After Sterling, take 5

I am still struggling with finding the right words and flow for my poem, After Sterling.  The poem is part conversation with the late African-American poet, Sterling Brown, and part commentary on the lost history of the community in which I live-- North Laurel, MD-- which is also where Sterling Brown's family farm was located.  Sterling Brown was part of the Harlem Renaissance, but, unlike Langston Hughes and others, is not remembered or studied in schools.  And, although the Rouse Corporation named a local road after him (Sterling Drive) when developing lands that might have included part of the Brown family's farm, and certainly were near the farm, I think I'm safe in saying that most residents of this area have never heard of him.  My interest in writing this poem began with my own discovery of his poetry, and especially his poem, After Winter, which was inspired by his boyhood memories of the farm.  My poem, also reflects my interest in local history, my love for this community, and my own frustrations with the planning process in Howard County which seems to care more about preserving the areas from which County leaders come and has basically given over this part of the county to development.

So, without further lead-in and ado...

AFTER STERLING

Somewhere in these North Laurel woods

I imagine there are butter beans,

radishes and lettuce, eggplants and beets

appearing year after year

to remind us of you, Sterling Brown,

and the words that you found

in the fields and the streets

giving voice to the lives of ordinary folks.

The rural place you knew is gone.

Grass grows where plows once cut.

Office buildings rise 

from the fields where you ran.

Harmony Lane (or what remains)

no longer leads to the Freedman’s town,

its small frame houses

lost to rising values of land.

The old colored school,

demolished to make way

for luxury townhomes.

All Saints Church, gone,

nothing left on its former site,

not even the graves of those

who worshiped within its walls.

It’s all neighborhoods now

filled with folks of all collars,

all colors living side-by-side

(though the old divides of race and class

still exist for you to comment on).

History lives in this county to the north and the west.

Memories here were bulldozed and paved

in the name of progress and smart growth.

We are left with only names on roads—

Whiskey Bottom, All Saints,

Stephens, Earl Levy,

and the one developers named after you—

but, no one remembers; no one knows.

Poetry lives elsewhere too.

The kids learn Langston,

but they don’t know you,

don’t know a poet once walked these woods.

Did you carve your name into trees,

like those today who carve and tag

to be remembered? Isn’t that all

any of us want?  To be remembered?

Here in these woods, I ask:

Where is the poet

bringing baskets of words

in from the fields?

Who will sing the stories and names

of those from our past

and those here today?

Ah, Sterling, we are the poets.

We bring the words that carry our lives.

But, you knew that, didn’t you?

That the poet is more

than the name on the road

that leads to where the butter beans grew.

Fortunes 2014: November

You take an optimistic view of life.

You have a friendly heart and are well admired.

You will win success in whatever calling you adopt.

You will win success in whatever calling you adopt.

You will win success in whatever calling you adopt.

Stop searching forever, happiness is just next to you.

You have a lively family.

You have a lively family.

You like participating in competitive sports.

Avert misunderstanding by calm, poise, and balance.

Don’t be hasty, prosperity will knock on your door soon.

You will travel far and wide, both for pleasure and business.

You will travel far and wide, both for pleasure and business.

Pray for what you want, but work for the things you need.

After Sterling

For a couple years now, I've been working on a poem that draws upon Sterling Brown's poem After Winter to connect between him and the community in which I live:  North Laurel, Maryland.  Sterling Brown's family's farm was located in this community, a mile or so from my house.  The Rouse Corporation, which eventually bought and then developed the land on which his family's farm was located named a road after him:  Sterling Drive.  I've always wondered, though, how many people have made the connection between this road and Sterling Brown.  How many residents of this community have even heard of Sterling Brown?  Langston Hughes is taught in the local high school, but not Sterling Brown, even though he was an important figure in the Harlem Renaissance. 

After Winter has particular meaning to me since it is based on his memories of the farm.  I've wanted to tie the poem and its memories of a rural past to North Laurel.  My poem has gone through many drafts, most of which got bogged down in listing archetypes of different kinds of people who live here.  They were, in a word, boring.  You can read one of those drafts on this blog (see February 2013).

Somewhere along the way, I began asking (in my drafts) "where is the poet?"  And, "who is the poet?"  And my answer was:  "we are the poets."  Here is the current draft:

AFTER STERLING

(With acknowledgement to Sterling Brown’s After Winter)

Where is the poet now,

bringing baskets of words

in from the fields:  

radishes and lettuce,

eggplants and beets?

Who will bridge us to the past,

not for nostalgia’s sake,

but to remind us of the working folk

who wrote lives in this place

just as we do today.

Ah, Sterling, we are the poets.

But that’s what you knew:

that the poet is more 

than the name of the road

that leads to where 

the butter beans grew.

Armistice Day: Hedd Wyn's "Rhyfel" ("War")

For Armistice/Veteran's Day, I'm sharing Welsh poet, Hedd Wyn's, poem Rhyfel/War.  Of all the poems by World War I poets that I've read, this is, in my opinion, the most poignant-- particularly the last two lines.  Hedd Wyn (the bardic name for Ellis Evans) went to war reluctantly, as did, no doubt, many in that war.  He was killed at the Battle of Passchendaele in 1917.  Hedd Wyn was posthumously awarded Chair of the Bard at the 1917 National Eisteddfod, the highest poetic honor in Wales.

The Welsh original is below.  My English translation appears in the Fall/Winter 2014 issue of the journal JMWW at http://jmwwjournal.com/Ratcliffe1.html.

RHYFEL
Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng
A Duw ar drai ar orwel pell;
O'i ol mae dyn, yn deyrn a gwreng,
Yn codi ei awdurdod hell.

Pan deimlodd fyned ymaith Dduw
Cyfododd gledd i ladd ei frawd;
Mae swn yr ymladd ar ein clyw,
A'i gysgod ar fythynnod tlawd.

Mae'r hen delynau genid gynt
Ynghrog ar gangau'r helg draw,
A gwaedd y bechgyn lond y gwynt,
A'u gwaed yn gymysg efo'r glaw.

Fortunes 2014: October

You have a reputation for being straightforward and honest.

Great thoughts come from the heart.

Great thoughts come from the heart.

You will soon be surrounded by good friends and laughter.

Adventure can be a real happiness.

The simplest answer is to act.

Great thoughts come from the heart.

Practice makes perfect.

You will soon be involved in many gatherings and parties.

Practice makes perfect.