Hard Times Require Furious Dancing: New Poems
184Hard Times Require Furious Dancing: New Poems
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Product Details
ISBN-13: | 9781608682829 |
---|---|
Publisher: | New World Library |
Publication date: | 08/27/2013 |
Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
Format: | eBook |
Pages: | 184 |
Sales rank: | 548,939 |
File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Shiloh McCloud is a visionary artist and teacher who has worked in the creativity movement for over sixteen years. Her work is dedicated to positive media and providing images and teachings that inspire healing and transformation. Shiloh is the author of five creativity journals and is currently working on a novel. She owns a gallery and founded Cosmic Cowgirls University, which offers courses online and on campus in Sonoma County, California. Shiloh is also the founder of Palm of Her Hand, a foundation that collaborates with visionaries on projects that bring positive media to the world.
Hometown:
Mendocino, CaliforniaDate of Birth:
February 9, 1944Place of Birth:
Eatonton, GeorgiaEducation:
B.A., Sarah Lawrence College, 1965; attended Spelman College, 1961-63Read an Excerpt
Hard Times Require Furious Dancing
By Alice Walker, Shiloh McCloud
New World Library
Copyright © 2010 Alice WalkerAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-60868-282-9
CHAPTER 1
YES, I KNOW
Yes, I know I am not
a farmer
and that you
are
not
a gypsy
or a king:
Have you ever
heard
of
poetic license?
It is when
for instance
the poet
writes
buffaloes
instead
of buffalo
because
their
numbers
are now
so
thin
&
she
does
not
want
the remaining
tiny
herds
to feel
lonely.
I claim
farming ancestry:
Generations
going back
sometimes
farther
than
I wish
to look:
All those Africans
& their
yam & cassava fields
the Indians &
their corn
&
beans
the English
& their
collard plants
the Scots
their
what?
crabgrass?
maybe oats!
the Irish
their potatoes
the Elves
their
herbs.
All killing themselves
now
by the thousands
farmers
killing themselves
by
their own
calloused
hands;
not just
in India,
where suicide
among
farmers
is
a leading cause
of
death
but in
America
too
they are doing
it.
How can this be?
And how can
we
bear
the
loss?
So I claim
them
in
myself:
I
am
that.
I too
run after
the Earth
as it disappears
beneath
my feet;
I too
mourn
machines moving
over her face
without
empathy
or
love
of
her.
Even so,
you are
quite right:
I am not
a "farmer"
as most
would think
of
it:
Tilling my tiny
plots
of corn
&
beans;
collards
&
squash;
strawberries:
Leaning more
&
more
on the strength
& youth
of
others
as time
moves on.
No, I was born to grow,
alongside my garden of plants,
poems
like
this one:
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
YOU CONFIDE IN ME
You confide
in me
that
you
are lonely,
that romance
juicy
&
red
never stays
long
at
your
house.
But when
I visit
you
what
do I
find?
You do not
own
a sofa!
Without
a sofa
preferably
burgundy
or maroon
you cannot
expect
to
have romance
come
&
stay
in your
house.
A sofa is
essential
to all
that
lures
romance
to
your boudoir;
I cannot
believe
you are
so old
&
do not
know
this.
Well, lucky
for you
I am older!
Trying to have
romance
sit down,
visit
&
decide to
stay
with
you
when you have
no sofa
on
which
to sit
is like
using one
hand
in the
vast
ocean
to
catch
a
large fish.
YOU'D BE SURPRISED
You'd be surprised
to find
how cleansing
it feels
to depose
a
dictator:
There she is
anticipating your
every wish
seeking to orchestrate
your every
desire.
Get rid of her!
Life is too broad
a country
to tolerate
such foolishness
in your
own
small
yard.
VASILISA
My sisters
abandoned me.
I might have
died
from their
calculated
indifference
& neglect.
Still
I ran after
them
like a beggar
holding
out
my trust.
SOMETIMES
Sometimes
who knows how?
the body & the soul
come back
together
again
the hand
holding the pen
writes
not advertising
but
heart.
EASY
When I understood
you were
a tiger
learning to love
& not
devour
a monkey
I could rest
easy
under
your paws.
COMPATIBLE
We are not
compatible
said the
tiger
to
the bear.
