Sonya Sanchez: "Our Vision Is Our Voice"

I first heard Sonya Sanchez when she came to Birmingham several years ago when the Public Library was having an event celebrating Alabama authors. She read some of her poems and I was engulfed in one of those rare moments when the spoken word transports an entire audience.

Sonya Sanchez, author, poet, and playwright, was born in Birmingham, Alabama, and went on to teach in the San Francisco Bay Area in 1965. She was a pioneer in the development of Black Studies at San Francisco State University. 

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Poets in Performance with Bill Moyers

Celebrating National Poetry Month

Here is another one from Bill Moyers & Company:

"What if some of the greatest poets in America came together to read their works, and you were the only person in the audience? It might be something like this, and a great way to celebrate Poetry Month."

Over the years, Bill Moyers has welcomed some of America’s best poets to share their works and inspiration. Many of those writers have performed at the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival, which Bill and his colleagues covered for television specials including Fooling with Words (1999), The Language of Life (1995) and Sounds of Poetry(1999). Below, enjoy a showcase of such poetry from past productions and very recently from Moyers & Company, performed by the poets who dreamed them up, or by other artists who, like Bill, simply adore poetry.

Go here to see an astounding line up of poets with Bill Moyers.

Dylan Thomas and Hank Williams: They Shared Their Art and Died Young

“But we have this treasure in earthen vessels…”

~ St. Paul (II Corinthians 4:7)

Statue of the poet Dylam Thomas
in Swansea, Wales

Life hurls herself in all of her fullness, as is her wont, though most cast a blind eye and a deaf ear. Some cannot help seeing and hearing.  The surpassing greatness of the power of life flows in excess. The poets and seers are astounded and try their best to tell the wonders, the beauty, and the heartache of dancing within the realm of creation.

Dylan Thomas and Hank Williams both had to write it. One told it, and one sang it, but her essence was so strong that the seers began to temper the onslaught of vision with alcohol. Some peopple drink to numb the pain, others drink to quiet the vision. Still others drink when there is no other one to accompany them on their visionary road.

Memorial statue of Hank Williams
Montgomery Alabama, USA

In another time, they would have been taken into the community to be honored and protected in their shamanic states. They would have been allowed a safe place to tell their visions and sing their songs. Ritual and dance would have marked the comings and goings of Life’s emanations into the human community. The shaman would have been heard, then would have been assisted in his return to everyday life. Permission for vision and permission for cooling toward the ordinary would have been granted.

Today, our shamans enter without training or forewarning. Our humanity, being a few steps removed from the natural rhythms of life, still requires a word of Life. We are ever more bereft of that breath of Spirit. The poet comes of age who is by nature receptive to the Word of Life and Her spirit breath. Beauty of life, hunger of longing, and nearness of death become the ever present company of the poet. The poet must speak whether we hear or not.

Robert Graves wrote a fascinating short story, “The Shout.” It was about a mysterious Englishman, a patient at a mental asylum, who made himself a guest in the house of a young musician and his wife. He claimed to have lived among the Australian Aborigine and had learned secrets of the soul and of nature. He had learned a shout which when vocalized could bring madness and even death to all within hearing range.  He had an unusual control over the man and his wife during his visit. Whether it was all dream, fantasy, or reality, the reader cannot quite be sure.  Graves stated later that the story was an allegory about the disruption that poetry brings to family life.

Dylan and Hank drank themselves to an early grave. If the alcohol had not killed them, the poetry might have. Yet their words and songs remain as a marvel of talent and beauty. The living can calmly remark how amazing it was that so much work came from such a short life.  Their lives and deaths are a testament of how we hold such a vast treasure within ordinary “earthen vessels.” It is as though we are not completely wired to handle the full current of life’s reality.  And yet, Life continues to beckon. Those who have ears to hear celebrate its beauty and wonder. Most of us take that wonder in small doses: a visit to the symphony, a hike in the woods, an appreciation of a sunset, or a favorite hymn or poem taken in from time to time.  We still have shamans and poets walking among us, declaring to us the promise of life.  Sometimes we hear them; sometimes we come too late in our appreciation of their vision.

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Support Your Local Arts

Today I spent some quality time down at the local library. This was the day for the annual “Alabama Bound” event hosted by the downtown branch of the Birmingham Public Library. Every year the event brings in Alabama authors (or authors with Alabama roots) who have published recent works. We get to hear from these writers about their experiences and about the art and craft of writing. It is always an inspirational day for me.

This year was especially inspiring. To tie in the state-wide Big Read promoting The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The Alabama Bound event today focused on Mark Twain. I cannot remember a time when I was not delighted by Mark Twain. I wrote a little piece about him in my blog on 1-17 10, "A Place for Saints, Sinners, Doubters and Jilted Lovers.” Today’s event began with Mark Twain impersonator, Will Stutts. Mr. Stutts brought Samuel Clemens to life. He gave us the man in his own words, white suit, white hair and white mustache, bringing us much laughter as well as insight into the human condition.

We also heard some local High School students present their own poetry. The three winners from the “Word Up Poetry Slam” competition presented their winning pieces. I was truly inspire to hear what these young people were thinking and writing in their poetry. One cannot despair of the future when one hears the voices of young poets.

