Twelve Gates to the City

FEBRUARY is black history month. We have a lovely monthly gathering of local poets and listeners at our spectacular senior center here in town. Poetry and Pizza. It was suggested we recite black poets’ work instead of our own. James Baldwin, Gwendolyn Brooks, Maya Angelou, Rita Dove, Nikki Giovanni, Lucille Clifton, Jericho Brown, Langston Hughes and on and on. As I sat, considering their work, the power of Odetta and Nina Simone, came seeping through my bloodstream. The power of song

My sister Sheila taught me to play the guitar when I was 11. She was 18. Much to my mother’s chagrin, she introduced me to the world of folk music. I learned to play Peter Paul and Mary’s entire songbook, I sang all of Tom Rush - from Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate to the walkin’ bluesy Goin’ downtown with my hat in my hand, lookin’ for a woman ain’t got no man etc. You can imagine my mother’s excitement. And I can still play the Kingston Trio’s bluesy version of Scotch and Soda, Jigger of Gin, Oh what a spell you’ve got me in, oh my…do I feel high… That must have been something, coming from a 11 year old.

But then, in a different category entirely, were Nina Simone and Odetta.

My mother didn’t like the sound of those low voices and she hated hearing the bass coming up through the floorboards into her and dad’s bedroom. Mother was a very even-tempered and reasonable woman, but she had a quiet way of letting you know she didn’t approve - a raised eyebrow here, a bitten lip there. We were expert readers of this magic body language. But we forged ahead, playing, memorizing those Nina Simone and Odetta songs. We figured out how to play Odetta’s version of Twelve Gates to the City - a matter of sliding an A chord up and down the neck of the guitar. Magic!! We were as close to Heaven as we could get. And when she sang Oh Freedom in her soulful bass voice, we were wonder-struck.

I am embarrassed to realize now that, in my sheltered white suburb, I had absolutely no inkling of the black struggle for equality, but I could feel that emotion, anger, torment, sorrow in the songs. And now that I’m awake to the outrage, I’m awake to all the poets, the painters, the criers-out against the injustice of racism in this country.

Nina Simone said she wrote Mississippi Goddam as an alternative to murdering someone in retaliation for the racist bombing of an Alabama church that killed four children.

Maya Angelou spoke of a caged bird, barred from the freedom of the free bird.

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Amanda Gorman shone like a lantern at Joe Biden’s inaugural. We need her words now more than ever. Here is an excerpt from her incredible spoken word performance.

                    We will not march back to what was but move to what shall be, 
                    a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and
                    free, we will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because
                    we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next 
                    generation, our blunders become their burden. But one thing is 
                    certain: if we merge mercy with might and might with right, 
                    then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.  

So, let us all rise up to help our neighbors, our community, our world, to fight racism, injustice, greed, evil, dishonesty and lies wherever they show their ugly head. Our work is cut out for us! Maya Angelou once wrote, “Every storm runs out of rain.” Let’s stop the rain.