Excerpt from the Elegba interviews / treatise / or… what next now Papa Legba?
by Roger Bonair-Agard
1.
Subplot
Maybe I can tend to the garden
again. Wield machete and hoe, bust
through the earth that eventually forgives.
A man is still most alive by the sweat
his body can make of its own work
until the very self leaves the self as salt
returning to the dirt.
Maybe this is how to make the body
study now, steady now. Build a new
discipline or re-tool an old one that
can sustain the body which houses the fickle
brain and quiets the noisy and restless imps
weaving their everlasting quilts of blood
and self-harm and worthlessness and doubt.
Isn’t it after all that the body knows itself
and its limits after a night of dancing? Isn’t
the night closing in on the body at all times
except when it moves to push its dark
walls back? what to name the new vigor
my body is about to birth? What is my work
now that I’ve reproduced myself?
Call me plough. Call me gravedigger.
Call me road grader. Call me scout.
Call me he who makes a way. Call me
he who avoids the bullet. Call me he
who takes it so she won’t have to. Call
me bullet-proof. Call me resurrect.
Call me never-dead. Call me Greatest
Of All Time. Call me prophet. Call
me by my name. Call me father. Call
me citizen. Call me vine, blade
and the sinews that swing it. Call me
the weave pattern of resist itself.
Call me revolt.
2.
Situation
Someone is burning black churches.
Someone is setting fire to blackness
in the night and watching it be ash
by morning. In the dream, the man
waves me down on the highway to ask
what A.M.E. means. I tell him
and immediately regret. The most American
thing we have learned is how to plunder
and pretend our robbery was our victim’s
salvation. In the dream I’m the man
on the roadside too. Call me he who
builds a church in the night. Call me
he who sets it ablaze.
3.
Soapbox
The movement needs two kinds of soldier
Builders and burners. Praise the hands that
set the CVS alight. Praise the looters
like ants scurrying from the Quik Trip.
Praise the man in the photo with the bandanna
mask. Praise the boy who returns the live teargas
canister to the bewildered police. Praise black
bodies always running. Praise the dream defenders
Praise Netta. Praise Deray. Praise Ta-Nehesi. Praise
New York City. Praise Bree Newsome. Praise
Ferguson and Los Angeles and Staten Island
and Charleston and Baltimore. Praise the flag
that is a burning corporation. Praise the black flag.
Praise guns in the hood waiting to clap back
at the right time. Praise the right time. It is
the right time. We are the right time.
4.
Etymology
This is how to make the body study now,
steady now, sturdy now, stealthy now. Build
with all the tools. Be the discipline, disciple,
decisive, deceptive. Be sod turner and seed planter.
Be path clearer and the hand that knows to lift
the bird’s nest down before the blade cleaves
the perfect arc. Be the perfect arc and comeback.
Be the body willing to burn. Be the celebration
dance. Be the muscles pushing themselves
against the walled darkness. Be the night
itself when the riders come. Be the blood
and the vigor, the vigilance, the violence.
Be the rigor, the regal, the rage. Be the garden
the Eden, the powerful, the evil
the growth, the knowledge, the place to return to.
Be the morning and the clear sky insisting - begin
again. Be the mourning, even when yours is the finger
on the trigger, the hand on the heavy hilt.
5.
These three things
Be alive
Be black
Burn. Build.
A native of Trinidad and Tobago, Roger Bonair-Agard is a poet and performance artist who lives in Chicago. He has made numerous television and radio appearances, has led countless workshops and lectures, and has performed his poetry at many US universities as well as at international festivals in Germany, Switzerland, Milan, and Jamaica. His most recent poetry collection Bury My Clothes was a 2013 National Book Award for Poetry finalist.
Subplot
Maybe I can tend to the garden
again. Wield machete and hoe, bust
through the earth that eventually forgives.
A man is still most alive by the sweat
his body can make of its own work
until the very self leaves the self as salt
returning to the dirt.
Maybe this is how to make the body
study now, steady now. Build a new
discipline or re-tool an old one that
can sustain the body which houses the fickle
brain and quiets the noisy and restless imps
weaving their everlasting quilts of blood
and self-harm and worthlessness and doubt.
Isn’t it after all that the body knows itself
and its limits after a night of dancing? Isn’t
the night closing in on the body at all times
except when it moves to push its dark
walls back? what to name the new vigor
my body is about to birth? What is my work
now that I’ve reproduced myself?
Call me plough. Call me gravedigger.
Call me road grader. Call me scout.
Call me he who makes a way. Call me
he who avoids the bullet. Call me he
who takes it so she won’t have to. Call
me bullet-proof. Call me resurrect.
Call me never-dead. Call me Greatest
Of All Time. Call me prophet. Call
me by my name. Call me father. Call
me citizen. Call me vine, blade
and the sinews that swing it. Call me
the weave pattern of resist itself.
Call me revolt.
2.
Situation
Someone is burning black churches.
Someone is setting fire to blackness
in the night and watching it be ash
by morning. In the dream, the man
waves me down on the highway to ask
what A.M.E. means. I tell him
and immediately regret. The most American
thing we have learned is how to plunder
and pretend our robbery was our victim’s
salvation. In the dream I’m the man
on the roadside too. Call me he who
builds a church in the night. Call me
he who sets it ablaze.
3.
Soapbox
The movement needs two kinds of soldier
Builders and burners. Praise the hands that
set the CVS alight. Praise the looters
like ants scurrying from the Quik Trip.
Praise the man in the photo with the bandanna
mask. Praise the boy who returns the live teargas
canister to the bewildered police. Praise black
bodies always running. Praise the dream defenders
Praise Netta. Praise Deray. Praise Ta-Nehesi. Praise
New York City. Praise Bree Newsome. Praise
Ferguson and Los Angeles and Staten Island
and Charleston and Baltimore. Praise the flag
that is a burning corporation. Praise the black flag.
Praise guns in the hood waiting to clap back
at the right time. Praise the right time. It is
the right time. We are the right time.
4.
Etymology
This is how to make the body study now,
steady now, sturdy now, stealthy now. Build
with all the tools. Be the discipline, disciple,
decisive, deceptive. Be sod turner and seed planter.
Be path clearer and the hand that knows to lift
the bird’s nest down before the blade cleaves
the perfect arc. Be the perfect arc and comeback.
Be the body willing to burn. Be the celebration
dance. Be the muscles pushing themselves
against the walled darkness. Be the night
itself when the riders come. Be the blood
and the vigor, the vigilance, the violence.
Be the rigor, the regal, the rage. Be the garden
the Eden, the powerful, the evil
the growth, the knowledge, the place to return to.
Be the morning and the clear sky insisting - begin
again. Be the mourning, even when yours is the finger
on the trigger, the hand on the heavy hilt.
5.
These three things
Be alive
Be black
Burn. Build.
A native of Trinidad and Tobago, Roger Bonair-Agard is a poet and performance artist who lives in Chicago. He has made numerous television and radio appearances, has led countless workshops and lectures, and has performed his poetry at many US universities as well as at international festivals in Germany, Switzerland, Milan, and Jamaica. His most recent poetry collection Bury My Clothes was a 2013 National Book Award for Poetry finalist.