The tiger
was spitting
out blackberry
seeds
barely disguising
his
disgust.
The bear
was feeling
foolish
a leaping
antelope
between
his teeth.
THE ANSWER IS YES
You must
run around like a
crazy person
or
walk
sedately
honoring
the
dead.
MY TEACHER
Marley Mu came into my life when life was dragging
and while teaching her how to pee in the right place,
eat without too much slobber
kiss me without stopping up my nose
she made me see that life is always
wonderful
it is only us
who
get off track
&
cannot see
the magic.
We were together
thirteen long years,
good years,
& she was my
teacher.
All her life
I knew where she was
every night
except two.
There were many who loved her.
And even one night when she
was lost
her sweet spirit sent her rescuers
to find me.
I will miss her, the Marley Mu
who came to live
with me
& yet
one other thing
she taught
is that
there is only one
Mu
& so
I learned
that she is the sweet
black Lab
— on the beach
in the street —
still
coming
lovingly
to greet
me
everywhere.
Alice Walker Mu — June 13, 2008
THIS ROOM
This room
is very powerful:
Buddha, golden,
holding down one side;
the primordial
Great Mother, black,
offering her
bead
of mitochondria
holding down
the other.
My meditation
chairs
are made of wicker
a miracle
crafted by
human hands.
Human being
may I not
forget you
in all
this talk
of God.
STILL
I have found
powerful
love
among
my sisters
I have
shredded
every
veil
and still
believe
in them.
LOST
My daughter
is lost
to me
but I am not
lost:
She says
freedom
to her
means
having a loving
mother;
which
as Mu* is my witness,
I have been
&
am.
However:
Liberation
is in
the heart
of
the tethered
as Harriet**
teaches us.
I bow
to
this history
&
our difference.
Freedom
to me
means
love itself
may not
be
chained
&
that
I
at the very least
may
own
myself.
IN US
In us
the old dark
Indians
reappear
who were
not
wrong
though
chopped
in half
for living
on their
sacred
lands.
In us
the old
dark
Indians
reappear
silent
disclosing
our
massacres
by our
lack
of
trust
silent
unmoved
by
word or
deed
straight
of
back
&
silent
above all
in our
wooden
chairs.
CALLING ALL GRAND MOTHERS
We have to live
differently
or we
will die
in the same
old ways.
Therefore
I call on all Grand Mothers
everywhere
on the planet
to rise
and take your place
in the leadership
of the world
Come out
of the kitchen
out of the
fields
out of the
beauty parlors
out of the
television
Step forward
& assume
the role
for which
you were
created:
To lead humanity
to health, happiness
& sanity.
I call on
all the
Grand Mothers
of Earth
& every person
who possesses
the Grand Mother
spirit
of respect for
life
&
protection of
the young
to rise
& lead.
The life of
our species
depends
on it.
& I call on all men
of Earth
to gracefully
and
gratefully
stand aside
& let them
(let us)
do so.
ONE EARTH
One Earth
One People
One Love
One Earth
One People
One Love
One Earth
One People
One Love
THE TASTE OF GRUDGE
The soul knows pain but is never diminished, injured, or
destroyed. Thank you, Clarissa, for teaching this.
I.
How many
times
life
has
seemed
too steep
a
hill
to
climb
how
many times
the hill
has disappeared
like
mist.
I am carried
in arms
that planned
adventure
for
my life
I sit nowhere
I am
told
to
stand.
II.
You
will
concern
me
in
my dreams
&
in my
hour
of
death:
I love you
in & out
of
all
assignments.
Obviously
we
had
work
to
do.
III.
Do not fight
the despair
of
harming
me.
To my
kindness
you
have
been
rude
&
more.
Something
in life
evens
every
score
&
I am left
to
say
even
if I disappear
be
safe.
IV.
Let the
joyful
heart
that
knows
the
dance
return!
Sorrow has
banished
it,
grief
has
stilled
my feet.
But there
remains
internal
movement
toward
life's
margin
where
all
begins
again
in
solemn
beat.
V.
Who can
completely
stop
a gift?
My love
will flow
around
your
rocks
break
your
dam
& live
in
all
the
trampled
plants
of
your
fouled
wilderness.
It is a bright
spring
glowing
rippling
overflowing
in
the
shade.
