Melissa Lozano
Professor Elmaz Abinader
Poets of Color
October 4, 2009

The voices are from the boogie down Bronx, from the South, from Houston, from flourishing words to wailing laments. Just like the title, BUM RUSH THE PAGE all of the poems in the Every Word Must Conjure section are in your face, pushing and pulling for a chance to speak truth in the reader’s ear. Its not that hard though, when there is truth, when there are no explanations or breaks or pauses. There is anger, lots of anger, but what they do with that anger is unique to each poet. The poet’s instruments are poems written in forms of letters and sentences that run into each other. There is Palestine in all of its complexities, and there is the bible, in all of its complexities. These instruments can also be where the poet comes from: politically, spiritually, emotionally, and historically in the United States that makes the poet speak- truth.

In the poem “Letter to an Unconceived Son” by Tyehimba Jess the speaker is an African American male who dialogues with his unconceived son. The speaker is neither in love with the idea or hates the idea of having a son. He is a father to the children that witness violence as the African American kindergarteners he teaches playfully “wrestle on the rug” juxtaposes with these lines, in no particular order-
“where a black man shot another
black man in the head and laughed.”
“This is me, son. The country called father.
Waiting for the time to be right enough,
knowing there will never be enough right time.”

The speaker reflects on all the times that he could have been a father. The speaker is confident he is not ready and that he lives between father and son, teacher and student, lover and brother:
This is the place waiting
to grow up so you can grow up.
You are soft prisoner in my flesh

The imagery of the son as a “soft prisoner in my flesh” expands the relationship of the speaker with the soft, pliable, thing he can mold to be a soft or a hard man. The speaker is in touch with himself on a holistic level. The speaker can be a hard on himself or soft on others. The speaker may appear soft to other men because he is not your typical African American man in America. The black family is either whole or fragmented. The speaker has a paternal connection to the children he teaches. His presence in the classroom is immense and enough to sustain the speaker in the present moment. The speaker is proud of who he is and admits what he is not ready to face.
There are these lines:
I sat in a south side kindergarten class
where the ABC blocks and Legos mix colors
like a cauldron of rainbows.

Against these lines:
because I was never ready to face
that dark-brown-daddy-challenge,
the pull and push of you across
tightroped chasm between
what we’ve lost
and where we’ve found ourselves.


Yes, time. I know that time plays a huge part in these poems. Although, there are not any dates beside the poems, I feel these poems were written in the mid 90’s? There is a definite theme of becoming conscious and unconscious in all of the poems we read this week. The instruments are the poet’s voices, intermingling with the politics of the day, where there is not enough time to write it all down, where there is enough time to rant:
“ I’m angry because I hate to be angry and
Because I hate to be angry I’m angry angry”
It’s Called Kings by Susana Cabañas (New York)

All in all, I loved the renewed feeling for political poetry where “pink blossoms” and “ Life, LIFE, L I F E!
The only true thing we have a right to.” From the poem Blooming Death…Blossoms by Andre O. Hoilette, all comes together.
The poems that waked me inside all had a political bent to them. This makes me think back when I first started writing poetry. I wrote from the fiery side of my heart. I wrote to inform myself.
I love the way these poems make me feel: informed like a manifesto, a quake.