CRITICAL CONDITION -- Ed Roberson

The entire surface of my body is missing
in the sense the entire surface of my body is missing
touch with that body of someone elses in this world
at the moment, it feels that total a missing, that absence
by which you have no body, are disembodied through
the absence of touching a body. This isn't healthy.
For lack of that kiss.

If I lose it said to me that I am loved, lost
with all the lesser connective pertinences and news,
I lose a tongue to the world, and ears, if except
for locational and ambient noise,
am deaf and dumb. I am missing my senses.
If consciousness is connection, I am in a coma
for lack of the kiss of in touch.


--- from his book of poetry, The New Wing of the Labyrinth

ALSO

I've heard her name before, but I hadn't actually read any of her poetry until today. When my poetry workshop teacher asked me if we knew he she was, I knew it wouldn't exactly have been appropriate for me to say, "Well, I know she's black."  so i didn't raise my hand. But yes, Lucille Clifton passed away recently apparently after surviving cancer and living through the deaths of two of her children. Yes, you can pause and try to breathe after even beginning to try to process that. (and i'm kind of creeped out that I've started to write on this blog expressly speaking to an audience when i originally thought I'd only be talking to myself on the internet as strange as that sounds). But yes, one of the poems we read today in light of that was "Sorrows."

beautiful, to say the least. and, I'm going to challenge myself to make sure at some point I pick up at least one of her books and really take some time with it.(revision: after reading some of her literary bio, one seems almost deplorable)

sorrows

by Lucille Clifton

who would believe them winged

who would believe they could be

beautiful         who would believe

they could fall so in love with mortals

that they would attach themselves

as scars attach and ride the skin

sometimes we hear them in our dreams

rattling their skulls         clicking their bony fingers

envying our crackling hair

our spice filled flesh

they have heard me beseeching

as I whispered into my own

cupped hands       enough not me again

enough       but who can distinguish

one human voice   

amid such choruses of   desire

(accessed from here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=180005 )

more on life and influence here:
http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2010/02/remembering-lucille-clifton.html

Just watch.

"Haiti" by Carvens Lissaint

One of my friends, amazing poet/performer/person and proud Haitian has a poem about the experience he had when he visited the country this past summer. This video is an advertisement for an event called Every Drop Counts that will be held in Chicago.

Check it out. You won't be disappointed. Extraordinary passion and heart he has.

So I’m thinking about some things that deem you wisdom-wielding

One of them is having natural hair. Have had this mini conversation about this before, but just in the sense that people expect people with locks to be really intelligent, know a lot about black history and speak in poetry. That’s not what I’m talking about right now. I’m thinking about natural hair as decision. Not as political position but as personal decision and taking a leap. I decided to go natural because I thought it looked cool on a couple people I had seen, I saw through my mother and her red locks it was viable, and because I missed seeing what my hair looked like underneath the relaxer. Personal decision. Yes, black is beautiful. I won’t pretend that it is not layered and varied. Again, this is not my focus. My focus: when people ask me about my hair, how long it was when I cut, who does it and where, what products, is it manageable… It’s about admiration to an extent, and interest but also I feel like it’s a question about choices I’ve made. I don’t see it as a big deal. There are days relaxer seems so far from who I am now… even when I had an afro two years ago. So, back to choices; I feel like I’m being incoherent but, I chose to cut my hair and take it on as things followed because I want to.  I made a choice, one that not many people would’ve been behind or thought would turn out well but I wanted it. I’ve been thinking every once and a while about cutting it. I don’t know if I really will or if I just feel insecure about the maintenance of my locs today. But I know that if I do, it’ll be okay. I’ll get used to changes. I wish I could extend that idea more often into other parts of my life. I’m learning, not to look back too often. I was feeling a little sick until I started to write this (and other things) out. I’m glad, writing fixed me a little. Getting even one answer can be a process, decision making definitely too. One day at a time. And I think my mini-anxiety attack comes from not really appearance but representation. I wonder about what I’m projecting. Am I falling off? (And, I would ask the mirror this before any person.) What does this do to my face? What is my face? Who am I? What’s next? Yes, I’m asking glass. And this has become really long…

Btdubbs. Is it wack that when I Googled "short natural hairstyles" (and Google added "black women" at the end) and I saw this picture of Lauryn Hill, I said to myself, "That's it!?"

Actually, her hair was dope on a regular. Something else I've contemplated, the notion of the "Sweetest Thing." Another subject, for another time. Until then, the beautiful song :]

December 31st, 2009

1.   I’ve set an alarm on my phone for sometime late December 2010, a series of alarms actually. They read as follows:

willbeinlovew/

therightpersonh

ecarriesmyheart

andihis

forsometimenow.

I’m optimistic for once. Shout outs to E.E. Cummings.

2. I can feel already how different 2010 is going to be. 2009 was long. Was transformative, in an obvious way. Accumulation of little differences when presented to the public showed drastic change. For the good. For the bad. The latest was the good. Holler.

3. I like to write to people. I like to write to people and not send it to them. It’s an exercise :] But, I’m currently working on something for someone who will last. Which means I’ll be writing it for a while ‘cause it’ll take a lot of convincing for me to think someone will last.

a. Though I’ve made the mistake of pretending I thought something was worth vulnerability mistakes about that kind of thing before.

4. In time for New Year brand change… what are my vices?

a. People watching.

b. Anonymous readership.

c. Developing crushes and shooting down possibilities, forming character breaks in crush—the last time I met and formed some semblance of a relationship with a crush (though he never knew he was one), he died. That sucks. I don’t wanna meet another one and have him die. Is that my real fear? Idk anymore.

d. Convincing myself that my efforts don’t matter, in most things worth risking my comfort for.

e. Knowing better, and not acting accordingly.

f. I’m tired of this exercise…

5. I better enjoy myself tonight! My pockets are growling, they so hungry and that bus ride here better be worth it.

6. Here’s to me consistently having something to say! [And when I say “here’s” I lift my eyebrow. Would be proper if it was a champagne glass (and champagne) to clank but nah]