrual cycle of a woman. It signals the beginning of womanhood. And, it awes me as a woman to consider how one can lose the essence of life and still live. And, then give life. So that poem, Menarche, comes in the first section. It heralds my reentrance into womanhood after having given it - myself and my power - away. It acknowledges the price and peril of womanhood. In the poem, Eve, there’s Eve’s apple (temptation, guilt, shame, etc.) and all of those monikers that rest on the shoulders of women. And of course, there is the poem, Freedom is Red. Red is royal in some cultures. It also denotes blood, courage, and struggle. I don’t think you achieve freedom without those things. And, incidentally, I don’t think that this is just my story. It is what women do every day to find/define/evolve into themselves and to raise their families.
Tara: It's funny how sometimes people think a piece of your writing is just the story of the writer. No one takes into account that the story or poem can be imagined or fictionalized. Yet, when someone is writing they may be thinking of what happens to a group of people or human beings in general and personalizing it. Or even, an overheard conversation or something in the newspaper. Writing isn't just about "you" necessarily. Writing can be an entry into another community that lends itself to empathy, right? You see other people as you see yourself, a person with strengths, fears, feelings and vulnerability. The details in Psalm really speaks to the feeling without beating a reader with abstraction.
Antoinette: I am glad to hear that Psalm speaks to this notion of transcendence without being overly didactic. Like I said, I went to the page to figure things out. I am glad that others can find themselves and encouragement in its pages. I have learned after years of reading and studying literature that people are people. We have the same wants and desires basically. Once we get past the social, racial and political constructs, we all want connection, community, purpose and love. I may be oversimplifying; but at the end of the day, those are the things we want and need. Now how we acquire these wants and needs - therein is the poetry.
Tara: Yes, sometimes I find myself wondering why people shut down when it's so clear that the identity of the characters and the author doesn't obscure their humanity. I tell my students all people want and experience the same things, but in differing degrees. You're born. You experience love, hate, success, failure, loss, grief. You struggle, work, celebrate, and die. It seems simple, but how does one person's experience make that unique? How does one voice stand out or tell us so much about life and being human? I ask these kinds of questions often.
Antoinette: I think we, as human beings, live in fear. In varying degrees. I think even those who appear fearless are afraid and just live fully anyway. I strive to be one of them. [Laughs] And, sometimes when we are presented with literature that mirrors or magnifies our fears, we resist it. We want to think it is not relevant to us. Of course, I am speaking in very general terms. And, I am still working all of this out in my own head. I encourage my students to set aside their biases and fears, so they can truly engage with the literature – to let their initial contact (with any piece of art) be one of open-mindedness.
Tara: I’m curious. What do the poems you enjoy or reread have in common, if anything? Are there patterns that you notice? I tend to appreciate narrative and form, but I’m finding that I separate content from the form of the work more readily than I used to. I can appreciate someone who is adept at manipulating words, but I want to feel what they’re saying.
Antoinette: Tara, actually there are a few poems that I revisit. First, Langston Hughes’ Dreams because it is the first poem I remember reading. I didn’t know what a poem was, but I knew whatever this was, I loved it and I wanted to read more like it. I didn’t have any real dreams then; I was 6 or 7, but I knew I would “hold fast” once I had one. Second, Brooks’ The Bean Eaters. It was the second poem that I remember reading. Remembering these early discoveries brings to mind the joy of first falling in love with literature. I often go back to Walcott’s Love after Love because it reminds me that it is possible to “love again the stranger who was your self.” And, to Yehuda Amichai’s, Wildpeace. Because, it is beautiful and I, too, want peace “like wildflowers,/suddenly, because the field/must have it: wildpeace.”
Tara: Some good choices. I can’t imagine being a kid and not seeing myself in Langston Hughes and Brooks. It’s a silly question, but what was your first impression when we first met?
Antoinette: We were at the Cave Canem Foundation retreat. It was my first one. I was very recently divorced; still timid and very humbled to be there. I was in awe of the diversity of the poets. They were all black, but with varied voices, backgrounds and histories. You were sitting across from me. Quiet. I remember the smooth hazel texture of your hair and your light skin. I remember that I smiled, thinking how amazing it was to have such a range of beauty in one place. And, to know that I belonged there, too. And, then I realized, I was staring.
Tara: I think the range of beauty at Cave Canem struck me too. It wasn’t just the intellectual prowess and the range of interests of every poet that filled me with awe. When I look at pictures, I think of how breathtaking it is to see that range of what beautiful can look like. I also think it’s overwhelming as a person of color to be in a space with so many other writers of color who may not experience that range of writers where they live or in academic settings. So, you see this and it’s just an affirmation that you’re not alone.
There’s often been a joke that there should be a fundraising calendar featuring the sweethearts and heartthrobs of Cave Canem. I think they’d have to do a couple of versions of the women’s calendars since there are so many talented brilliant women! Of course, I remember seeing you in 2003 at the podium reading your poem in a soft clear voice, and I thought just your height and your sense of pacing made you seem regal, and you always know how to work that lipstick! I did notice you seemed a bit shy then, but now I know better! I count you among the elegant. I think the women of Cave Canem have reminded me to embrace beauty and an intellectual, creative life. There’s room for that, and I think there’s a space for all of us. Sometimes, we have to insist upon it. Other times, it just happens as it should.
*
*
You can buy Tara's and Antoinette's books, Arc & Hue and Psalm of the Sunflower, respectively at Willow Books website. Antoinette & Tara welcome comments and further questions; please leave any thoughts for these authors on this blog space.
No comments:
Post a Comment