Black by George Elliott Clarke
My rating: 4/5 cats
SEE? I LIKE POETRY!!
so i was finally able to get my hot little hands on five more of his books (!) and its just more of the same wonderful wordsmithery. like this; don’t even read the words to understand them (well, do, but for now, just focus on the musicality of this man’s word choices):
That bang, blackening, of English syllables
In my black-black mouth hurts,
Them syllables hurt,
So I can only vomit up speech –
Half-digested English –
Soiling it with virulent Negro stomach juices.
Ma voice ain’t classique!
Grammar is pollution, some poison in my lungs,
So what emerges from my mouth – spit, phlegm –
Looks tuburcular.
My lopsided tongue spoils Her Majesty’s English.
The jawbreaker words wad my mouth with blood,
even busted teeth.
I spit out vers – ruddy larvae, red writhing worms-
Like a TB victim hawking scarlet phlegm into a sink.
A “herring-choker” Negro with a breath of brine,
I gabble a garrote argot, gutteral, by rote,
A wanton lingo, taunted and tainted by wine,
A feinting langue haunted by each slave boat.
My black, “Bluenose” brogue smacks lips and ears
When I bite the bitter grapes of Creole verse –
Or gripe and blab like a protestant pope
So rum-pungent Africa mutes perfumed Europe.
so gorgeous. it reminds me of my oft-quoted favorite bit from suttree: precincts perhaps where dripping lepers prowl unbelled… such yummy plosives!! i think i will have to space out the other four more slowly… i don’t want to waste them. je t’adore, g.e.c….
