Once Read online

  Once

  POEMS BY ALICE WALKER

  For Howard Zinn

  Poverty was not a calamity for me. It was always balanced by the richness of light … circumstances helped me. To correct a natural indifference I was placed half-way between misery and the sun. Misery kept me from believing that all was well under the sun, and the sun taught me that history wasn’t everything.

  —Albert Camus, De l’envers et l’endroit

  CONTENTS

  African Images, Glimpses from a Tiger’s Back

  Love

  Karamojans

  Once

  Chic Freedom’s Reflection

  South: The Name of Home

  Hymn

  The Democratic Order: Such Things in Twenty Years I Understood

  They Who Feel Death

  On being asked to leave a place of honor for one of comfort

  The Enemy

  Compulsory Chapel

  To the Man in the Yellow Terry

  The Kiss

  What Ovid Taught Me

  Mornings

  So We’ve Come at Last to Freud

  Johann

  The Smell of Lebanon

  Warning

  The Black Prince

  Medicine

  ballad of the brown girl

  Suicide

  Excuse

  to die before one wakes must be glad

  Exercises on Themes from Life

  A Biography of Alice Walker

  AFRICAN IMAGES

  Glimpses from a Tiger’s Back

  i

  Beads around my neck

  Mt. Kenya away over pineappled hills

  Kikuyuland.

  ii

  A book of poems

  Mt. Kenya’s

  Bluish peaks

  “Wangari!”*

  My new name.

  iii

  A green copse

  And hovering

  Quivering

  Near our bus

  A shy gazelle.

  iv

  morning mists

  On the road

  an Elephant

  He knows

  his rights.

  v

  A strange noise!

  “Perhaps an elephant

  is eating our roof”

  In the morning

  much blue.

  vi

  A tall warrior

  and at his feet

  only

  Elephant bones.

  vii

  Elephant legs

  In a store

  To hold

  Umbrellas.

  viii

  A young man

  Puts a question

  In his language

  I invariably

  End up

  Married.

  ix

  The clear Nile

  A fat crocodile

  Scratches his belly

  And yawns.

  x

  The rain forest

  Red orchids—glorious!

  And near one’s eyes

  The spinning cobra.

  xi

  A small boat

  A placid lake

  Suddenly at one’s hand

  Two ears—

  Hippopotamus.

  xii

  An ocean of grass

  A sea of sunshine

  And near my hand

  Water buffalo.

  xiii

  See! through the trees!

  A leopard in

  the branches—

  No, only a giraffe

  Munching his dinner.

  xiv

  Fast rapids

  Far below

  Begins

  The lazy Nile.

  xv

  A silent lake

  Bone strewn banks

  Luminous

  In the sun.

  xvi

  Uganda mountains

  Black soil

  White snow

  And in the valley

  Zebra.

  xvii

  African mornings

  Are not for sleeping

  In the early noon

  The servant comes

  To wake me.

  xviii

  Very American

  I want to eat

  The native food—

  But a whole goat!

  xix

  Holding three fingers

  The African child

  Looked up at me

  The sky was very Blue.

  xx

  In the dance

  I see a girl

  Go limp

  “It is a tactic”

  I think.

  xxi

  “America!?” “Yes.”

  “But you are like

  my aunt’s cousin

  who married so-and-so.”

  “Yes, (I say), I know.”

  xxii

  On my knees

  The earringed lady

  Thinks I’m praying

  She drops her sisal

  and runs.

  xxiii

  “You are a Negro?”

  “Yes”

  “But that is a kind

  of food—isn’t it—

  the white man used to

  eat you???”

