i am accused of tending to the past
as if i made it,
as if i sculpted it
with my own hands. i did not.
this past was waiting for me
when i came,
a monstrous unnamed baby,
and i with my mother’s itch
took it to breast
and named it
History.
she is more human now,
learning languages everyday,
remembering faces, names and dates.
when she is strong enough to travel
on her own, beware, she will.
- Lucille Clifton
(Quilting, 1991)
*
Lucille Clifton’s poetry is marvelous for so many reasons, but I’ve always admired her dynamic range, the way she could craft the playful “Homage to My Hips” in one verse and the deep philosophical questioning of “slaveship” in another, all the while remaining grounded in the loving affirmations of a communal self. Carleen honors Clifton’s life with “New Bones”; Susan has a video clip of “Won’t You Celebrate With Me”; Tayari Jones remembers the poet with “here rests”; and a year ago, Consuela listed “Homage to My Hips” as one of the Black Things We Love.
Posted by jo on February 14, 2010 at 8:36 PM
lovely, thanks. your “remaining grounded in the loving affirmations of a communal self” is very nice.
Posted by jo on February 14, 2010 at 8:39 PM
wow, here rests is fantastic.
Posted by carleen on February 14, 2010 at 11:56 PM
Thanks for the links to more of her work. You’re so right about her range!
Posted by susan on February 15, 2010 at 8:43 AM
It would be like you to come up with fitting words. My heart is full now.
Thank you.
Posted by Inda Lauryn on February 15, 2010 at 12:04 PM
She gave a reading at my school years ago when I was in undergrad. She was simply amazing.
Posted by Claudia on February 19, 2010 at 9:19 AM
Thanks Inda and to everyone else for stopping by and sharing your thoughts.