Reflecting on my last post, and the idea that perhaps poetry, art, creative output is more honest than the politicised nature of History text books and references, I think about some of my own, very political poetry. Not simply political but personal and political because, the personal (when you inhabit the identities I do; Black, female, working class, single mother) the personal is very fucking political...
The password for the video is Fragility... TW, open with care. Probably NSFW and some may find the content irritating at best :-)
This piece of dance, poetry and audio art is one I made in the summer, in the aftermath of George Floyd's death. It was in reference to a) the levels of white fragility I (and so many people of colour) was having to deal with, experience, navigate and b) the necessity and practice of self-care and love amidst that.
As the title to the poem suggests, I am loud, hot, raw and proud and refuse to be made to feel lesser and uncomfortable just so that certain people, certain groups of people, don't have to face and address certain realities and truisms of life.
Is this closer to vital truth than a history book? Who knows, I am the arbiter but I have no say in how my work is interpreted. It does speak from a place of truth and experience though...
LOUD, HOT, RAW AND PROUD
Is it too loud for you?
I am sorry
I shall attempt to turn it down -
Express my passions
More discreetly
Put away my self-made crown.
Swing my hips
A little less brightly
Form my words
A little less clear
Laugh my laugh
A little less
Lionly
Lest the noise
Ignites your fear.
Is it too hot for you?
I do apologise
Let me dampen down the flames
Let the steam compress
Your anguish
Let the chill
Disperse your pain
Let the dark
Give you a handle
Where the light
Was too oblique
Eschew pursuit
Of truth and wisdom
Immersed
In shame and bigotry.
Is it too raw for you?
Come let me cook it
Fry it up and make it soft
Cut it up
And make it presentable
Make it palatable
Add some salt
You need it sugar coated?
Why, of course you do
Boil it down
Condense it
Sweet
Can't have the bitterness
Of your reflection
Taken whole
Swallowed neat.
Am I too proud for you?
I won't say sorry
I will not turn that off or down
Bring it low enough
Until I’m silenced
Metaphorically gagged and bound
I will not pander
To your requirements
That I prop you up and
Duly play
The reflection of your panic
As you sense you’ve lost the game…
