Celebrations Read online

  When great trees fall

  in forests,

  small things recoil into silence,

  their senses

  eroded beyond fear.

  When great souls die,

  the air around us becomes

  light, rare, sterile.

  We breathe briefly.

  our eyes, briefly,

  see with

  a hurtful clarity.

  Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

  examines,

  gnaws on kind words

  unsaid,

  promised walks

  never taken.

  Great souls die and

  our reality, bound to

  them, takes leave of us.

  Our souls,

  dependent upon their

  nurture,

  now shrink, wizened.

  Our minds, formed

  and informed by their

  radiance,

  fall away.

  We are not so much maddened

  as reduced to the unutterable ignorance

  of dark, cold

  caves.

  And when great souls die,

  after a period peace blooms,

  slowly and always

  irregularly. Spaces fill

  with a kind of

  soothing electric vibration.

  Our senses, restored, never

  to be the same, whisper to us,

  They existed. They existed.

  We can be. Be and be

  better. For they existed.

  A BLACK WOMAN

  SPEAKS TO

  BLACK MANHOOD

  READ BY THE POET AT THE MILLION MAN MARCH IN WASHINGTON, D.C., ON OCTOBER 16, 1995

  Our souls look back

  In wondrous surprise

  At how we have made it

  So far from where we started

  Fathers, brothers, uncles

  Nephews, sons, and friends

  Look over your shoulders

  And at our history

  The night was long

  The wounds were deep

  The pit has been dark

  Its walls were steep

  I was dragged by braids

  On a sandy beach

  I was pulled near you

  But beyond your reach

  You were bound and gagged

  When you heard me cry

  Your spirit was wounded

  With each wrenching try

  For you thrusted and pulled

  Trying to break free

  So that neither of us

  Would know slavery

  You forgot the strength

  Of the rope and the chain

  You only remember

  Your manhood shame

  You couldn’t help yourself

  And you couldn’t help me

  You’ve carried that fact

  Down our history

  We have survived

  Those centuries of hate

  And we do not deny

  Their bruising weight

  Please my many million men

  Let us lay that image aside

  See how our people today

  Walk in strength and in pride

  Celebrate, stand up, clap hands for ourselves

  and those who went before

  Stand up, clap hands, let us welcome kind

  words back into our vocabulary

  Stand up, clap hands, let us welcome

  courtesies back into our bedrooms

  Stand up, clap hands, let us invite generosity

  back into our kitchens

  Clap hands, let faith find a place in our souls

  Clap hands, let hope live in our hearts

  We have survived

  And even thrived with

  Passion

  Compassion

  Humor

  and style

  The night was long

  The wounds were deep

  The pit was dark

  Its walls were steep

  Clap hands, celebrate

  We deserve it

  Jubilate!

  AMAZING PEACE

  READ BY THE POET AT THE LIGHTING OF THE NATIONAL CHRISTMAS TREE, WASHINGTON, D.C., DECEMBER 1, 2005

  Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes

  And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.

  Floodwaters await in our avenues.

  Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow

  to avalanche

  Over unprotected villages.

  The sky slips low and gray and threatening.

  We question ourselves. What have we done to

  so affront nature?

  We interrogate and worry God.

  Are you there? Are you there, really?

  Does the covenant you made with us still

  hold?

  Into this climate of fear and apprehension,

  Christmas enters,

  Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope

  And singing carols of forgiveness high up in

  the bright air.

  The world is encouraged to come away from

  rancor,

  Come the way of friendship.

  It is the Glad Season.

  Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps

  quietly in the corner.

  Floodwaters recede into memory.

  Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us

  As we make our way to higher ground.

  Hope is born again in the faces of children.

  It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they

  walk into their sunsets.

  Hope spreads around the earth, brightening

  all things,

  Even hate, which crouches breeding in dark

  corridors.

  In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.

  At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.

  We listen carefully as it gathers strength.

  We hear a sweetness.

  The word is Peace.

