The National Public Radio sends me emails, and in the latest one, an announcement of the new U.S. Poet Laureate. Joy Harjo, a Native American member of the Muscogee Creek Nation, will succeed Tracy K. Smith. I am not familiar with Harjo’s poetry, but as I read the story from NPR, I experienced a frisson of excitement, recognizing a reference in one of the poems cited. Harjo’s new collection, An American Sunrise, will be released in August, and the NPR article cites the title poem as one that “interpolates and salutes a famous Gwendolyn Brooks poem…” The Brooks poem is not named, but I know it well.
I may have mentioned in past columns that I have a passion for shooting pool., but even before I started to play in organized leagues, I had read “We Real Cool: The Pool Players. Seven At The Golden Shovel,” one of Gwendolyn Brooks’ most famous poems. “We real cool. We/Left school. We / Lurk late. We/Strike straight…” The poem is not about shooting pool, but I love any reference to the game and its equipment, and especially, the players. But more importantly, I relish the exposure to poetry that allows me to recall the specific poem referenced in Harjo’s work.
I had a similar experience in May, when I attended a concert at Julie and John Mundell’s house. A featured guest was singer/songwriter Jane Kramer, who invited the audience to participate in the delivery of a song written by Jean Rohe, called “National Anthem: Arise! Arise!” One line of Rohe’s song pays homage to a 1939 song by Billie Holliday, and when Kramer sang, “Strange fruit hangin’ from the poplar trees,” I recognized the lyric from Holliday’s song, which was adapted from an anti-lynching poem written by Abel Meeropol, a member of the American Communist Party. I’ve listened to “Strange Fruit” many times, over many years, and when Jane Kramer sang that line, my heart harmonized with the memory.
I wrote some lines on a social media site where I noted my pleasure when, after reading an author’s citation of a poem, I was able to go to my own bookshelf and find the poem. When I was a 35-year-old freshman English major at Indiana University Southeast, my essays would sometimes have a cryptic note from my professor: “Lit ref” meant that I had made a literary reference in my essay. And as William Wordsworth wrote, “My heart leaps up” when I’ve written well, and it has been recognized. But exposure and immersion and absorption are important to the writer and the reader.
Gwendolyn Brooks’ poem ends in this way: “We/Jazz June. We/Die soon.” Joy Harjo’s poem, as the NPR article noted, “imbues (Brooks’ poem) with new meaning, about the persistence of Native people.” Harjo writes, “We are still America. We/know the rumors of our demise. We spit them out. They die/soon.” When Jane Kramer, singing at the Mundell’s house, invited the audience to participate in the chorus, I sang out: “Arise! Arise! I see the future in your eyes. To a more perfect union we aspire, and lift our voices from the fire.” The lyrics are reminiscent of a Maya Angelou poem, “Still I Rise,” a paean to the indomitable spirit of personhood.
A medical professional once asked me what I did to maintain good health. I replied that it is important to me to seek the company of others, to sing, read poetry, and listen to music, for in all of those things there might be sadness, but ultimately, there is joy.
cjon3acd@att.net