After lunch we heard from four authors who told of their fist encounters with Tom Sawyer and the influence of Mark Twain. Alan Gribben, Twain scholar from AUM and authors Ted Dunagan, Faye Gibbons, and Chandra Sparks-Taylor each gave the audience insight into the life and works of Mark Twain. We heard how a boy growing up in south Alabama in the 1940s would later put his write about that boyhood, just as Samuel Clemmons did 100 years earlier. We heard how a young girl whose family could conceive of nothing greater in her future that getting a job in the local mill was inspired to greater things by reading about a world opened up by Mark Twain's writings. A young African-American writer told of her hopes that her fictional characters would exhibit the kind of relationships and friendships found in Tom Sawyer.

The close of the day brought a superb presentation from storyteller Dolores Hydock. If you ever get a chance to hear Ms. Hydock, mark it on your calendar and be there. She gave dramatic recitations from some of Mark Twain’s works. With no stage props, only her storytelling skills, we were able to visualize Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer debating on the best cure for warts (Huck with a dead cat in hand). We heard Mark Twain's stories come alive and learned of events from his life. We heard about Clemens' knack for bad investments and we learned of the tender loving relationship between him and his wife, Olivia. Laughter abounded and then I don’t think there was a dry eye in the room as we heard “The Californian’s Tale.”

If you live near Birmingham, watch for Alabama Bound when it comes back around next March. In addition, there are many other profitable offerings throughout the year from all of our libraries and other local arts venues. Find out what is happening and support your local arts events.



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Cattle Call: A Tribute to Cowboys, Poets, and Other Wanderers

[Okay – I wasn’t really there. I just got so caught up in listening to the CD Emmylou Harris At the Ryman that I wrote this piece as though I were recalling the live performance.]


Emmylou Harris was at the Ryman. There was joy that night – and celebration. There were songs of elation and songs of regret; songs of work and songs of wistful longing. There was Bill Monroe before he died. Every seat was filled. There were beauticians and mechanics; miners and factory workers; carpenters and teachers. It was an audience of regular folks, out on a Saturday night. I had been fascinated by Emmylou Harris since my college days. I don’t know whether it was that clear voice that could simultaneously convey joy and longing, or if it was those eyes and the long, dark hair. Maybe it was the way she moved and carried herself; maybe it was some trait that resonated with my own anima (that creative feminine aspect of the inner self). At any rate, when she would sing, I would listen.

We heard bluegrass numbers and some folk-rock, but when she sang Tex Owens’ Cattle Call, my mind went back to another day. I remembered a day when I was 8 years old and we still had county fairs. Back then we could see prize livestock gathered in the cow barn during the fair, and once my Dad even gave me 50 cents to buy a chance on a beautiful black and white calf. I reminisced further and thought of drives in the countryside where the cattle outnumbered the people. There were visions of barbed wire fences, pastures, creeks, and salt licks.

Hearing the beautiful yodel in Cattle Call as the song continued, I went further back to an earlier day. I thought of that era of westward expansion and cattle drives when the cowboy came into his own as a symbol of rugged independence, idealized in film and rodeo. I wondered if little boys still want to be cowboys the way we did when we watched those Saturday matinees.

Then Emmylou came back to the chorus with the melodic call, and I went still further back to cattlemen of a different era. I thought of that cattleman from long ago who rode the plains of Whitby, England, back in the seventh century. Herding cattle by day and sitting in the mead hall by night, the song finally came to Caedmon. He first captured my heart and imagination in a high school literature class where I heard about that earliest of English poets. Caedmon was a cowherd who loved song, but was too bashful to pick up the harp and sing in the mead hall. Then a lady appeared to him in a vision and told him to sing of the beginning of things. From that day on, Caedmon sang songs of uncommon beauty, inspired by the lady in his dream. She must have looked and sounded a lot like Emmylou Harris.

I was captured by that story of Caedmon because even though I loved the song and was inspired by words, I was also painfully shy and seized by stage fright. I thought, if Caedmon was a cowboy, then perhaps I could be one, too. Caedmon was encouraged by Hilda of Whitby, leader of the local abbey. Later recognized as a saint, Hilda was a champion for poets and the Celtic way. She was an advocate for those early Englishmen and Celtic cowboys as the Latin world was forcing assimilation. She was the great mediator at the Council of Whitby to temper the Latin religious onslaught. Hilda remained a supporter of Caedmon and his non-Latin song. She must have looked and sounded a lot like Emmylou Harris.

Imagine my wonderful surprise when I learned that the American Book of Common Prayer honors the feast of St. Hilda is on my own birthday, November 18. Now each year on the anniversary of my birth, I think of saints and poets and cowboys.

The wafting of Cattle Call returned with the final chorus. The whole audience was enthralled. I could keep going back in time to other cowboys. Father Abraham was a cattleman as well, you know (he has been revered down through the years by all kinds of cowpokes who had names like Roy, and Schlomo, and Achmed). Abe left his homeland and drove his herds along the plains and valleys of Canaan. I don’t know who inspired him most, whether it was Sarah or Hagar, or the Almighty, (tradition indicates the latter) but whoever it was, she must have looked and sounded a lot like Emmylou Harris.



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