  It is loud now.

  Louder than the explosion of bombs.

  We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by

  its presence.

  It is that for which we have hungered.

  Not just the absence of war. But true Peace.

  A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.

  Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

  We clap hands and welcome the Peace of

  Christmas.

  We beckon this good season to wait awhile

  with us.

  We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and

  Muslim, say come.

  Peace.

  Come and fill us and our world with your

  majesty.

  We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and

  the Confucian,

  Implore you to stay awhile with us

  So we may learn by your shimmering light

  How to look beyond complexion and see

  community.

  It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.

  On this platform of peace, we can create a

  language

  To translate ourselves to ourselves and to

  each other.

  At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of

  Jesus Christ

  Into the great religions of the world.

  We jubilate the precious advent of trust.

  We shout with glorious tongues the coming of

  hope.

  All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices

  To celebrate the promise of Peace.

  We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and

  Nonbelievers,

  Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.

  Peace. We look at our world and speak the

  word aloud.

  Peace. We look at each other, then into

  ourselves,

  And we say without shyness or apology or

  hesitation:
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  Peace, My Brother.

  Peace, My Sister.

  Peace, My Soul.

  MOTHER

  A Cradle to Hold Me

  It is true

  I was created in you.

  It is also true

  That you were created for me.

  I owned your voice.

  It was shaped and tuned to soothe me.

  Your arms were molded

  Into a cradle to hold me, to rock me.

  The scent of your body was the air

  Perfumed for me to breathe.

  Mother,

  During those early, dearest days

  I did not dream that you had

  A larger life which included me,

  Among your other concerns,

  For I had a life

  Which was only you.

  Time passed steadily and drew us apart.

  I was unwilling.

  I feared if I let you go

  You would leave me eternally.

  You smiled at my fears, saying

  I could not stay in your lap forever

  That one day you would have to stand

  And where would I be?

  You smiled again.

  I did not.

  Without warning you left me,

  But you returned immediately.

  You left again and returned,

  I admit, quickly.

  But relief did not rest with me easily.

  You left again, but again returned.

  You left again, but again returned.

  Each time you reentered my world

  You brought assurance.

  Slowly I gained confidence.

  You thought you knew me,

  But I did know you,

  You thought you were watching me,

  But I did hold you securely in my sight,

  Recording every movement,

  Memorizing your smiles, tracing your frowns.

  In your absence

  I rehearsed you,

  The way you had of singing

  On a breeze,

  While a sob lay

  At the root of your song.

  The way you posed your head

  So that the light could caress your face

  When you put your fingers on my hand

  And your hand on my arm,

  I was blessed with a sense of health,

  Of strength and very good fortune.

  You were always

  The heart of happiness to me,

  Bringing nougats of glee,

  Sweets of open laughter.

  I loved you even during the years

  When you knew nothing

  And I knew everything, I loved you still.

  Condescendingly of course,

  From my high perch

  Of teenage wisdom.

  I spoke sharply to you, often

  Because you were slow to understand.

  I grew older and

  Was stunned to find

  How much knowledge you had gleaned.

  And so quickly.

  Mother, I have learned enough now

  To know I have learned nearly nothing.

  On this day

  When mothers are being honored,

  Let me thank you

  That my selfishness, ignorance, and mockery

  Did not bring you to

  Discard me like a broken doll

  Which had lost its favor.

  I thank you that

  You still find something in me

  To cherish, to admire, and to love.

  I thank you, Mother.

  I love you.

