Читать книгу The Age of Phillis - Honorée Fanonne Jeffers - Страница 9
ОглавлениеBook: Before
And pleasing Gambia on my soul returns,
With native grace in Spring’s luxuriant reign,
Smiles the gay mead and Eden blooms again,
The various bower, the tuneful flowing stream,
The soft retreats, the lovers golden dream …
— Phillis Wheatley, from “PHILIS’S Reply to the Answer in our Last by the Gentleman in the Navy”
What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
Women from whose loins I sprang
When the birds of Eden sang?
— Countee Cullen, from “Heritage”
THE SMELTING OF IRON IN WEST AFRICA
c. Sometime in antiquity, date unknown
Utilitarian—
then,
at some point,
an embrace of beauty.
A glow:
the man waits,
a picture in his head.
He will claw
out the dream’s
tincture,
pour it into mold—
and in that dream,
he has met
the hyena laughing
about chains. The man
will pound metal
to forget that
grievous sound.
He will master
what was brought
from earth,
from viscera’s
need—
until his hands seize,
he will do this work,
and his son will do
the same,
and it will be written
upon the griot’s skull.
MOTHERING #1
Yaay, Someplace in the Gambia, c. 1753
after
the after-birth
is delivered
the mother stops
holding her breath
the mid-wife gives
what came before
her just-washed pain
her insanity pain
an undeserved pain
a God-given pain
oh oh oh pain
drum-talking pain
witnessing pain
Allah
a mother offers
You this gift
prays You find
it acceptable
her living pain
her creature pain
her pretty-little-baby
pain
FATHERING #1
Baay, Someplace in the Gambia, c. 1753
After the required time,
the seclusion to fool scream-faced
souls: the naming ceremony.
People arrive with gifts
for the close-eyed baby with no sense,
separate into men and women.
They do not count their children
like bad-lucked livestock—
they eat. They talk.
Chew kola.
Pray at the required
times. Then: eat.
Still: eat.
The baby unaware of her meaning.
In years, her father’s expectation:
her body hailing a good
bride price, that she might
sing forth sons—
if she prays as well.
At any rate, boys clearly hear
the loudest greeting.
Births to be cherished.
Tribal hierarchy.
God. (Him only or grouped,
translated stars.)
A man. His wife.
(Maybe: two more.)
A girl sits right at the bottom—
and yet,
her father carries her high.
With this bone-gourd,
he has become
someone.
DAFA RAFET
Yaay, Baay, and Goonay, Someplace in the Gambia, c. 1756
When mother and child
walk from the village
to gather fruit, faces
recite quotidian love.
Do you have peace
(Waw, waw, diam rek)
Then, they are alone, and the toddler
points out the fat-bottomed
baobab, the mango
with its frustrating reach.
Mother pierces a low-hanging
jewel, and her small
shadow trills gratitude.
Yaay, you are so nice
(Waw, waw)
Yaay, I love you so
(Waw, waw)
No demonstration, but a hand
touching the tender head
that was braided over cries.
Later that night,
the father must listen, too.
Baay, I ate a mango
(Waw, waw)
Baay, I saw a bug
(Waw, waw)
The child sits closer
to his mat,
whispers ambiguous lights:
I know all the things—
and he does not answer,
but smiles at his wife:
their daughter is a marvel
and they must pray for humility.
FIRST-TIME PRAYER
Yaay and Goonay, Someplace in the Gambia, c. 1759
The water was preparation.
When the mother
and her child rose
in the morning, no Jesus.
The same God, yet
with ninety-nine monikers.
We have awoken
and all of creation
has awoken, for Allah,
Lord of all the worlds
The bowl—
wooden or gourd—
was light, as water
and faith are heavy.
In the century after
this mother and child
are dead, someone
will write about
these mornings,
that the mother
poured a ritual
for her daughter
to remember.
This writing someone
won’t know of ablutions,
of giving peace,
of purity required
before submission,
that God’s servants
had ached
all night to be clean.
BEFORE THE TAKING OF GOONAY
Someplace in the Gambia, c. 1759
Mystery is the word for my purposes here. This child
frail, not quite whole. Not the leader of the gang. The strange
understanding
to be revealed. Is she dancing with the others?
Is there a shaking of tail feathers, a nonsense ditty? Shimmy to
the west Shimmy to the east
Shake it Shake it Shake it Yeah Yeah Yeah
A sharing of secrets with a lagging friend? I’m full of questions.
I can ask History what I want.
I can forget the rest. Why will the slave raiders snatch
a thin, sickly girl? Why not leave her behind for the usual spoils?
The men with clubs.
The charcoaled village. The old ones. The babies—
I can say, No. We won’t speak about all that. I can keep
returning to this blank
someplace before her taking. The story of the red cloth
not yet laid out. A genius child playing, brightness in
a mother’s crown.