  “Well—”

  xxiv

  Unusual things amuse us

  A little African girl

  Sees my white friend

  And runs

  She thinks he wants her

  For his dinner.

  xxv

  The fresh corpse

  Of a white rhinoceros

  His horn gone

  Some Indian woman

  Will be approached

  Tonight.

  xxvi

  The man in the

  Scarlet shirt

  Wanted to talk

  but had no words—

  I had words

  but no Scarlet

  Shirt.

  xxvii

  floating shakily down the

  nile

  on my rented raft

  I try to be a native

  queen

  a prudent giraffe

  on the bank

  turns up

  his nose.

  xxviii

  We eat Metoke*

  with three fingers—

  other things

  get two fingers

  and one of those

  a thumb.

  xxix

  That you loved me

  I felt sure

  Twice you asked

  me gently

  if I liked the

  strange

  gray

  stew.

  xxx

  Pinching both my legs

  the old man kneels

  before me on the

  ground

  his head white

  Ah! Africa’s mountain

  Peaks

  Snow to grace

  eternal spring!

  xxxi

  To build a hut

  One needs mud

  and sisal

  And friendly

  Neighbors.

  xxxii

  Where the glacier was

  A lake

  Where the lake is

  Sunshine

  And redheaded

  Marabou storks.

  xxxiii

  On a grumpy day

  An African child

  Chants “good morning”

  —I have never seen

  Such bright sun!

  xxxiv

  The Nairobi streets

  At midnight

  Deserted

  The hot dog man

  Folds up his cart.

  xxxv

  In Nairobi

  I
pestered an

  Indian boy to

  Sell me a

  Hat

  For five shillings—

  How bright

  His eyes were!

  xxxvi

  In a kunzu

  Long and white

  Stands my African

  Dad

  The sound of drums

  Fills

  The air!

  xxxvii

  On my brother’s motorcycle

  The Indian mosques

  And shops fade behind us

  My hair takes flight

  He laughs

  He has not seen such hair

  Before.

  xxxviii

  An African girl

  Gives me a pineapple

  Her country’s national

  Flower

  How proudly she

  Blinks the eye

  Put out

  By a sharp pineapple

  Frond.

  I wonder if I should

  Kneel

  At her bare little

  Feet?

  xxxix

  At first night

  I sat alone

  & watched the

  sun set

  behind

  the

  aberdares

  During

  the day

  my legs

  and the sun

  belonged

  to

  the village

  children.

  xl

  Under the moon

  luminous

  huts. …

  Brown breasts stuck

  out to taunt

  the sullen wind.

  xli

  A crumbling hut…

  in the third

  room

  a red chenille

  bedspread

  (by Cannon)

  a cracked

  jar

  of violet

  lilies

  (by?)

  xlii

  The native women

  thought me

  strange

  until they

  saw me follow you

  to your hut.

  xliii

  In Kampala

  the young king

  goes often

  to Church

  the young girls here

  are

  So pious.

  xliv

  Settled behind

  tall banana trees

  the little hut

  is overcovered

  by their leaves

  patiently it waits

  for autumn

  which never comes.…

  xlv

  in my journal

  I thought I could

  capture

  everything.…

  Listen!

  the soft wings of cranes

  sifting the salt sea

  air.

  * Kikuyu clan name indicating honorary acceptance into the Leopard clan.

  * A food staple of the Buganda in Uganda, made from plantains.

  LOVE

  i

  A dark stranger

  My heart searches

  Him out

  “Papa!”

  ii

  An old man in white

  Calls me “mama”

  It does not take much

  To know

  He wants me for

  His wife—

  He has no teeth

  But is kind.

  iii

  The American from

  Minnesota

  Speaks Harvardly

  of Revolution—

  Men of the Mau Mau

  Smile

  Their fists holding

  Bits of

  Kenya earth.

  iv

  A tall Ethiopian

  Grins at me

  The grass burns

  My bare feet.

  v

  Drums outside

  My window

  Morning whirls

  In

  I have danced all

  Night.

  vi

  The bearded Briton

  Wears a shirt of

  Kenya flags

  I am at home

  He says.

  vii

  Down the hill

  A grove of trees

  And on this spot

  The magic tree.

  viii

  The Kenya air!

  Miles of hills

  Mountains

  And holding both

  My hands

  A Mau Mau leader.

  ix

  And in the hut

  The only picture—

  Of Jesus

  x

  Explain to the

  Women

  In the village

  That you are

  Twenty

  And belong—

  To no one.