  IN AND OUT

  OF TIME

  For Jessica and Colin Johnson

  Stephanie and Guy Johnson

  The sun has come out

  The mists have gone

  We see in the distance

  Our long way home

  I was yours to love

  You were always mine

  We have belonged together

  In and out of time

  When the first stone looked

  Up at the blazing sun

  And the first tree struggled

  From the forest floor

  I loved you more

  You were the rhythm on the head

  Of the conga drum

  And the brush of palm

  On my nut brown skin

  And I loved you then

  We worked the cane

  And cotton fields

  We trod together

  The city streets

  Wearied by labor

  Bruised by cruelty

  Strutting and sassy

  To our inner beat

  And all the while

  Lord, how I love your smile

  You’ve freed your braids

  Gave your hair to the breeze

  It hummed like a hive

  Of busy bees

  I reached into the mass

  For the honeycomb there

  God, how I loved your hair

  You saw me bludgeoned

  By circumstance

  Injured by hate

  And lost to chance

  Legs that could be broken

  But knees that would not bend

  Oh, you loved me then

  I raked the Heavens’ belly

  With torrid screams

  I fought to turn

  Nightmares into dreams

  My protests were loud

  And brash and bold

  My, how you loved my soul

  The sun has come out

  The mists have gone

  We see in the distance

  Our long way home

  I was yours to love

  And you were always mine

  We have belonged together

  In and out of time

  BEN LEAR’S

  BAR MITZVAH

  AN ODE TO BEN LEAR

  ON THE OCCASION OF HIS BAR MITZVAH

  To you

  in your walled city of childhood,

  the years have inched by slowly, tortoise—like

  crawling,

  yet to your family and family of friends

  the time has hurried, without halting,

  without leaving enough seasons in which

  to know you, to teach you, to love you.

  You have been noted studying the Torah,

  probing the words of ancient prophets

  reading,

  To many

  you have come too suddenly to the new

  region of manhood.

  To your parents,

  in whose immense realm of love

  you have been clasped and claimed,

  you are still the tender-tough boy,

  yet in your face, they see already the promise

  of the man you are becoming.

  To them

  you are too eager to step into the new land,

  too ready to share the responsibility

  with the citizens of your new country.

  Some of your beloveds are longing to hold you back in the safe arms

  of childhood,

  where errant behavior could meet with soft

  admonishment,

  where most injuries could be made better by

  a mother’s kiss,

  but even now you are leaning away toward

  the horizon

  with one foot raised to step forward.

  None can stop you, none can stay you.

  Please know,

  prayers lay in the road where you will plant

  your feet.

  Please know

  that aspirations of your family are high at

  your back, and surround you entirely.

  Please know

  that great hopes of your devoted shower

  you with

  ardent wishes for your being and for your

  future.

  Your beloveds

  know that you are entering a nation
/>   where you must learn the difference

  between seeking after justice

  and lusting for revenge.

  They know also

  that you will meet those who would be kind

  if only they had the courage, and

  those who would do evil

  if only they had the opportunity.

  You will be bathed in the morning dew of

  truth

  and you will drink down the brackish water of

  false witness.

  Be wary, my nephew, but fear only God,

  for you have a limitless resource of powerful

  love

  to evoke and call forth

  and I,

  prompt with all your primed and loving

  family,

  await your summons.

  VIGIL

  For Luther Vandross and Barry White

  We are born in pain, then relief comes.

  We are lost in the dark, then day breaks.

  We are confused, confounded, and fearful,

  Then faith takes our hand.

  We stumble and fumble and fall,

  Then, we rise.

  Into each of our meanest nights, you

  have arrived,

  Oh, Lord,

  Creator,

  To lead us away from our ignorance

  And into knowing.

  Now, we gather at your altar,

  Rich and poor, young and

  Achingly old,

  We are the housed and the homeless,

  We are the lucky,

  And the lazy.

  As if at the foot

  Of an ancient baobab tree,

  In this moment

  We gather to stand, kneel, sit, squat, and

  crumple here,

  Knowing that, when the medical geniuses

  Have done their best,

  When the Nobel Prize Winners

  Have used their most powerful energy,

  We have You.

  Creator,

  We bring to You

  Our brothers, sons, fathers, uncles,

  Nephews, cousins, beloved, and friends.

  We place the body of Luther Vandross

  And the body of Barry

  White Here before You.

  They are among the best we have

  And You are all we have.