I’ll begin with this–in the town of Cottonport, Louisiana, I saw sugarcane for miles. There are two prisons here–Raymond Laborde Correctional Center, and, just down the road, I saw Avoyelles Womens Correctional Center. (I stopped by with copies of The Sentences that Create Us on my way out. They buzzed e in, but I was only able to leave a fiew copies and my contact information at the front desk.
Why was I there? I was visiting Raymond Laborde Correctional Center for a poetry workshop. I received a warm welcome, and the warden and educational staff made sure to anticipate every need I might have while I was there. I met with a group of about twenty men in a classroom, and we dove right into poetry. We talked about what it means to be inspired, different ways to court the muse, and we read, wrote, and discussed poetry. This group loved the haiku by Richard Wright, and they had so much insight to offer on the poem “alternate names for black boys” by Danez Smith. There was no technology in the classroom, but I tried to relate the performance of this poem by children depicted here.
The group caught on every line of that poem, which launched us into a great and sometimes difficult discussion. Maybe because I am a mother–a mother to sons–it’s the last line that hits me hardest–“a mother’s joy and clutched breath” Motherhood makes you vulnerable–it’s like having an open wound. I think Smith is pointing out the salt added to that wound for mothers of black boys, doled out by our society in the form of racism, profiling, and a justice system that disproportionately applies itself to the bodies of black and brown children and men.
I shared this poem by Richard Wright:
I am nobody:
a red sinking autumn sun
took my name away.
One man shared the beautiful poem he wrote in response to these words–here is part of it: “If I am the red sinking autumn sun of Wright’s perception, then let it be beautiful, radiant, life giving, and memorable. Let the earth mourn my absence, and the vibrant greens, yellows, and reds fade to black, fade to earth, fade to nothing.”
After each Lifelines visit, I follow up with a worksheet of poems and inspiration that is connected to the discussion I had with the group. The poets of Raymond Laborde were really interested in letter poems and, after the Wright poem, they wanted more haiku. I’m sharing the worksheet I prepared for them, along with something I wish I had added: that poetry, too, is a clutched breath. I hope to return for another visit, maybe in spring.
To the Poets of Raymond Laborde:
You wanted poetry letters, so I have included a few examples. Another name for them is epistolary poems, or just epistles for short. You can model poems after these examples, or you can go where your mind takes you. Letters can be sent or unsent–there are examples of both on this sheet. I invite you to include as many specifics as you can. Here are some details that I would be sure to include in a letter about the last week: I drove through Slaughter twice, I ate boudin at a gas station, there was sugar cane in the road, and the air was sweet. AP
Letters to the World
The River-Merchant’s Wife: A Letter
by Ezra Pound
(this is a translation of the Chinese Poet Li Po)
While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?
At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-yen, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.
———-
This untitled poem was written by Emily Dickinson, who also happened to be famous for her letters.
This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me—
The simple News that Nature told—
With tender Majesty
Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see—
For love of Her—Sweet—countrymen—
Judge tenderly—of Me
As the following poem demonstrates, not all letters have to be sent. This is a great way to put something into words even if you aren’t quite ready to share it. It is also an interesting construct for a poem–there are all sorts of people, places, and things that are worthy of unsent letters. (Unsent letter to the Halloween Decorations of the Town of Slaughter, Unsent Letter to the Prom Date Who Refused to Dance, Unsent Letter to My Father Gone All These Years, etc. )
Unsent Message to My Brother in His Pain
by Leon Stokesbury
Please do not die now. Listen.
Yesterday, storm clouds rolled
out of the west like thick muscles.
Lightning bloomed. Such a sideshow
of colors. You should have seen it.
A woman watched with me, then we slept.
Then, when I woke first, I saw
in her face that rest is possible.
The sky, it suddenly seems
important to tell you, the sky
was pink as a shell. Listen
to me. People orbit the moon now.
They must look like flies around
Fatty Arbuckle’s head, that new
and that strange. My fellow American,
I bought a French cookbook. In it
are hundreds and hundreds of recipes.
If you come to see me, I shit you not,
we will cook with wine. Listen
to me. Listen to me, my brother,
please don’t go. Take a later flight,
a later train. Another look around.
Haiku
According to the rules (which are flexible), the 17 syllables of the haiku are divided into lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables. In English, a haiku might meet the syllable count, or it might go over or under while still maintaining the feel of the haiku form, which often focuses on nature, or a flash of imagery and/or realization. I invite you to try your own haiku, or to use one of these as a title for a new poem.
Haiku by Richard Wright:
Spring begins shyly
With one hairpin of green grass
In a flowerpot.
It was so silent
That the silence protested
With one lone bird cry
Having appointed
All the stars to their places,
The summer wind sleeps.
Haiku by Issa, translated by Robert Hass
New Year’s Day–
everything in blossom!
I feel about average.
Don’t worry, spiders,
I keep house
casually.
Full moon;
my ramshackle hut
is what it is.
The world of dew
is the world of dew.
And yet, and yet–