I do not
regret
that
I am
imperfect.
In each crack
there is
an orchid
growing
& chocolate
serves
me
when
I
slip
from
grace.
I do not
relish
perfection
or sainthood.
Flying
through
this
existence
as
myself
I honor
all
the
fierce
edges
I have
made
for
myself
&
the conundrums
I have
made
for
you.
VI.
There is
no God
but
love
which
is
what
I
have
become.
Just a
part
a
tiny
part
of
it
beyond
anger
beyond
blame
but
not
beyond
the
peace
still
possible
to
all
in this
world.
VII.
I do not
mourn
that is not
the feeling
I have
but rather
I feel
the
cool
darkness
inside
me
steady
as a
slowly
flowing
stream.
It glimmers
& glows
but
little
yet
lights my way.
VIII.
You have hit
a wall
that
was
my
open heart.
Protection
(not closure)
has
sprung up
like
those
weeds
in
Mexico
we eat
in
salads.
It
just grows
there
sent
by
angels
the same ones
ageless
who are
always
looking out
for me.
I may die
tonight
perhaps you
are killing
me.
I do not
blame you
for anything.
You were
part of
the work
I was given
on
this
trip.
You did
your
part.
I did
mine.
IX.
The journey
of death
the journey
to death
I do not
fear.
When you smell
a rose
or see one
or
see a
doe
or jackrabbit,
a leaf,
a star
there
I
will be.
Sooner
or later
& you
will see: No anger
followed me.
No injury.
No blame.
X.
Save yourself!
It can be done.
Even if the mind
is
shambled
sit still
place
your
back
against
a tree
like Buddha
& steady
it.
Silence it.
It wants
to go on
possessing
controlling
raging
dictating
lying.
But life's
too short!
You'll wake up
in the
night
one day
&
it will all
— this life —
be over!
What a waste
is any kind
of
grudge.
The taste
of
grudge
destroys
completely
the
taste
of
cherries.
Wake up!
before it is
too late:
Rejoice
to have
the
noble
dwelling
of
your body
with all
its
teeth!
XI.
Let the wind
talk
to you
on the moor,
like
Jane Eyre
& your
sister's
heroes
in
books
that
threw
a lifeline
across
abyss after
abyss
of craziness.
XII.
We did what
we could
with what
was
forced
on us.
No regrets.
No blame.
The taste
of figs
cherries
peaches
mangoes
orange peel
scent
with blind
luck
& many
tribulations
we made it
to
this
world!
XIII.
Rise! Rising
as Maya
reminds us
is our
way
with
devastation.
There is
no
god
but
love
&
so
rising is
inherent
in
our
heartbeat
as we
move
carried or
knocked
about
by life.
This we know:
We were
not meant
to suffer
so much
& to learn
nothing.
LOVE IS THAT GIANT BAG
Love
is that giant
bag
of everything
into
which
we
might
disappear
without
a trace
&
be found
again:
Even
the parent
you
thought
was
lost.
Father,
gone to spirit
before
you reached
my
age,
I am
your
dream
of
me
&
more
&
I will
carry
us,
plucked
from
love's
abyss.
WATCHING YOU HOLD YOUR HATRED
Watching you
hold
your
hatred
for such a long time
I wonder:
Isn't it
slippery?
Might you
not
someday
drop it
on
yourself?
I wonder:
Where does it sleep
if ever?
And where
do
you deposit
it
while you
feed
your
children
or
sit
in the
lap
of
the one
who
cherishes
you?
There is no
graceful
way
to
carry
hatred.
While
hidden
it is
everywhere.
I WILL KEEP BROKEN THINGS
I will keep
broken
things:
The big clay
pot
with raised
iguanas
chasing
their
tails;
two
of their
wise
heads
sheared
off;
I will keep
broken
things:
The old
slave
market
basket
brought
to my
door
by Mississippi
a jagged
hole
gouged
in its sturdy
dark
oak
side.
I will keep
broken
things:
The memory
of
those
long
delicious
night
swims
with
you;
I will keep
broken
things:
In my house
there
remains
an
honored
shelf
on which
I will
keep
broken
things.
Their beauty
is
they
need
not
ever
be
"fixed."
I will keep
your
wild
free
laughter
though
it is now
missing
its
reassuring
and
graceful
hinge.
