Sharing this status update from an online friend, a follow up to my earlier post about the Why Arent There More Black People in Oregon presentation in Till. Co. this week. Powerful words. by S. Renee Mitchell IF ONLY BLACK FOLKS COULD READ AND WRITE.... I titled the name of my poem included below because that was the gut reaction I had after attending the 30-year anniversary celebration yesterday of Literary Arts. The yawning absence of faces of color in the audience, the list of speakers, the celebratory videos, and even the staff and volunteers of the organization merely reinforced the invisibility of those potential and accomplished writers who look like me. Ive been a professional writer for more than 30 years and still felt like I didnt belong there. Two years ago, Literary Arts invited a Nigerian novelist to town to remind us of “the danger of a single story.” Chimamanda Adichie said: “A single story can be true, but it’s not complete, and if a story is not complete, what’s the point?” Other accomplished black writers have come to visit Portland, too, at Literary Arts invitation. But even from the lectern, they see what I saw yesterday: a void of mirrored images, a single story where people of color are peculiar visitors, not inhabitants of the literary landscape. Whats the point? I was an Oregonian columnist because a black newspaper columnist in Chicago planted the seed of possibility within me when I was still in college. I became a poet because the words of black women poets like June Jordan, Audre Lorde and Rita Dove reminded me that my words, experiences and perspectives deserved a place on the frontlines of literature and were even quite necessary to inspire those who still need to learn that their words have power. I deeply appreciate the intention of Literary Arts. But, the subtle message of its homogeneous, single story surged such a depth of sadness within me that the ache for those voices of color on the periphery who don’t yet realize their words deserve applause, too, churned within me all the way home, into the night, and stirred me from my bed before the dawn. So, I write. I write. I write…. IF ONLY BLACK FOLKS COULD READ © 2014 S. Renee Mitchell if only black folks could read let alone write maybe then our words would matter too our tales would be told behind microphones our lyrics put to music & sung with measured tempo like they were almost worthy of celebration just because if only black folks could write we might not be so invisible so out of view missing from the landscape like an ex wife trying to make a point about how she never loved you anyway fool you were barely suitable as a consolation prize after the one she really loved left town on the midnight train so you would do until you didn’t & she won’t miss you one bit no way in fact, she can’t even see you no more only the scissored edges of what once was until it wasn’t if only black folks could write we’d be comparing our tragic lives to crystal stairs & our dogged resistance to the lovely way that caged birds sing we’d spell trauma a thousand different ways & put it to a beat you could swing your hips to we’d know how to describe a dream deferred the unique rhythm of our lives the color of purple wouldn’t that be something if we could only find an adequate way to express ourselves perhaps we just might renaissance villages of inconspicuous individuals aching for understanding with lines, lyrics & librettos that linked to their lives so deeply they would find themselves sitting in silence just a-humming happy humble grateful that they finally inexplicitly felt heard if only blacks had enough imagination to articulate how the mask we wear to hide our heartbreak grins & lies if only blacks could write we could make jeremiads sound like love making we would pen praise songs for presidents we would become lyrical catalysts for social causes if only we could read & write we’d teach our children that words have power & poetry of the people is written by the people for the people & unless & until we intentionally purposefully seek tales from the lion we will always believe the hunter’s story is the only one deserving to be told if only black folks could read write express indivisible truths mmm mmmm hmmmmm wouldn’t we have stories to tell
Posted on: Sat, 13 Sep 2014 15:19:20 +0000
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