AFTER THE POETRY READING, BLACK 1

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AFTER THE POETRY READING, BLACK His friend, the red hair and tight jeans, took back her pen, left me THIS piece of cake: "He's disappointed"—meant this dude half down the aisle, himself so blond surveying, counting those who cared— added what she meant, sweeping off the crumbs with "You're not Black enough, he said." But do they EVER say, I thought, just what they mean? —and didn't even see her fine retreat, but went behind ne Veil... Back there with Truth, and Prosser, Turner, whipped out my pocket Trans-a-lator model Double-Oh-Daddy-o-Douglass, pushed chromobuttons "Blond" and "Reddish," laid it 'longside the echoes in the aisle till cake came back in Trans-a-lator slices 'hard and sure as this: "He's disappointed: wanted to frolic in the backyard of your mind, smell weeds, rip up the tender shoots, peel back the shade, white-backlash with his boots the darkest flowers. "He's disappointed: wanted to squat on your kitchen floor, suck possum bones, juggle a hoecake, name thirteen kinds of greens You People know. "He's disappointed: wanted to wave his shelf of Negro Books full in your face, back you up against the wall with itty-bitty black facts from White Muricana." "You're not Black enough: not frothing at the mouth with whatchu-done-to-me's, not the Black Knight on the white horse weaned and gelded on Ole Massa's farm, not the Deppity Shuriff of Chitlin County, first of the race tgit 'lected, not the Fastest Popgun in the West, not the President of the Bignig Club, not even top contributor to TNT (Truculent Negroes of the Town)." Shook my Trans-a-lator, turned it upside down, got this: "What he REALLY means— are you still listening? — is this: wants to stick his foot in the trap— did you say 'WHAT trap?'— and pull it out safe, betterbooted, brand new with kickass sole and rubberclubber heel; wants to drop dead from grief they forcefed down your daddy's throat, wants to choke and drown in the bloody wake where scores of you oh, once upon a time in chains together flung yourselves into the sea, wants style to fight the wolves and feed the lash

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Poem written by Emanuel in 1977/1978 about the nature and complexity of Black poetry, with extra sheet attached to page(Page 1)

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  • type
    Image
  • created on
  • file format
    jpg
  • file size
    683 kB
  • container title
    James A. Emanuel Papers
  • creator
    James A. Emanuel
  • issue
    BOX 4 FOLDER 27, "The Chopping Block (Selected Poems), draft, 1988 (2 of 2)
  • rights
    James A. Emanuel Estate
  • rights holder
    James A. Emanuel Estate
  • version
    1977/1978