The Talking Back of Miss Valentine Jones: Poem # one -- June Jordan

Guest poem submitted by Nisha Susan:

(Poem #1724) The Talking Back of Miss Valentine Jones: Poem # one well I wanted to braid my hair bathe and bedeck my self so fine so fully aforethought for your pleasure see: I wanted to travel and read and runaround fantastic into war and peace: I wanted to surf dive fly climb conquer and be conquered THEN I wanted to pickup the phone and find you asking me if I might possibly be alone some night (so I could answer cool as the jewels I would wear on bareskin for you digmedaddy delectation:) "WHEN you comin ova?" But I had to remember to write down margarine on the list and shoepolish and a can of sliced pineapple in casea company and a quarta skim milk cause Teresa's gaining weight and don' nobody groove on that much girl and next I hadta sort for darks and lights before the laundry hit the water which I had to kinda keep an eye on be- cause if the big hose jumps the sink again that Mrs. Thompson gointa come upstairs and brain me with a mop don' smell too nice even though she hang it headfirst out the winda and I had to check on William like to burn hisself to death with fever boy so thin be callin all day "Momma! Sing to me?" "Ma! Am I gone die?" and me not wake enough to sit beside him longer than to wipeaway the sweat or change the sheets/ his shirt and feed him orange juice before I fall out of sleep and Sweet My Jesus ain but one can left and we not thru the afternoon and now you (temporarily) shownup with a thing you says' a poem and you call it "Will The Real Miss Black America Standup?" guilty po' mouth about duty beauties of my headrag boozeup doozies about never mind cause love is blind well I can't use it and the very next bodacious Blackman call me queen because my life ain shit because (in any case) he ain been here to share it with me (dish for dish and do for do and dream for dream) I'm gone scream him out my house be- cause what I wanted was to braid my hair/bathe and bedeck my self so fully be- cause what I wanted was your love not pity be- cause what I wanted was your love your love -- June Jordan

Here's a poem which does not fit into the current theme but I send it
because it is a pure unalloyed delight. It was my first June Jordan poem and
now I am scouring the countryside for more.

Alice Walker called her the universal poet. But more exciting is the
description of the unnamed copywriter on the Random House site, "There
aren't any streets or postal holidays named for June Jordan, but she's
cherished by and collaborated with her own share of landmarks: she has
planned a new Harlem with R. Buckminster Fuller, sipped coffee with Malcolm
X, gotten teaching advice from Toni Cade Bambara, co-starred in a film with
Angela Davis, and written an opera with John Adams and Peter Sellars. But no
June Jordan Day. Yet."

More poems at:
http://www.randomhouse.com/boldtype/1197/jordan/

More on June:
http://www.junejordan.com/
http://www.poetryforthepeople.com/
[broken link] http://www.poets.org/poets/poets.cfm?prmID=66

Nisha.

On a New Year's Eve -- June Jordan

Guest poem sent in by pavi

(Poem #1102) On a New Year's Eve Infinity doesn't interest me not altogether anymore I crawl and kneel and grub about I beg and listen for what can go away (as easily as love) or perish like the children running hard on oneway streets/infinity doesn't interest me not anymore not even repetition your/my/eye- lid or the colorings of sunrise or all the sky excitement added up is not enough to satisfy this lusting admiration that I feel for your brown arm before it moves MOVES CHANGES UP the temporary sacred tales ago first bikeride round the house when you first saw a squat opossum carry babies on her back opossum up in the persimmon tree you reeling toward that natural first absurdity with so much wonder still it shakes your voice the temporary is the sacred takes me out and even the stars and even the snow and even the rain do not amount to much unless these things submit to some disturbance some derangement such as when I yield myself/belonging to your unmistaken body and let the powerful lock up the canyon/mountain peaks the hidden rivers/waterfalls the deepdown minerals/the coalfields/goldfields diamond mines close by the whoring ore hot at the center of the earth spinning fast as numbers I cannot imagine let the world blot obliterate remove so- called magnificence so-called almighty/fathomless and everlasting treasures/ wealth (whatever that may be) it is this time that matters it is this history I care about the one we make together awkward inconsistent as a lame cat on the loose or quick as kids freed by the bell or else as strictly once as only life must mean a once upon a time I have rejected propaganda teaching me about the beautiful the truly rare (supposedly the soft push of the ocean at the hushpoint of the shore supposedly the soft push of the ocean at the hushpoint of the shore is beautiful for instance) but the truly rare can stay out there I have rejected that abstraction that enormity unless I see a dog walk on the beach/ a bird seize sandflies or yourself approach me laughing out a sound to spoil the pretty picture make an uncontrolled heartbeating memory instead I read the papers preaching on that oil and oxygen that redwoods and the evergreens that trees the waters and the atmosphere compile a final listing of the world in short supply but all alive and all the lives persist perpetual in jeopardy persist as scarce as every one of us as difficult to find or keep as irreplaceable as frail as every one of us and as I watch your arm/your brown arm just before it moves I know all things are dear that disappear all things are dear that disappear -- June Jordan

I'd never heard of June Jordan until one late evening at a university cafe.
An ex-student of hers pulled out a book of her verse and introduced us. I
learned then that she was an award-winning poet, a flame-spirited activist
and a UC Berkeley professor who taught classes and changed lives. I now
know, also, that she is one of the most published African-American voices
going - and one of the most remarkable.

June Jordan passed away this June, after battling cancer for over a decade.
I think this particular poem is very like her. Human - and beautiful. There's
a courageous sort of celebration built into it. The poem sings. By turns
defiant, tender, achingly wise. It exults in the lovely, the fallible. The
strictly once-upon-a-timeness of life has a beautiful and unbearable quality
to it. She writes it just so. There's (much) more that could be said, but
I'm stopping here. Looked up the minstrels site and found June Jordan
missing. This poem was an excuse to make the introduction.

Pavi.

ps While at Berkeley, June Jordan founded 'Poetry for the People' an
enormously popular undergraduate course, below is the link to a truly
inspired poem about her, written by an old student.

  [broken link] http://www.artistsnetwork.org/news4/news181.html

There's a biography and several links at
  [broken link] http://voices.cla.umn.edu/authors/JuneJordan.html