  KARAMOJANS

  i

  A tall man

  Without clothes

  Beautiful

  Like a statue

  Up close

  His eyes

  Are running

  Sores.

  ii

  The Noble Savage

  Erect

  No shoes on his

  feet

  His pierced ears

  Infected.

  iii

  “Quite incredible—

  your hair-do is

  most divine——

  Held together

  With cow dung?

  You mean——?!

  The lady stares

  At her fingers.

  iv

  A proper English meal

  Near the mountains

  “More tea, please”

  Down the street

  A man walks

  Quite completely

  Nude.

  v

  Bare breasts loose

  In the sun

  The skin cracked

  The nipples covered

  With flies

  But she is an old

  Woman

  What?—twenty?

  vi

  A Catholic church

  The chaste cross

  Stark

  Against the purple sky.

  We surprise a

  couple there alone

  In prayer?

  vii

  There is no need for

  Sadness

  After the dying boy

  There is the living girl

  Who throws you a kiss.

  viii

  How bright the little

  girl’s

  Eyes were!

  a first sign of

  Glaucoma.

  ix

  The Karamojans

  Never civilized

  A proud people

  I think there

  Are

  A hundred left.

  ONCE

  i

  Green lawn

  a picket fence

  flowers—

  My friend smiles

  she had heard

  that Southern

  jails

  were drab.

  Looking up I see

  a strong arm

  raised

  the Law

  Someone in America

  is being

  protected

  (from me.)

  In the morning

  there was

  a man in grey

  but the sky

  was blue.

  ii

  “Look at that nigger

  with those white folks!”

  My dark

  Arrogant friend

  turns calmly, curiously

  helpfully,

  “Where?” he

  asks.

  It was the fifth

  arrest

  In as many

  days

  How glad I am

  that I can

  look

&nbs
p; surprised

  still.

  iii

  Running down

  Atlanta

  streets

  With my sign

  I see heads

  turn

  Eyes

  goggle

  “a nice girl

  like her!”

  A Negro cook

  assures

  her mistress—

  But I had seen

  the fingers

  near her eyes

  wet with

  tears.

  iv

  One day in

  Georgia

  Working around

  the Negro section

  My friend got a

  letter

  in

  the mail

  —the letter

  said

  “I hope you’re

  having a good

  time fucking all

  the niggers.”

  “Sweet,” I winced.

  “Who

  wrote it?”

  “mother.”

  she

  said.

  That day she sat

  a long time

  a little black girl

  in pigtails

  on her lap

  Her eyes were very

  Quiet.

  She used to tell the big colored ladies

  her light eyes just

  the same

  “I am alone

  my mother died.”

  Though no other

  letter

  came.

  v

  It is true—

  I’ve always loved

  the daring

  ones

  Like the black young

  man

  Who tried

  to crash

  All barriers

  at once,

  wanted to

  Swim

  At a white

  beach (in Alabama)

  Nude.

  vi

  Peter always

  thought

  the only

  way to

  “enlighten”

  southern towns

  was to

  introduce

  himself

  to

  the county

  sheriff

  first thing.

  Another thing

  Peter wanted—

  was to be

  cremated

  but we

  couldn’t

  find him

  when he needed it.

  But he was just a yid

  seventeen.

  vii

  I

  never liked

  white folks

  really

  it

  happened quite

  suddenly

  one

  day

  A pair of

  amber

  eyes

  I

  think

  he

  had.

  viii

  I don’t think

  integration

  entered

  into it

  officer

  You see

  there was

  this little

  Negro

  girl

  Standing here

  alone

  and her

  mother

  went into

  that store

  there

  then—

  there came by

  this little boy

  here

  without his

  mother

  & eating

  an

  ice cream cone

  —see there it is—

  strawberry

  Anyhow

  and the little

  girl was

  hungry

  and stronger

  than

  the little

  boy—

  Who is too