The Age of Phillis. Honorée Fanonne Jeffers

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СКАЧАТЬ ambiguous lights:

       I know all the things—

      and he does not answer,

      but smiles at his wife:

      their daughter is a marvel

      and they must pray for humility.

FIRST-TIME PRAYER

       Yaay and Goonay, Someplace in the Gambia, c. 1759

      The water was preparation.

      When the mother

      and her child rose

      in the morning, no Jesus.

      The same God, yet

      with ninety-nine monikers.

       We have awoken

       and all of creation

      has awoken, for Allah,

       Lord of all the worlds

      The bowl—

      wooden or gourd—

      was light, as water

      and faith are heavy.

      In the century after

      this mother and child

      are dead, someone

      will write about

      these mornings,

      that the mother

      poured a ritual

      for her daughter

      to remember.

      This writing someone

      won’t know of ablutions,

      of giving peace,

      of purity required

      before submission,

      that God’s servants

      had ached

      all night to be clean.

BEFORE THE TAKING OF GOONAY

       Someplace in the Gambia, c. 1759

      Mystery is the word for my purposes here. This child

      frail, not quite whole. Not the leader of the gang. The strange

      understanding

      to be revealed. Is she dancing with the others?

      Is there a shaking of tail feathers, a nonsense ditty? Shimmy to

       the west Shimmy to the east

       Shake it Shake it Shake it Yeah Yeah Yeah

      A sharing of secrets with a lagging friend? I’m full of questions.

      I can ask History what I want.

      I can forget the rest. Why will the slave raiders snatch

      a thin, sickly girl? Why not leave her behind for the usual spoils?

      The men with clubs.

      The charcoaled village. The old ones. The babies—

      I can say, No. We won’t speak about all that. I can keep

      returning to this blank

      someplace before her taking. The story of the red cloth

      not yet laid out. A genius child playing, brightness in

      a mother’s crown.

      A pearl if she lives by the sea. The strand of a gathered

      plait. Needed point: surely, love doesn’t rest in emptied air

      without some disappointment,

      but this is a good moment. Isn’t it?—I can run to my own

      playground, remember a cupped palm next to my ear. I can call

      my mother who is yet alive.

      I can claim my memories. She can answer her ringing

      telephone. I won’t forget her name or mine.

FRACTURE

       West Africa, c. 15th century to 19th century

      The men arrive. Slave ships are anchored.

      The men arrive. The traders gather.

      The men arrive. The traders march.

      The men arrive. The war is waged.

      The men arrive. The fire comes.

      The men arrive. The people run.

      The men arrive. The chase begins.

      The men arrive. The dead abandoned.

      The men arrive. The iron sounds.

      The men arrive. The people march.

      The men arrive. The sea. The sea.

      The men arrive. The traders haggle.

      The men arrive. The silver laughs.

      The men arrive. The castle groans.

      The men arrive. The door opens.

      The men arrive. The water welcomes.

      The men arrive. The mourning longs.

      The men arrive. Our names shall scatter.

BAAY’S MOAN WITH CHORUS

       Someplace/Someplace/Someplace, c. 1761

       oh: a war

      I have touched my belly

      in expectancy, strummed

       oh: the family stolen

      meat-covered ribs.

      The navel’s planetary cavern.

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