—Emmett Till (1941–1955)
cattail cast tattles Till tale,
lowing low along the hollow;
cricket chirrup and ribbit-lick-up.
what’s chucked the ’hatchie swallow.
up skimming skin upon pond scum skiff-ish,
going slow along the hollow.
now may mayfly alight brown brow.
what’s chucked the ’hatchie swallow.
maybe bye baby bye baby by and by,
lowing low along the hollow.
we will slip the knot not slip will we?
what’s chucked the ’hatchie swallow.
who’s a bruise to blue hue ’hatchie,
going slow along the hollow?
whose a bruise to bruise hue, ’hatchie?
what’s chucked the ’hatchie swallow.
Kodak flash tattles Till tale
going slow among the hollow.
who’s a bruise to bruise hue?
swallow what the ’hatchie chucks.
TAGS: Douglas Kearney, poem
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DOUGLAS KEARNEY's first full-length collection of poems, Fear, Some, was published in 2006 by Red Hen Press. His second manuscript, The Black Automaton, was chosen by Catherine Wagner for the National Poetry Series and published by Fence Books in 2009. In 2008, he was honored with a Whiting Writers Award. Also a librettist, he has collaborated with the composer Anne LeBaron on the opera Sucktion, which received a MAP Fund grant and premiered at the New Original Works Festival in Los Angeles in 2008, and on Mordake with composer Erling Wold, which premiered in 2008 at the San Francisco International Arts Festival. Scenes from the opera, Crescent City (LeBaron, composer) were showcased at the New York City Opera’s Vox Festival in 2009. An Idyllwild and Cave Canem fellow, Kearney has performed his poetry at the Public Theatre, Orpheum, and The World Stage. His poems have appeared in journals such as Callaloo, jubilat, nocturnes, Ninth Letter, Washington Square and Gulf Coast. Born in Brooklyn, now living in California's San Fernando Valley, he has a BA from Howard University and an MFA in Writing from the California Institute of the Arts, where he now teaches courses in African American poetry, myth, hip hop and opera. |
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BRAVO! Love the sounds, the alliteration, the organization, rhythm. You read it beautifully, too. The “Maybe bye baby. . . .” line is my favorite.
I’m going to go look up Gwendolyn Brooks’ Emmitt Till poem now. I remember that I really like it, but can’t quite pull it out of my brain right now.
Thank you, Jessica! Did you track down “The Last Quatrain of the Ballad of Emmett Till” yet? That is a lovely, hard poem. You also might consider finding Marilyn Nelson’s “A Wreath for Emmett Till”—it’s a sonnet crown, I believe.
Oh Douglas, this is what I did: I searched the house high and low, hither and yon, for my Collected Poems of Gwendolyn Brooks book and did not find it. I love her work so much, that I’m sure I handed the book over to someone so that they could love her, too. Alas, the book is no longer in the house. I’m going to look up the poem on line now and will also try to remember who has my book!
Okay, I paused before posting. Voila la poeme, but where is my book?!
The Last Quatrain of the Balled of Emmett Till (1960)
after the murder,
after the burial
Emmett’s mother is a pretty-faced thing;
the tint of pulled taffy.
She sits in a red room,
drinking black coffee.
She kisses her killed boy.
And she is sorry.
Chaos in windy grays
through a red prairie.
I’m going to look up the Nelson poem when I sign off here. By the way, I just asked my daughter if she knew who Emmett Till was and she did not. (She is now appalled and fascinated, of course.) So I’m glad, in many ways, that your beautiful poem came my way.
“maybe bye baby bye baby by and by,”
Man.
As a big fan of the possibilities of moving and setting language, I have to say. I’m impressed.
Welcome to TNB!
It’s a pleasure to be here, Simon! I am most grateful to Richard for the invitation. Also, thanks for the good words on the words.
Bravura piece for sure. As Simon says, it demonstrates new realms of possibility in the language. And that line “who’s a bruise to blue hue ’hatchie.” Utter darkness hidden in a sweetly shell.
Thank you, Uche. And thanks particularly for “a sweetly shell.”
A fine tribute Douglas. Till’s tragedy was a sad, horrifying story. Welcome aboard TNB.
Great to have you aboard, Douglas. I’m honored to have featured you. Peace.
I’m impressed. This is really beautiful. I’d be more giddy about your wordplay, but it seems inappropriate, like back in the eighties when I used to play Strange Fruit on the juke at this dive because I loved Billie’s voice so much, until I finally realized what the lyrics were telling me. The phrase Choctaw Ridge always got me too, the way Tina T reveled in it, and Tallahatchie is a Choctaw word, whether or not Billie Joe jumped off that bridge. A deceptively playful way to animate a grim truth that should be common knowledge.
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