I will keep
broken
things:
Thank you
so much!
I will keep
broken
things.
I will keep
you:
pilgrim
of
sorrow.
I will keep
myself.
LA VACA
For Marco
Look
into
her eyes
and know:
She does not think
of
herself
as
steak.
MONKEYS ARE CURIOUS
We want
to know.
Monkeys are curious.
We ask
ourselves:
Will the tiger
bite
will the snake
choke
will the dragon
charm
will the elephant
trample us?
Will the pig entertain?
We want
to know
these
things.
I KNOW MY DUTY TO LIFE
I know
my duty
to life,
I was not
born
tomorrow;
how could
I know
how
hard
it
will be?
Our children
cooked
by
an
indifferent
sun
once a Goddess;
now
through
negligence
& scanty praise
simply
fire.
I know
my duty
to life,
to stop
wars
especially
those
I cause
within
myself.
Who knew?
Fights
with ourselves
each
other
&
her
led
to the
encirclement
of
the globe
in
ice
& all our
beloved
cousins
furry
&
nonfurry
stuck
in
it
forever?
I know
my duty
to life:
I am grateful to have
even a glimpse
of it!
Life
gives me
this hammock
a close-up
view
of hand-plastered
walls
& blue
forget-me-nots
that bloom
within
eyes'
reach.
Yes
it is life
that has given
me
this swinging
white
hammock
made of
string
by
humble
hands
that
still
pray;
this hammock
sold
for a dollar
on a beach
littered
shamefully
but
still
beautiful
&
pure.
I see
that I,
though
not
born
tomorrow,
am permitted —
swinging
suspended
in time —
to see it
from
here.
WORD HAS REACHED ME
Word has reached me
that you are dying
you, who hid
in the closet
the morning
I was born
to witness
my birth
— investigative Scorpio —
and did not believe in cabbage
or stork.
I am far away
not only in distance
from your bed
but
in emotion.
Calling hospice
I hear
your quite loud
moans
of resistance:
You do not want to go
& even dying
you will not pretend
otherwise.
Oprah you will miss
you have said, your
most
beloved,
& all your friends
from television
who
kept
you
company:
befriending you
through pain
&
drama
over
so many
searing
&
tumultuous
years.
I, once so close
have drifted.
Yesterday
my friends and I chanted
for an hour
an ancient mantra
for sending
loved ones on their way
with kindness
&
no fear.
We lit candles
& incense
&
in my chanting
vision
I saw you
seating yourself
(dressed in black: centered
and calm)
in a small boat
ochre colored
both
boat
&
sail.
Let go, let go
into the soothing river
channel
I said to you
& you
looked
as though
you were considering
it.
Hearing your voice
over thousands
of miles
no words
only
sounds of protest
of struggle
of fighting —
it is so
you.
So much
your
essence
I hear in
the argument
you make.
Praying, later,
I sent word
to you that both our parents
are waiting
— all, whatever it was
that rankled —
is now
& forevermore
forgiven:
Grandpa & Grandma
are
waiting too.
How they loved & what is more, understood, you.
I wonder if or why
you fear them?
As for me,
I am
spending the morning
thinking of you
feeling with you
and wishing
you
ease
&
peace.
Sweeping up the petals
of flowers
that surround
my door
I see your face
all our faces
swept away
by life's good
broom
whenever
&
wherever
we fall.
Let go.
Off into the river
channel. Let go.
All is well.
The love we shared as children
is not lost, though we have been.
Let go.
Let go.
Let go.
I PRAY FOR YOU
I pray
for you
to love
the precious
body
this
lifetime
has
given
you
as I love it.
In youth
every speeding
motorcycle
beckoned
to turn
itself
over
on
you:
Knives
held
by
goons
found
their way
into
your
blameless
flesh:
Somehow
you broke
both
your shoulders
&
many
helpful
bones
in legs
&
feet.
I can hardly
bear
to touch
the scarred
ridges
under the
sweet
hair
on
your
so
frequently
battered
head;
you
have
crashed
into
life
repeatedly,
thinking
perhaps
you
are
a
bull.
O
Holy One
so
filled
with
compassion
for even
the tiniest
fly
why must
it be
that
dismissing
endless roses
saluting
us
in this world
if there
is
anywhere
a
thorn
you
will
walk
into
it?
