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.”
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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 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.
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.
Her feet carried heavy burdens.
She walked many miles for many years.
She said, “That feels Heavenly.”
I replied, “Yes, I remember.”
— Katerina Canyon
Digital Integration by Susan Dobay, 2013
Memory Mirrors
~ after Reminiscence by Susan Dobay
~ 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
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!
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. (....)
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 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.
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.
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