Inspirations

I just saw an amazing Poetry, Theater, Film presentation by Nathalie Handal at Kennedy Center’s Millennium Stage. For those in DC, you should note that everyday, 365 days a year (except maybe Christmas Day), the KC hosts free performances at 6PM on the Millennium Stage. (This is apart of their Performance Art Is For Everyone! programming….which in it self is enough to Love)

I’d marked my calendar a while back (yes, I still carry a paper calendar) to make a point to go see Handal as her presentation was scheduled during the Center’s Arabasque Festival: Arts of the Arab World and because up until then I’d had very limited experience with women performers of Arab descent. Particularly, I was curious to see how Handal would combine Poetry, Theater and Film in the short hour that is often allotted to Millennium Stage performers.

So against my body’s wishes (I was BEYOND tired) I hoped the Kennedy Center Limo (Metrobus 81) and made my way to a comfy seat in the back….admittedly fighting off sleep. Of all the material Handal presented I must say that I loved her poetry the most. Especially, ‘Against the Wall’, the one where she talks about her experience ‘Flying’, the series of  ‘love poems’, ‘In Jerusalem’ and the finale Poem titled ‘Bethlehem’.

Admittedly, my body won out and I got lost in slumber land for the film presentation and the storytelling experience (this is not indicative of the quality of the Artist or Art’s presented just my inability to fight my body’s request to rest). So I don’t have any wowing thought provoking exchange about my interactions with those presentations.  I’ll do better next time.

Please check out the Kennedy Center’s info on Handal and see Nathalie Handal’s Kennedy Center Peformance HERE! What a beautiful gift to be a Poet AND to be a sharing Poet, not one whose identify is known only to the paper it sits on.

Finally. I have recovered from Inauguration Madness and I’m back. I won’t talk much about my Inaugural Experience…only to say that it was fabulous being amidst the mayhem and chaos. Thanks to a giving light (Kim!), I scoped a “Golden Ticket” to watch the Inauguration on the Capitol Grounds (narrowly avoiding the Purple Tunnel of Doom…THANK YOU MOTHER NATURE).

Once I made it…actually just as the ceremony was starting and directly after the musical interlude….. I settled into a spot after awhile and stood in frigid weather to see (mostly hear) the President Obama take his Oath of Office. And of  course I was anxiously awaiting the Inaugural Poem read and composed by Elizabeth Alexander.  (Actually, I thought that perhaps, I’d missed it because it took me soo long to get to and go through the security check points.  You might remember my earlier post on Dr. Alexander.

Unfortunately, I was in the minority and once the Oath of Office was done the crowd of thousands started to slowly shift to the exit…..trailing behind them was noise and picture snapping. Needless to say it was impossible for me to follow Dr. Alexander’s presentation (or Rev. Lowery’s benediction for that matter) and almost wouldn’t have known it was over if it were not for a few sporadic hand-claps waving through the audience.

Although, there has been much criticism of Dr. Alexander’s Inaugural Poem…….. I think the text is beautiful and wise. Wise for her to stay herself and share with us words that evoke History (the ancestors are beaming and stomping Thank You’s), Voice, Movement, Love, Light….and importantly the reminder that we hold the power to Create and Inspire tomorrow’s praise. I found the language to be simple yet stimulating; creating  (and evoking) lasting, lingering images of people….people loving and moving towards peace…people we all know, have known, or will know at some point in time. How brilliant of Dr. Alexander to allow us along on this journey….

Praise Song for the Day by Elizabeth Alexander

A Poem for Barack Obama's Presidential Inauguration

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other's
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues. 

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what's on the other side.

I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, 

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.

Last night I volunteered as an usher and unexpectedly…’wine bar attendant’ at the Studio Theatre’s performance of Grey Gardens . The latter is hilarious because I know nothing about wine or beer and do my best not to indulge or spend my money on either of the aforementioned social graces . It was great being in the environment and though the production was less than magical for me (each time a cast member mentioned food in their dialogue I went into my best  Homer Simpson impersonation of mmmmmm……Cake minus the saliva dripping down my face) I left feeling rejuvenated and good about the experience.

I missed the memo that announced that Grey Gardens was a musical…. although a fascinating story, based on the documentary with the same name, of Jacqueline B. Kennedy’s relatives it was difficult for me to stay on task and I found myself daydreaming about what it would be like to have a show at the Studio Theatre, the lights, the revolving floor, a coconut cream cake……

One of my fellow volunteers, I believe her name was Star, asked me if I was an actress. “You look like an actress…just the way the light is illuminating off your face.”  These type of comments happen to me a lot; definitely within the last year or two. The random guy at Krispy Kreme who told me I looked like a poet, my first day of acting class when one of my classmates commented that I looked artsy (yea, I know whatever that means). So much that it would seem ridiculous to the onlooker if I hesitated to find meaning in them. Truthfully, this messages always come at strategic times…particularly when I’m in a space of feeling not so confident about the road I’m on.  My heart takes a tremendous leap when I receive these comments and I’m on a high, so high that it seems impossible to turn back. That is, until I get that ever so gentle punch in the gut from life. Yet, I keep trucking on and inevitable I across a ‘Star‘ who shines some light and I become more active in the game again (the one I really never left). So, this one goes out to the ’stranger’ who holds the ever so powerful ‘compliment’. Thank You.

sigh….The Show Must Go On and now that we know I have the look ……. Next UP the Walk….I wish I could pick some up at Target.

