how to get over - Softcover

Ford, T’ai Freedom

 
9781597090384: how to get over

Inhaltsangabe

An astonishing debut, how to get over is part instruction manual, part prayer, part testimony. It attempts to solve the reader’s problems (by telling them how to get over), while simultaneously creating them―troubling the waters with witness and blues. ford’s poems witness via a series of “past life portraits” that navigate personal space as well as the imagined persona. These portraits conjure the blues via the imagined lives of the inanimate (a whip, a machete), the historic (a Negro burial ground, Harriet Tubman, The Red Summer), the iconic (Pecola Breedlove, Richard Pryor, Rodney King). At the same time, these portraits focus on the past lives of the author and grapple with themes including sexuality, sexual abuse, and substance abuse.

The collection’s namesake poems speak to bullying and homophobia, blackness, whiteness and gentrification, and even directly address pop culture icons like Kanye West, Chaka Khan, and Nicky Minaj. Grounded in memory and re-memory, these poems pray in the voice of the ancestors and testify on their behalf. ford’s poems not only remind how the history and legacy of slavery placed African-Americans at an unfair disadvantage, but attempt to illuminate the beautiful struggle of a people’s endurance and resilience. The reader embarks upon a journey through these poems, circa 1787 to 2013, and emerges realizing that everything is connected―the ways we live, lie, love, and die―the ways we all get over.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

t’ai freedom ford is a high school English teacher and Cave Canem Fellow. In 2014, she was the winner of The Feminist Wire’s inaugural poetry contest judged by Evie Shocklee. She is a 2015 Center for Fiction Fellow and a 2015–16 Emerge-Surface-Be Fellow sponsored by The Poetry Project. She lives in Brooklyn. More can be found at shesaidword.com.

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why a negro would miss a bus over chicken


cause some shit you just can’t get out your bones
we know no acts of niceness, chickens scatter,
smell the     sacrifices we offer in blood―
hands calloused and stained from the wringing


cause hunger is an eyeless hag with three mouths

open     a graveyard dirts our bellies
dinner is a funeral of singing      call us
bone collector      hear the clanking as we eat―


let the yardbird fall where it may


cause this feast of legs and thighs a luxury―
brown hands caked in flour seem like ritual
like black magic      like high priestess       divine
your life in the white dust on the kitchen floor

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