Poem: "The Word of GOD"

Pure Thoughts: National Poetry Month (Pt. 4)

I’m sure you are familiar with the momentous anthem, “Lift Ev’ry Voice And Sing.”

The composer, James Weldon Johnson (June 17, 1871 – June 26, 1938) was an American author, politician, diplomat, critic, journalist, poet, anthologist, educator, lawyer, songwriter, and early civil rights activist. Johnson is remembered best for his leadership within the NAACP, as well as for his writing, which includes novels, poems, and collections of folklore.

Born in Jacksonville, Florida, the son of Helen Louise Dillet and James Johnson.  His brother was the composer John Rosamond Johnson. Johnson was first educated by his mother (a musician and a public school teacher—the first female, black teacher in Florida at a grammar school) and then at Edwin M. Stanton School.  His mother imparted to him her considerable love and knowledge of English literature and the European tradition in music.

At the age of 16, Johnson enrolled at Atlanta University, from which he graduated in 1894.  In addition to his bachelor's degree, he also completed some graduate coursework there.  He was also one of the first Black professors at New York University. Later in life he was a professor of creative literature and writing at Fisk University.

In 1900, he wrote the song "Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing" on the occasion of Lincoln's birthday.  The song was immensely popular in the black community, and became known as the "Negro National Anthem." Johnson moved to New York in 1901 to work with his brother Rosamond, a composer.  After attaining some success as a songwriter for Broadway, he decided in 1906 to take a job as a U.S. Consul to Venezuela. While employed by the diplomatic corps, Johnson had poems published in The Century Magazine and The Independent.

Additionally, in 1912 Mr. Johnson, Johnson anonymously published his novel The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, the story of a musician who rejects his black roots for a life of material comfort in the white world.  The book explores the issue of racial identity in the twentieth century, a common theme for the writers of the Harlem Renaissance. 

His book of poetry God's Trombones (1927) was influenced by his impressions of the rural South, drawn from a trip he took to Georgia while a freshman in college. It was this trip that ignited his interest in the Black American folk tradition. 

Below is a video featuring one of his many poetic works, “THE CREATION:”

 

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Pure Thoughts: National Poetry Month, and Personal Thoughts

 POETRY!


Webster’s Dictionary denotes poetry as:

Literary works written in verse, in particular verse writing of high quality, great beauty, emotional sincerity or intensity, or profound insight!

In my opinion, the truth of where prolific expression actually started, and will always be, is in the Father’s Word.  Kings David and Solomon, for example, are poetic as well as beyond wise, spoke from the heart.  The first chapter starts with such a touch of romance, it reads like Shakespeare.

“Solomon's Song of Songs.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth-- for your love is more delightful than wine.  Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes; your name is like perfume poured out. No wonder the maidens love you!  Take me away with you--let us hurry! Let the king bring me into his chambers. We rejoice and delight in you; we will praise your love more than wine. How right they are to adore you!  Dark am I, yet lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, dark like the tents of Kedar, like the tent curtains of Solomon.  Do not stare at me because I am dark, because I am darkened by the sun. My mother's sons were angry with me and made me take care of the vineyards; my own vineyard I have neglected.  Tell me, you whom I love, where you graze your flock and where you rest your sheep at midday. Why should I be like a veiled woman beside the flocks of your friends?”

As I always want to project, “WORDS do have power,” especially when they are shared with those of us who can appreciate the expression of their heart.
In celebration of Poets and their expressed words, during the month of April, I would like to share one of my interpretations:
 

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Pure Thoughts: Poetry Month (Pt. 3)

Ms. Nikki Giovanni, an American poet, writer, commentator, activist, and educator, whose primary focus is on the individual, and the power provided, to make a difference in oneself, and in the lives of others. 

Ms. Giovanni’s poetry expresses strong racial pride, respect for family, and her own experiences as a daughter, a civil rights activist, and a mother. She is currently a distinguished and prolifically-poignant professor of English at Virginia Tech.

The younger of two daughters, Yolande Cornelia Giovanni was born in Knoxville, Tennessee, on June 7, 1943, to Yolande Cornelia, Sr. and Jones "Gus" Giovanni, the blessings of a close-knit family, growing up in Lincoln, Heights, a suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio.

In 1960 she began her studies at Fisk University in Nashville, Tennessee, her grandfather's alma mater, graduating in 1967 with honors, receiving a B.A. in History. Afterward, she went on to attend the University of Pennsylvania and Columbia University.