Last week at the Library (aka my temporary office space), I ran into two young ladies/high school students in the hall. I noted immediately that they were dancing and soon registered that they were attempting Beyonce’s Single Ladies Choreography. (I take every opportunity I can to tell folks I’ve learned the routine. Even if I’m off beat the entire dance) Of course, I couldn’t contain myself and we (I?) initiated a lively conversation about the dance (I invited them to the DC Dance Collective to take Kadriene’s class!) and about life after high school.

I won’t detail our conversation….but yes dancing is opening doors for me and allowing me to connect with people differently than I may have otherwise.

I told the two budding dancers about 12to28 and that I was/am an Education Consultant and that I primarily worked to assist young people with identifying and sorting out what they want to do after high school and offered for them to sit down with me at the library anytime if they wanted to talk about College or other options available to them. (This is in the midst of trying my best to introduce a persuasive (but sensitive argument) that one of the young ladies should go with her heart/interests/passions in choosing a post high school path and not what her Momma wants her to do.)

She’s on the path to making the mistake many of  us make when we want to please and make folks proud of us. “I’m taking this step because my Mama, or Parents, or GrandPa, GrandMa, Uncle”…you get the pictures…”wants me to”. And when you ask, “Well, what would ‘YOU” like to do?” First,  a blank stare and then the catch-all, ‘Well, that’s the only reason I’m doing it because they want me to.”

But when I dug deeper a barrage of ideas and hopes and dreams came gushing out.  Her eyes lit up! Why is she not being encouraged to follow any of those dreams? Because no one in the family has ever done it? There’s no security in it? How will she make a living?…..Perhaps, we don’t know our kids/family/loved ones as much as we think. Maybe stepping outside of the cruel, cold, harsh realities of life and embracing the unconventional… (I know. Better said than done)

I don’t know the young lady well of course or if our dialogue really registered in a significant way. (I pray it did…) A 20 minute chat does not add up to birthing a human. And I know, I know…Why should she listen to me over her Momma?  I can only say that I’ve seen enough youth, inside and outside of my family, to know when someone is making a dreadful decision (instantly). You can see it in their eyes…hear it in their voice. I also know from my own life experience that when you make choices that are rooted in another person’s desire the results are rarely never fulfilling to you.

(Note to Post 12to28 Self) I am inspired to create a workshop for Parents titled “How To Help Your Kids Make Decisions, Without Making the Decision for Them” and one for youth titled something like (but much cooler) “It’s Ok To Tell Your Parents No (And How to Do It Nicely). How To Live Your Life and Make Life Decisions on Your Own”.

How many people are living paths their parents set for/encouraged them to do while depressing their full potential and increasingly becoming disabled and unwilling….fearful of stepping out on their own.

If I never see them again. I hope they Dance On….and make decisions based on their love and interest and passion for something. Please….. Live Your Life.

A Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

If there is one person, author, writer, poet that consistently puts a smile on my face, that brings joy to my life through her words…..it is Dr. Maya Angelou. I recently finished reading her latest offering “Letter To My Daughter” (in less than 3 hours! it’s a great breezy read) and Dr. Angelou never disappoints. She is like a compliment, hearing your favorite song on the way to work…..Just what you need…a jolt of energy, a quick, but lingering, inspiration.

I am not writing to give you a review of her work. Anyway,any review I do would  likely be an Ode to Maya, How Sweet the Sound…. One of the themes that continue to re-surface for me (in all of her works) is ‘Simplicity’ and removing the chaos from one’s (my) life.

So a theme I’ll be infusing into my life doings for 2009 for me is to continue establishing Simplicity in my life.

• Simplicity: freedom from deceit or guile; sincerity; artlessness; naturalness: a simplicity of manner.

Not that Maya focuses on this theme. In fact, some might say she endured (willingly and unwillingly) a lot of chaos in the chapters of life covered in her autobiographies. Simplicity is the place my mind travels to when triggered by a word or event or story from her life.  Not over complicating things and embracing what simply is, I think, will help shift to a place of Honesty.  I started this last year in 2008; Decompressing from a very draining 2007. And I’ll continue with the goal of ending ending somewhere better and more refreshed than before I started this journey.

