Women's Poems of Struggle and Hope in the Black History Month

On  Thursday, February 27, 2014, clients and staff at the adult residential and outpatient treatment programs  of Phoenix House Venice celebrated the Black History Month in style. They gathered with their guests to commemorate the achievements and history of African Americans with soul food, poetry jam and music. This Second Annual African-American History Celebration and Poetry Jam was coordinated by Phoenix House's Counselor La Tonya Smith, who ensured the participation of both clients and staff in an inspired and inspirational meeting of minds and hearts. 

Katerina Canyon

As the "guest poet" for the evening, I read three poems.  First, I presented my favorite work by another former Poet-Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga, Katerina Canyon, entitled "Feet" and dedicated to the poet's mother. It is one of the most popular poems by Katerina, who was the first and only African American Poet Laureate in our foothill community before moving to Atlanta, Georgia. She enriched the poetry scene in California with many readings and community projects.  

Feet

I cleaned my daughter’s feet.
I swept the warm cloth along
her soft, Earth toned skin — she grinned
and said, “Mom, that feels Heavenly.”

Yes, I remember.

Lying on the bed like a doll filled with sand
too fatigued to move — I played hard that day.
Slightly waking to feel the warm cloth on my feet.
Mother washing the day’s dirt away.

Yes, that felt Heavenly.

My friends told me their mothers would say
we should always take care
to wear clean underwear

in case we came upon disaster.

“Clean feet are most important”, my mother said.

She explained that a woman’s feet
told the story of her life.
That on her soles you could see
the roads she traveled.

She would say, “You can measure her resilience in a woman’s ankles”

I was told that if I were to get into an accident,
dressed like a bum,
and the doctors saw I had clean feet,
they would take good care of me.

“I know that may sound silly to you”, she’d say

She explained they would know that I tried
my best to take care of myself
and that my dress was more
a matter of circumstance than of desire.

When I was too tired for an evening bath, she washed my feet.
When I was sick in bed, she washed my feet.
When we were homeless, she washed my feet.
When she felt there was nothing else to do, she washed my feet.

Yes, it felt Heavenly.

I tried out for the high school track team.
I went in for a physical.
The doctor examined my feet
and said, “Nice feet,” and approved me as healthy.

He never asked me if I had on clean underwear.

I wondered how many kids
would miss out on running track
because their feet weren’t as clean as mine?

And I thought she was being silly.

She was right.

I finally saw her.
And there she was.
Too tired to move.
Dying.

I filled the bowl with warm water.
I found a soft cloth.
Picked up the soap. Ivory pure.
The only type she would use.

I looked at her feet — so long and thin.
Dark as Louisiana clay.
Her veins stuck up like river lines.
A road map to the Bayou.

I washed her feet.
Her feet carried heavy burdens.
She walked many miles for many years.

She said, “That feels Heavenly.”

I replied, “Yes, I remember.”

— Katerina Canyon

I then read two of my own poems, "Memory Mirrors" (a reflection on survival skills of oppressed people) and "The Veil, the Weave" (a spiritual call to action). Both poems involved audience participation - the listeners recited a refrain in the first poem, and were engaged in a dialogue of two groups answering back and forth in the second poem.  One of the participant later commented: "I did not know that poetry could be done like that. It was very exciting!" In the poem below, the audience recited the refrains.

Digital Integration by Susan Dobay, 2013

Memory Mirrors
            ~ after Reminiscence by Susan Dobay

by Maja Trochimczyk

The ancestors’ weight heavy on their shoulders

The ages’ wisdom embroidered on their skin

Bend down, bend down

You will not be broken

Tall stems of rice bow low before the wind

Slide through the onslaught, a sudden surge of war

Young mothers whisper silence to their daughters

Girls watch, repeat the gestures of their kin

Bend down, bend down

You will not be broken

You have to learn the art of disappearing

Invisible, you will outlive the strangest times

Be still, be patient, breathe the longest hours

You have to do it all and remain unseen

Bend down, bend down

You will not be broken

They came and took our men who were the strongest

They came and killed our boys who were so brave

Women alone remained in our village

Into the river our silver tears have flown

Bend down, bend down

You will not be broken

Bend down, bend down

You will not…

Grass by Maja Trochimczyk, (c) 2013.

The second poem, "The Veil, the Weave", is inspired by a line from Isaiah, about the great evil of lies and death that will be destroyed at the end. The poem's four color voices are to be read by different people, if there are not enough people, the regular and italic fonts indicate two different voices to be woven. in the tapestry of the poem, the lines written in capital font are to be read by everyone all at once.

The Veil, the Weave

“On this mountain, God will destroy the veil that veils all peoples,

the web that is woven over all nations: he will destroy Death forever.”               

                                                  Isaiah, Chapter 25, Verses 7-8

the veil  that veils    the weave  that is woven

                  

break them          tear them       shred them       set us free

the veil that obscures  
                     distorts true meaning  
                                                  disorients 
                                                                 and stifles

            

obfuscation     dilapidation     obliteration     abomination

the weave of sticky thread

is a trap to capture the unwary

                  the weave of shiny thread

                  is a snare to entangle the greedy

                                 the weave of sweet-scented thread

                                 is a seduction of beauty into nothing

                                                                 the weave is woven

                                                                where is the weaver?

 where is he hiding?

                  this maker of imitations

                                   the master of mimicry

                                                       the creator of absence

 the weave holds us tight

              in the habit of hours

                                    in the rut of the known

                                                   in the suffocating thickness 

of lies             
                      that are woven           
                                                       that are told!

break the veil   undo the knots   free the mind

to see the blessings of infinity

                              to hear the music

                                        of sing-song lullabies

                                                         calming us for the night

for the first gleam 

                             of stardust

                                               for awakening                                

                                                                          in grace

   when the veil     AND the weave      are gone

__________________________________________________

© 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk 

Poet Katerina Canyon

Phoenix House's Counselor, La Tonya Smith, set the tone for further presentations by reading the famous poem by Maya Angelou, "Still I Rise." With is powerful refrain, it is a hymn to the perserverence in the face of adversity:

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.  (....)

Out of the huts of history's shame  
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain 
I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear 
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear 
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise  
I rise
I rise. 

The most moving and touching segment of the celebration was created by the participants themselves. Men enrolled in residential treatment programs volunteered to prepare speeches, or essays about various historical figures, from well known like Nelson Mandela and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., to those who should be known better, like Ralph Bunche.  The story about Bunche was particularly memorable and humorous, with its refrain: "Do you know who was Ralph J. Bunche?"  For those who do not know, he was an American diplomat and negotiator of a peace accord in Palestine that won him the Nobel Peace Prize of 1950. Many listeners went  home repeating this refrain..."Do you know who was Ralph J. Bunche?"

The audience had scoring cards and evaluated the quality of each presentation, that included, in addition to speeches, also an artwork - a portrait of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The five best presenters won prized - gift cards and books, including sample issues of the Rattle Poetry Magazine coupled with a book by two local poets, Marlene Hitt and Dorothy Skiles, entitled Riddles in the Rain (donated by the authors). 

_______________________________

"Memory Mirrors" by Maja Trochimczyk, first published in Kathabela Wilson, ed., Susan Dobay's Impressions of China, Poets on Site Chapbook inspired by artwork of Susan Dobay, Pasadena, 2013.  

"The Veil, the Wave," by Maja Trochimczyk, first published in The Voice of the Village, vol. 3 no. 3, April 2012.

"Feet" by Katerina Canyon, reprinted from www.villagepoets.com/katerina.html, also published www.poetickat.com/kcanyonfeet.html‎.