#BlackLivesMatter #poem “You is kind,” she say, “you is smart. You is important.”

Last page of The Help.

 

And then she say it, just like I need her to. “You is kind,” she say, “you is smart. You is important.”

But at the same time feeling, in a way, that I’m free, like Minny. Freer than Miss Leefolt, who so locked up in her own head she don’t recognize herself when she read it…

I head down the hot sidewalk at eight thirty in the morning wondering what I’m on do with the rest a my day. The rest a my life. I am shaking and crying and a white lady walk by frowning at me. The paper gone pay me ten dolars a week, there’s the book money plus a little more coming. Still it ain’t enough for me to the rest a my life on…

The sun is bright but my eyes wide open. I stand at the bus stop like I been doing for forty-odd years. In thirty minutes, my whole life’s …done. Maybe I ought to keep writing, not just for the paper, but something else, about all the people I know and the things I seen and done. Maybe I ain’t too old to start over, I think and I laugh and cry at the same time at this. Cause just last night I thought I was finished with everything new.

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Akua Lezli Hope RESIGNATION Rattle.com

#iNeedFeminismBecause we need to rethink some of the systems in place for educating children. Too many schools are like this: chaos, stress, not understanding, falling behind, falling behind, falling behind, shame and instead we need to create a drive in kids to search for as many possible arguments, answers, questions, as their little heart and body can take -and for them to have joy doing this.

Akua Lezli Hope

RESIGNATION

I cannot justify making students cry,
the disorder is in the system.
Too small to span the keyboard, hands shake trying
behaviors far beyond them in the curriculum.
The disorder is in the system.
They cry with frustration. They must attempt
behaviors far beyond them in the curriculum,
scored on wildly inappropriate assessments.
They cry with frustration. They must attempt
poorly written tests. Their shoulders slump. Some misbehave.
Scored on wildly inappropriate assessments,
teachers are regimented, punished if they deviate.
Children hunt for letters they must attempt
but cannot read. Disorder is in the system.

Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.

jersey_orchard_jm

Robert Frost (1874–1963).  Mountain Interval.  1920.

15. The Cow in Apple Time

SOMETHING inspires the only cow of late
To make no more of a wall than an open gate,
And think no more of wall-builders than fools.
Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit, 5
She scores a pasture withering to the root.
She runs from tree to tree where lie and sweeten
The windfalls spiked with stubble and worm-eaten.
She leaves them bitten when she has to fly.
[…]

Velden

On peaceful fields‘(1950) by Andrei Mylnikov,  State Russian Museum in Saint Petersburg.

14. A Time to Talk

WHEN a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.

 

Dust of Snow

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
[…]

Sadjat Buat Adik- poem for my little brother, by Rivai Apin

Poem for my little brother
 .
Ever shorter the day
Fingers unbendable chilled by the evening
Fingers exhausted by searching for form
 .
There is always
The singing of a dream dreamt, one you will hear at last
You should
Let the light at dusk meet the light of day
and carefully attend to that
 .
Tomorrow is another day
And it will keep getting shorter

 

This modernist poet died in poverty and obscurity in 1995 in Jakarta. Political prisoner.

Political prisoner on Buru island with Indonesian writers, journalists, playwrights and poets. Tens of thousands of left-leaning and progressive Indonesians for periods up to 14 years.

Apin was one of the very few who managed to write something during his imprisonment. Memoirs: Jiku Kecil (19971-1973) about his unit and a couple of poems (1974-1979).

Many died in these prison camps. I don’t know enough to say whether they can be more closely described as how we understand concentration camps. Some combination of death, hunger, humiliation, reform and punishment.

 

Dutch translated by Linde Voûte
Gedicht voor mijn broertje

Steeds korter de dag
Vingers onbuigzaam verkild door de avond
Vingers vermoeid door het vinden van vorm
 .
Er is altijd nog
Het zingen van voorbije droom dat je eens zult horen
Je zou
Schemerlicht de dag moeten laten ontmoeten
en oplettend toezien
 .
Morgen is er weer een dag
Maar hij wordt steeds korter
 .
Uit: Ik wil nog duizend jaar leven. Negen moderne Indonesische dichters. Meulenhoff, Amsterdam,1979. Poetry International Serie. Put together by Harry Aveling.
.
BUY:
ONE book left in the Netherlands, antique and with nice prints: http://www.bol.com/nl/p/ik-wil-nog-duizend-jaar-leven/1001004005110174/
.
 .

More moons haiku. Winter Solstice moon. Spring moon.

I shift my pillow
closer to the
full moon.

Saiba 1858 (Tr. Hoffmann)

Winter seclusion;
listening, that evening,
to rain in the mountains

Moon, plum blossoms,
this, that,
and the day goes.

Issa

Sitting all alone
facing a still white paper:
behind me the moon

An evening guest—
the girl flings open a window
in comes the moon

The clouds hide the moon—
nursing her twins a mother
in the thick darkness.

Vasile Moldovan

KOKUMỌ: Lucille Clifton. Grandsons!!

CLIFTON_resized

KOKUMỌ

Photographs, my grandsons spinning in their joy.

universe
keep them turning —turning
black blurs against the window
of the world
for they are beautiful
and there is trouble coming
round and round and round

Lucille Clifton
In: the Oxford Anthology of African-American Poetry.
Ed. Arnold Rampersad; Associate Ed. Hilary Herbold.

 

BUY the book:

USED: http://www.abebooks.com/servlet/SearchResults?sts=t&tn=oxford+anthology+of+african-american+poetry
NEW from a local bookstore: http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780195125634

When you long for warmth… Poems about fire – I

When you are old- William Butler Yeats
WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep 
And nodding by the fire, take down this book, 
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look 
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; 

How many loved your moments of glad grace, 
And loved your beauty with love false or true; 
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, 
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
 
And bending down beside the glowing bars, 
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled 
And paced upon the mountains overhead, 
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.


Burning Drift- John Greenleaf Whittier

Before my drift-wood fire I sit, 
And see, with every piece I burn, 
Old dreams and fancies coloring it, 
And folly's unlaid ghosts return.
... 
O ships of mine, whose swift keels cleft 
The enchanted sea on which they sailed,
...
Did I not watch from them the light 
Of sunset on my towers in Spain,
...
Did sudden lift of fog reveal 
...
Have I not drifted hard upon 
...
Did land winds blow from jasmine flowers, 
...
And find in Bagdad's moonlit street, 
Haroun al Raschid walking yet
...
Dear souls who left us lonely here, 
Bound on their last, long voyage, to whom 
We, day by day, are drawing near, 
Where every bark has sailing room.
I know the solemn monotone 
Of waters calling unto me; 
I know from whence the airs have blown 
That whisper of the Eternal Sea.
 

As low my fires of drift-wood burn, 
I hear that sea's deep sounds increase, 
And, fair in sunset light, discern 
Its mirage-lifted Isles of Peace.


Shelley- To a sky lark

Higher still and higher 
From the earth thou springest, 
Like a cloud of fire 
The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
 10 

In the golden lightning 
Of the sunken sun, 
O'er which clouds are bright'ning, 
Thou dost float and run, 
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
 15 

The pale purple even 
Melts around thy flight; 
Like a star of heaven 
In the broad daylight, 
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight¡ 20