In September I read the Collected Autobiographies of Maya Angelou‘ and boy was it an AMAZING READ. It totally rocked my world during the weeks I was holding on to it and is by far a great testament to the human and what we can do with this life. After finishing Letter To My Daughter, I remembered how fired up I was about kicking off 12to28 and just doing an out of the box, unstructured thing. I also remember how up and down, emotionally, I felt about the project. It was, because, I was trying to go HOLLYWOOD (already planning for the show before the experiences had been crafted to create a show) before I’d even put pen to paper, two-stepped a booty shake, or listened to my voice play with words. Ya’ll, I’d planned a 12to28 premier and everything!

Now, I’m back to basics. Taking the small steps that allow me to live in a space not occupied by fear and the type of ‘overwhelming’ that paralyzes.

The Lesson by Maya Angelou

I keep on dying again.

Veins collapse; opening like the

Small fists of sleeping

Children.

Memory of old tombs,

Rotting flesh and worms do

Not convince me against

The challenge, The years

And cold defeat live deep in

Lines along my face,

They dull my eyes, yet

I keep on dying,

Because I love to live.

…And what a lesson it is.

I know. I haven’t written or said much about ‘Poetry’ in the first 3 months. Honestly, I just don’t know why. I’m kind of flying by the seat of my pants and Dance and Theatre took off first. Perhaps, now is the time to light the Poetry flame. My friend MSJ shared Thursday, December 18th’s edition of the Washington Post with me. Namely, because he knows that I’ve been interested in the story of  Jon Favreau, President Elect Obama’s Chief Speechwriter, and soon to be Director of  Speechwriting in the White House  at the phenomenal age of 27 (my current age!)

I’d written a group of my friends about a month ago sharing what I knew of Favreau’s story with a discussion point specifically about Favreau’s age and how great (and scary), that at 27 (our age!) he has this amazing (and I’m certain stressful) job of helping to shape the President’s words. Wow! It got me thinking about my passions, where I am now with 12to28, and the importance of being ready when opportunities come. It created just enough envy to set my fire to an intense blaze again.

Well, MSJ gave me the Post so that I could read the front page article on Favreau titled “Helping to Write History” and below it I spot an article on The Inaugural Poet titled “Selection Provides Civil Rights Symmetry“.  Although first I spotted the picture, noting someone familiar, of Dr. Elizabeth Alexander, Poet and Scholar of African American Literature and Culture. The article, which is a lovely read, introduces Dr. Alexander by sharing the story of her parents taking her to the March on Washington when she was a tiny toddler of 1 years old and makes the obvious connection to the enormity of her January appointment to breathe words of purpose during the Inauguration.

I’d met Dr. Alexander back in undergrad when I served as President of the Honor’s Student Cabinet at Dillard.  The Honor’s Department hosted a special colloquium where 4-6 artists/writers/creators were invited on campus to share their gift with students and faculty. Honor’s students were treated to special intimate 2-4 hour sessions with the special guests where we in groups of 6-8 had time to discuss, debate, talk, chat and laugh with the creators about their work…and what ever else the conversation landed on. (Of course, we did our homework ahead of time! We were all given copies of and read the guests’ work to aid in that lively discussion weeks before their anticipated arrival.) The guests’ week long visit ended with a University-wide (Open to the public) reading/dialogue.

Dr. Alexander and I at DU circa 2002

In addition, to being fortunate enough to be in her small group discussion, I was Dr. Alexander’s student host.  I welcomed, escorted and assisted her with getting to her campus destinations and just did my best to make sure she had a comfortable, enjoyable time. My memory about that time is clouded with how warm and approachable, yet reserved and slightly shy….maybe a pleasant melancholy?…sober thoughtfulness?….Dr. Alexander appeared to me.

I remember her voice being light, again, warm and inquisitive in our Honor’s small group discussion. And I remember myself and classmates being more reserved than normal….hesitant with our thoughts, as if we were writing  and reviewing the final draft for the third time before we would allow our professor to read our creations.

Dr. Alexander was patient  and kind. She asked lots of questions when we as students reverted to our shy, self consious selves…trying to become invisible in the room. Now that I think of it, I wonder how many of us first, read, and then, digested Dr. Alexander’s work. I know that we discussed in some part the Venus Hottentot...but nothing remarkable about the dialogue exchange has stuck with me. I remember thinking or feeling not as impressive as usual.

What has stuck with me….what I keenly remember is the thoughtful space and the sometimes silence Dr. Alexander seemed to occupy during my time and exchange with her (walking along the Avenue of the Oaks or in the Honor’s Seminar Room) and the 21 year old college student that was me trying to interpret what that meant and where I fit into it.

Today, I feel I’m closer to finding out.  I think it begins when my pen hits paper and begin to compose what is my poetry…and just not a fulfillment to or for 12to28. Although, I love, Love, LOVE Marvelous Maya and Sweet Sonya and the other well known scribes in my community I am so utterly awash that Dr. Alexander’s light will shine in this way…during that January 20th spotlight.  So that Saartjie’s and the other stories may reach more & more unknowing minds.