what's [so very] good
words making glorious shapes & sounds
Welcome to Sunday (apologies if it’s already Monday in your world), when I reflect on things that made my heart happy during the last seven days or maybe a while ago but I just remembered recently, and now want to share with people so they can fall into the week a little lighter, with joy. That said, a couple of these selections reference death/suicide and the heinous history of slavery & white supremacy - the emphasis of these artists, however, is to seek survival and keep hope alive & thriving.
In poetry: Bonus today because Ross Gay wrote this selection “after Gwendolyn Brooks” so I had to find his inspiration, which I will add here with huge props to poet/essayist Bernard Ferguson who did all the hard work in tracking “To the young who want to die.”
Sorrow Is Not My Name by Ross Gay —after Gwendolyn Brooks No matter the pull toward brink. No matter the florid, deep sleep awaits. There is a time for everything. Look, just this morning a vulture nodded his red, grizzled head at me, and I looked at him, admiring the sickle of his beak. Then the wind kicked up, and, after arranging that good suit of feathers he up and took off. Just like that. And to boot, there are, on this planet alone, something like two million naturally occurring sweet things, some with names so generous as to kick the steel from my knees: agave, persimmon, stick ball, the purple okra I bought for two bucks at the market. Think of that. The long night, the skeleton in the mirror, the man behind me on the bus taking notes, yeah, yeah. But look; my niece is running through a field calling my name. My neighbor sings like an angel and at the end of my block is a basketball court. I remember. My color's green. I'm spring. —for Walter Aikens
To begin with, I love the imagery throughout this poem: Every sense is engaged, from the physical “pull toward the brink” and immediate body reaction with “florid, deep sleep” to the shudder-worthy vision of a vulture nodding “his red grizzled head” and “arranging that good suit of feathers…” down to the rich smells & tastes of “agave, persimmon…purple okra…” and eventually the divine sounds of a niece calling to her uncle across a field, the neighbor who “sings like an angel,” and whoever is out on that basketball court. That the first few images are related to death makes the last so much more luxurious; when we realize a grim reaper is lurking around us all the time - out the window, in the mirror, on the bus - we can either grab onto every small pleasure that comes our way and savor it or dissolve into despair.
I also love the vibe Gay brings to this - a reckoning with the personal sorrows we all face, some that come with roots that pull us down relentlessly, in a way that honors struggle - “There is a time for everything” - yet asks us to take a breath and remember “there are…something like two/million naturally occurring sweet things” on our planet. Sometimes I spend a few minutes before going to bed writing down the tiny joys I noticed during the day, so I can conjure pleasant dreams and start fresh in the morning.
And speaking of taking a breath, please dive into this glorious poem that inspired Gay’s work (and maybe Lil Nas X for Sun Goes Down?):
“To the young who want to die” by Gwendolyn Brooks
Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.
The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.
Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.
I assure you death will wait. Death has
a lot of time. Death can
attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is
just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;
can meet you any moment.
You need not die today.
Stay here--through pout or pain or peskiness.
Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow.
Graves grow no green that you can ever use.
Remember, green's your color. You are Spring.In books: I finally dove into Robert Jones, Jr.’s gorgeous novel The Prophets, an opulent story woven by the voices of African ancestors, their enslavers, and their descendants on a Mississippi plantation in the mid-1800s.
Though often brutal and despairing, there are many sections that sing through the pain with beauty & glory. The novel centers on Samuel & Isaiah, two young men enslaved on the plantation since childhood who became fast friends and later lovers. This passage felt like everything I was trying to teach teenagers about generational trauma in US History - it is written from Samuel’s perspective, reflecting on Isaiah’s more gentle, biding nature. He tells us that Isaiah’s decision to peacefully do what he is told in order to live is
“where [he] faltered. To survive in this place, you had to want to die. That was the way of the world as remade by toubab [white people], and Samuel's list of grievances was long: They forbade people from accessing any knowledge of the world and then called them simple. They worked people until their empty hands were twisted, bleeding, and could do no more, then called them lazy. They forced people to eat innards from troughs and then called them uncivilized. They kidnapped babies and shattered families and then called them incapable of love. They raped and lynched and cut up people into parts, and then called the pieces savage. They stepped on people’s throats with all their might and asked why the people couldn’t breathe. And then, when people made an attempt to break the foot, or cut it off one, they screamed ‘CHAOS!’ and claimed that mass murder was the only way to restore order.”
There is often a feeling of futility in the chapters by those who were enslaved, a sense that there was no use in hoping for a better life, much less a different future. And yet threads of joy are woven throughout - characters remember moments of peace and love, they relish flavors & colors & scents, and even in wary resistance they give over to the feel of a breeze or touch of a friend. Jones brings the horror of our history into the light then shows the strength of generations finding each other, teaching each other, holding each other, moving forward. Gwendolyn Brooks would be proud.
In music: Chaka Khan, a goddess whose ancestors are surely hailing, sending all this goodness out into the world. Take it in, breathe it out.
A great read for my Monday morning, thank you!