Poet, innovator, activist Amiri Baraka died this week. After the September 11th attacks, he seemed to become most known for a controversial poem he wrote about the tragedy that suggested antisemitism. In truth, he has a much greater body of work and accomplishment that should also be considered. If you want to learn about him, don't glean his entire life from that one line in his obituary. I never would have read or even been introduced to his work if not for a wonderful African American lit course I took in my mid-thirties at a community college. There's proof right there that a public school primary and secondary education really don't give you what you need during "Black History Month" every February. Below is one of my all-time favorite poems and one I almost always think of when I star-gaze on the night sky. Thank you, Mr. Baraka, for this gift to me.....
Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note
Amiri Baraka (LeRoi Jones)
Lately, I’ve become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus…
Things have come to that.
And now, each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.
Nobody sings anymore.
And then last night I tiptoed up
To my daughter’s room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there…
Only she on her knees, peeking into
Her own clasped hands
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