By 1969, Ms. Giovanni had all her academic credentials straightened up. She took a job offer from the Rutgers University officials, in order to teach students a good thing or two about different subjects of vast interest. She did, however, receive recognition of nineteen doctorates, and honorary degrees from several institutes every once in a while, but none of them counts as an “actual” degree. But still, an honorary degree or a posthumous honor is a great way to make someone stand tall among others.

Since 1987, she has taught writing and literature at Virginia Tech, where she is a University Distinguished Professor. Recipient of a myriad of other awards, including "Woman of the Year" awards from three different magazines as well as the key to several different cities.

Included on her various list of prize-winning writings: Black Feeling-Black Talk (1967), Black Judgment (1968), Re: Creation (1970), My House (1972), Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day (1978), also co-authored “A Dialogue with James Baldwin” (1973) book. In addition, Ms. Giovanni’s work has extended to recorded form, for example, albums “LIKE A RIPPLE ON A POND,” and “TRUTH IS ON ITS WAY,” with New York Community Choir.

What an incredibly astute woman, continuing to guide through knowledgeable insight!

Below is another one of her familiar poetic works, of which I can relate personally, even though I’m not a male, My First Memory (Of Librarians):

This is my first memory:
A big room with heavy wooden tables that sat on a creaky
wood floor
A line of green shades—bankers' lights—down the center
Heavy oak chairs that were too low or maybe I was simply
too short
For me to sit in and read
So my first book was always big
In the foyer up four steps a semi-circle desk presided
To the left side the card catalogue
On the right newspapers draped over what looked like
a quilt rack
Magazines face out from the wall
The welcoming smile of my librarian
The anticipation in my heart
All those books—another world—just waiting
At my fingertips.

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Pure Thoughts: In Celebration of National Poetry Month

While viewing the segment from TV One’s Unsung Hollywood, regarding the movie “Cooley High,” I couldn’t help but recognize the show of appreciation for the thoughtfulness of poetry, and the power behind the spoken word.

I have always had an absolute admiration for poetic quotes, how individuals sensitively pay attention to their inner self, sharing those deep thoughts with us. 

Where are the men who love expressing themselves through poetic phrases?  I find it rather interesting how I’ve only met a few gentlemen who happen to acquainted with expressing through words.  Receiving a bouquet of flowers is fine, but when a man can expose his romantic side through lyrical content, that really provides a sense of utter delight, bringing happiness to an otherwise dismal day.

Though I read poems frequently, since April is considered the month set aside to commemorate poets and poetry, I would also love to applaud them.

To start the celebration off, we will spotlight writer Walter Benton (1907-1976). 

Born in Austria of Russian parents, Benton lived most of his life in the United States.  After working on a farm, in a steel mill, as a window washer, as a salesman, and at various other jobs, he entered Ohio University in 1931, and in due course, graduated.  He then spent five years as a social investigator in New York.  During the second World War, he served in the United States Army, being commissioned a lieutenant of the Signal Corps in the autumn of 1942 and later being promoted to a captaincy.  After the war he returned to New York and devoted his time to writing. 

At the end of the war he returned to his position with the City of New York and began writing prose, being published in the Yale Review, Fantasy, and The New Republic.  His first published volume, "This is My Beloved," a diary from 1943 put to verse, was very controversial due to the graphic intensity of his prose.  Some even called it pornography.  It has since been hailed as a remarkable journey of love, love lost, and love unrequited. It is recognized as an American classic.

Below is the popular portion of that diary:

June 22nd entry:

Were I Pygmalion or God, I would make you exactly as you are . . . in all dimensions.
From your warm hair to your intimate toes would you be wholly in your own image. I would change nothing, add or take away.

The same full red flower would model for your mouth - and from the same seashore would I bring the small translucent ear shapes of your ears.
Oh, the lovely throat that I could duplicate!
The tender arms!
I would shape your breasts the shape of the hungry little faces they are now. . . and tip them with the same quick mouths.

I could not make your eyes deeper than they are - nor softer to look into . . . nor could I turn your hips, your thighs, your belly in a sweeter curve: nor indent the hollows of your loins more tenderly - or store more honey there or fire.

How would I name you . . . need you ask? 

You know, By the scarlet and the blue you wear when love is upon you, by the yellow tongues - by the warm white fragrance . . . by the slender leaves.

 

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