A pearl if she lives by the sea. The strand of a gathered
plait. Needed point: surely, love doesn’t rest in emptied air
without some disappointment,
but this is a good moment. Isn’t it?—I can run to my own
playground, remember a cupped palm next to my ear. I can call
my mother who is yet alive.
I can claim my memories. She can answer her ringing
telephone. I won’t forget her name or mine.
FRACTURE
West Africa, c. 15th century to 19th century
The men arrive. Slave ships are anchored.
The men arrive. The traders gather.
The men arrive. The traders march.
The men arrive. The war is waged.
The men arrive. The fire comes.
The men arrive. The people run.
The men arrive. The chase begins.
The men arrive. The dead abandoned.
The men arrive. The iron sounds.
The men arrive. The people march.
The men arrive. The sea. The sea.
The men arrive. The traders haggle.
The men arrive. The silver laughs.
The men arrive. The castle groans.
The men arrive. The door opens.
The men arrive. The water welcomes.
The men arrive. The mourning longs.
The men arrive. Our names shall scatter.
BAAY’S MOAN WITH CHORUS
Someplace/Someplace/Someplace, c. 1761
oh: a war
I have touched my belly
in expectancy, strummed
oh: the family stolen
meat-covered ribs.
The navel’s planetary cavern.
oh: slaves already
The thump behind my ear,
talking of cleared ashes.
oh: the lowly caste
Where is my wife?
Where is my daughter?
oh: perhaps a master
I beat my shameful forehead.
I wanted a boy, hard
oh: benevolent tyrant
foot walking me forward.
A boy, then, a man,
oh: does it matter
I thought I preferred—
and here I am, gripping
oh: the family sold
the phantom skirts
of women.
oh: oh oh oh
Where is my wife?
Where is my daughter?
ENTREATY: YAAY
Someplace/Someplace/Someplace, c. 1761
PHILLIS was brought
from Africa to America
small creature spinning
in the Year 1761
my hands reaching
between Seven and Eight
Years of Age
Without any Assistance
still my child
from School Education
and by only what she
was taught in the Family
mine
and don’t forget me
or this piece of land
oh come back
attained the English
language to which she
was an utter Stranger
before
my sweet girl
please don’t leave
to the great Astonishment
of all who heard her
touch my hands
walk to my side
This Relation is given
by her Master who bought her
JOHN WHEATLEY
Boston
my rare seed Yaay is calling
come to me
AN ISSUE OF MERCY #2
The Transatlantic Journey of Goonay, c. Summer 1761
Peas mashed with possibly
tainted fish A daily pint of water
No blankets mother father
clothes underwear dance of modesty
Why the threats of diphtheria tetanus
malaria smallpox diarrhea dehydration
common cold diseases rape
Why the screaming of the grown shelf mates
a woman or two giving birth Newborns kept
by sailors or capriciously tossed to sharks
Why the banquet of placenta left for rats
The shackled the crowded begging to be killed
Why germs and tribes rechristened Negro
chattering below Vomit
Why no bleach Why no soap to clean
the effluvia of prayer Why did she survive
asthma and fear on that journey Why didn’t
the ring in her nose get infected
Why did she have to sleep marinating
in her own shit and piss Why not death
in the middle of this Why did this child survive
Lord Lord have mercy
FOUND POEM: DETENTION #1
Isaac Chotiner interviewing Warren Binford for the New Yorker, June 22, 2019
Question:
How many kids are
at the [detention] facility
[in Clint, Texas] right now,
and do you have some sense
of a breakdown of where
they’re from?
Answer:
… We were so shocked
by the number of children
who were there, because
it’s a facility that only has capacity
for a hundred and four.
And we were told
that they had recently
expanded the facility,
but they did not give
us a tour of it,
and we legally don’t have
the right to tour the facility.
We drove around afterward,
and we discovered that there
was a giant warehouse that
they had put on the site.
And it appears
that that one warehouse
has allegedly increased
their capacity by an additional
five hundred kids.
When we talked
to Border Patrol agents
later that week,
they confirmed
that is the alleged expansion,
and when we talked to children,
one of the children described
as many as three hundred
children being in that room,
in that warehouse,
basically, at one point
when he first arrived.
There were no windows.
And so
what we did then
was we looked at the ages
of the children,
and we were shocked
by just how many
young children there were.
There were over a hundred
young children when we first arrived.
And there were child-mothers
who were also there,
and so
we started to pull
the child-mothers and their babies,
we started to make sure
their needs were being met.
We started to pull
the youngest children
to see who was taking care of them.
And then we started
to pull the children who
had been there the longest
to find out just how long
children are being kept there.
Children described to us
that they’ve been there
for three weeks or longer.
And so,
immediately from that population
that we were trying to triage,
they were filthy dirty,
there was mucus
on their shirts,
the shirts were dirty.
We saw breast milk
on the shirts.
There was food on the shirts,
and the pants as well.
They told us
that they were hungry.
they told us
that some of them
had not showered
or had not showered
until the day or two days
before we arrived.
Many of them described
that they only brushed
their teeth once.
