April 23, 2006: Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note, Amiri Baraka
Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note
Amiri Baraka
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
[I struggled with whether to post this: the poet Amiri Baraka
(born LeRoi Jones) has a lot of controversial political
and racial beliefs which always leads to the tough
question: should you separate the artist from your appreciation
of the art? Can you?
Nevertheless I really like this poem. It reminds me of a lot of J.D.
Salinger’s work (although I really don’t think that’s its intention),
in how it uses ordinary everyday images, and the way small children
act, to talk indirectly about what a difficult thing life is. And not
accepting the status quo is, I think, a good subject for poetry, no
matter what the motivation.]
A YEAR AGO TODAY: Holy Sonnet XIV, John Donne