I WILL NOT DENY
I will not deny
my lips
their smile
I will not deny
my heart
its sorrow
I will not deny
my eyes
their tears
I will not deny
my hair
the wildness
of my age
It is
profound
selfishness
I will deny
me nothing
of myself.
YOU WILL NEVER KNOW
You will never
know
how
much
I loved
you
as
I watched
them
stone
you
in the film.
Cowards,
they covered
up
your body
& your
face
so they
would not
have
to notice
you.
There is a stone
the perfect
size
to crush
your skull
another
just right
to bash
the delicate
bridge
of
your nose:
Still another,
needle edged
with
which
to gash
open
or
bruise shut
your
eyes.
Your pink
shroud
that
you
must
wear
every day
of
your
life
has
a tiny
window:
Did you
bother
to look
out of it
to
see?
Your neighbors
and
their boys
would have
been there:
Children
have to learn.
Perhaps your own
sons
were encouraged
to throw
the first
stone.
I don't speak
of Jesus
as much
as some do —
though
I
miss
him
just
as
much:
Still, how right
he was —
honoring
the feminine
in woman
the Earth
&
himself —
to try
to put
a stop
to this.
HERE
To my sixteen-year-old Beamer
Here
I
inhabit
the world
of
Wabi-sabi:
Anything
new
in
this
place
aged
long
ago.
There is
nothing
without
nicks
&
dents
scratches
&
rips;
both
night
gown
&
table
cloth
have
holes.
This is not
because
once
upon
a
time
I was
poor:
Poor,
we
would
have
hated
this.
It is
that
now
I imitate
what
Leonard*
calls
the
real
masterpiece:
Some
part
of which
is
always
tearing
dissolving
rotting
being
blown
away
by
wind
or eaten
up
by
bugs.
The
Wabi-sabi
of
Earth
makes
us
want
to let
our stairs
&
our
chairs
creak;
to let
our
teenagers —
tattered
&
pierced —
be
our
cars.
MEETING YOU
Kept from
your birth
still I realize
we
will someday
meet.
Hello, you might
begin the conversation.
Are you
my grandmother?
And I,
being your
cheeky monkey twin,
may reply:
Maybe.
Or I might begin:
Yo, cute boy,
are you
my grandchild?
& you,
cautious Capricorn,
might reply:
It's possible.
You will see
living as you do
in the Aquarian
Age
when it is
at last
possible
for mere
thought
to quickly
transform
the world —
nothing
will
ultimately separate
us:
not
space
not
time
not unanticipated
turbulence
&
discord.
Life
keeps us apart
now
for a reason
only it
knows:
Understanding
this
we have only
to endure
a separation
that
instantly
disappears
whenever you
or I
smell
a
flower.
Perhaps
like all gods
in whom
we must
have trust
Life,
Grandmother's
god
of choice,
is simply
testing
us.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Hard Times Require Furious Dancing by Alice Walker, Shiloh McCloud. Copyright © 2010 Alice Walker. Excerpted by permission of New World Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Foreword by Shiloh McCloud,Preface: Learning to Dance,
Yes, I Know,
You Confide in Me,
You'd Be Surprised,
Vasilisa,
Sometimes,
Easy,
Compatible,
The Answer Is Yes,
My Teacher,
This Room,
Still,
Lost,
In Us,
Calling All Grand Mothers,
One Earth,
The Taste of Grudge,
Love Is That Giant Bag,
Watching You Hold Your Hatred,
I Will Keep Broken Things,
La Vaca,
Monkeys Are Curious,
I Know My Duty to Life,
Word Has Reached Me,
I Pray for You,
I Will Not Deny,
You Will Never Know,
Here,
Meeting You,
The World Has Changed,
Some Lovers,
Told,
To a Relative,
Sixty-five!,
Commitment,
We Pay a Visit to Those Who Play at Being Dead,
Sometimes Our Disappointment,
You Came,
Rich,
Loving Humans,
Dying,
Loving Our Leaders,
I Gave It Freely,
Encountering,
Mind Shine,
A Few Monks,
Even So,
Alice Loves Me,
Morning,
Index of Poems,
About the Author,
About the Illustrator,