Election week, I let Langston Hughes have the final word. His poem, “Let America Be America Again,” speaks to the ideal we hold and fail repeatedly to realize, especially when it comes to racial equity in our country. And yet, to the polls we go, with hope again for redemption.
“We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!”
It’s been a dry autumn in Austin, but the week of 10/25 rain was in the forecast, and it seemed appropriate to offer a praise song to it. It was also appropriate to share the words of Joy Harjo, our first Native American poet laureate. Here is her poem.
“Praise the rain; it brings more rain.
Praise the rain; it brings more rain.”
Early voting began and lines wrapped around buildings on the first day. The U.S. brooded and waited. This poem, written for a celebration of the 19th Amendment for the Project 19 initiative, was exactly what the week called for. I saved my “I Voted” sticker for it.
“And even one letter, one
vote can make the difference for every bright thing.”
When the pandemic arrived this spring and threw us into rapid change, we scrambled to put Free Minds classes online. Our first night back in a virtual format, we wanted to offer some space for students to process the intense time we’d found ourselves in. As creative writing instructor, I set about finding a poem to guide us. I flipped through the usual sources, struggling to find what would speak to the moment. Then I pulled Ellen Bass’s Like a Beggar from the shelf and came upon “The World Has Need of You.” It was the right poem for that evening and the months to come.
“It’s a hard time to be human. We know too much
and too little.”
As I considered what poem to share for my second week in the poetry box, I got the word that Tony Abbott, beloved Davidson College professor and fixture of the Charlotte, NC, poetry scene, had died. Tony was my teacher when I was in my mid-20s, in evening classes he offered to the community, driving from Davidson to Charlotte just to be in the company of other poets. I was young and unsure of myself, desperate to learn how to express myself on the page, and Tony made a warm and embracing space for me to come to. Without question, I am the writer and teacher I am today because of the sense of welcome Tony made for me and for the way he modeled a life in which an enthusiastic love of words served as guide. I was able to be at Tony’s last poetry reading, at Main Street Books in Davidson in 2018, an event infused with love and language. Tony’s glee at sharing his poems with his community was palpable and I carried it with me back to my life in Austin, grateful to know him. His poem “Leavings” was the perfect poem to show my appreciation of Tony and all he brought to the world.
“Bless you, older brother.
May my leavings be so rich.”
Leavings
(for my father)
Outside my window a gnarled old oak
leans precariously on his elbow
snarling at his successors
wrapped smugly in their canvas diapers
and waiting
to be lowered
into the hard winter earth.
The other arm is gone,
the socket painted closed
with that preservative we use
to keep the old from rotting.
Knots bulge from his side like tumors.
Still
I think I like him better
than all those thin skinned babies
packed lightly
in their little holes.
He’s not so predictable.
In the spring he’ll flower strangely
and dance his own configurations
in the wind.
Bless you, older brother.
May my leavings be so rich.
from The Girl in the Yellow Raincoat (1989)
by Anthony Abbott, who died this week
and leaves a legacy in his great love of poems
It felt a little existential to decide the first poem that goes into the poetry box. And while I have lists and lists of things I want to include, I knew I wanted to begin with Mary Olivers’s perennial favorite, “Wild Geese.” It’s the poem I’d be most likely to tattoo on my inner arm (“soft animal” read the temporary tattoo I received from Firefly Creative Writing a few years ago and that I hold out as the perfect post-pandemic first ink). It’s the one my friends who aren’t big readers of poetry always love. It’s the one that Oliver herself said came to her as if a prayer, a bit of divine intercession. It will always be one of my favorites. You can hear her reading it and other poems on Krista Tippett’s On Being website.
“You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.”