Review by Booklist Review
Poetry reconsidered and new works by both established and emerging writers provide vibrant perspectives not only on African American life but also on the entire multivoiced history of America, and on poetry itself. Ishmael Reed, an accomplished and prolific poet, novelist, essayist, playwright, and editor, as well as a teacher and MacArthur fellow, rejects the idea of a narrow and calcified canon of American literature, asking, "Can you imagine where science would be had scientists refused to budge from accepted theories?" Indeed, American poetry is always a work-in-progress, and Reed's in-touch and open-minded approach in From Totems to Hip-Hop yields a dynamic and original anthology, an unprecedented amalgam of poets representing many facets of American culture and society. Even Reed's organizing categories are pertinent and stimulating: nature and place, men and women, family, politics, and heroes and sheroes, anti and otherwise. Within these arenas, readers will find poems by Sylvia Plath, Yusef Komunyajaa, Thulani Davis, Bob Holman, Jayne Cortez, Diane Glancy, Garrett Hongo, Charles Simic, Al Young, Nellie Wong, Tupac Shakur, and many others. Reed then sagely concludes with an invaluable selection of eloquent and challenging manifestos and poetic commentaries. Jeffers derives her form and jaunty, deal-with-it attitude from the blues, an American tradition that beats back despair with wit, elan, and grace. Artfully distilled, Jeffers' musical and forthright lyrics cut to the chase in their depictions of self-destructive love, treacherous family life, and sexual passion turned oppressive or violent. She calls on her mentors, soulful musicians such as Dinah Washington, James Brown, John Coltrane, and Aretha Franklin, for guidance, then, sustained by their voices, segues into vivid imaginings of the inner lives of biblical figures such as Sarah, Hagar, and Lot's wife; a man about to be lynched; and a former slave bravely attending college. And whether she's singing the "battered blues" or critiquing Hollywood's depiction of slavery, Jeffers is questioning the nature and presence of God. For Alice Walker, there are no dividing lines between the personal, the political, and the artistic, and, consequently, her novels, essays, and poetry swing from sweet modes of intimacy to blunt polemics to confessional therapy to revelation. In her introduction to her sixth volume of poetry, Walker confides that she had thought she might not write anymore, but that changed after September 11, and she found herself writing these mystic prayers and heartfelt yet lithe and airy recollections of dreams and tributes to plants, animals, and compassionate people. Although some verge on triteness, most achieve a radiant simplicity, and all are sincere in their celebrations of nature and love, and protests against war, conquest, and more private forms of cruelty. Graceful in their spirituality, openness to experience, and rueful humor, Walker's poems revolve around love and gratitude for the earth. Wesley focuses ardently on the little things--palm butter, lipstick, bony fish--to build a pathway to the overwhelming facets of life, the ruptures and terrors of war and exile, the ever-lastingness of death. Born and raised in Liberia, Wesley was forced into exile by that land's horrendous civil war, and ultimately found sanctuary in Kalamazoo, Michigan, where she teaches creative writing and African literature at Western Michigan University. Wesley writes with clear-eyed lyricism about her ruthless and beleaguered homeland, and the bittersweet relief and loss of the diaspora. Her poems are scintillating and vivid, quickly sketched fables shaped by recollections of childhood playmates, moonlight and ocean surf, hibiscus hedges, and big pots of boiling soup. But these paeans to home blend with percussive visions of falling rockets and murdered children, sharp recollections of hunger and mourning, and a survivor's careful gratitude in a land of cold winds and rationed sunlight, her carefull measured memories and cherished dreams of return. --Donna Seaman
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
"You/ are/ the sister/ The big/ Sister/ As hero," Alice Walker writes near the beginning of her sixth volume of poems: "The one who sees/ The one who listens/ The one who guides/ Teaches/ & protects." Some of Walker's fans may feel this way about the author herself, whose decades of literary production and political activism include several bestselling novels, one Pulitzer for The Color Purple, influential essays about social change (most recently, Sent by Earth) and other much-acknowledged work in gender studies and African-American letters. Walker's poems have long been her warmest, least artful utterances, invoking the solidarity and the compassion she invites her readers to feel: this thick book of short-lined poems extends those goals, exploring and praising friendship, romantic love, home cooking, the peace movement, ancestors, ethnic diversity and particularly admirable strong women, among them the primatologist Jane Goodall. Some poems address topics of recent vintage, such as post-9/11 discrimination ("If you/ Want to show/ Your love/ For America// Smile/ When you see/ His/ Turban/ Rosepink"). Other work continues Walker's longer-term spiritual and ecological interests: the poet (who subtitled her 1990 collection Earthling Poems) now writes "Divine Mother/ Keep on praying/ For us/ All Earthlings/ All children/ Of this awesome place/ Not one of us/ Knowing/ Why we're here/ Except to Be." Though critics' interest in Walker will continue to concentrate on her prose, the readers across the country who cherished Walker's earlier poems will find in this new work exactly what they've awaited. (Mar.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
"I was so/ Puzzled/ By/ The Attacks./ It was as if/ They believed/ We were/ In a race/ To succeed/ &/ Someone/ Other/ Than/ Death/ Was at/ The/ Finish/ Line." In the preface to her new collection, Walker speaks of the deep sadness and incredible weariness she felt following September 11. After saying that she would probably never write again, she began each day by working on poems at her home on the Pacific coast of Mexico. She told her friends that she hoped to become a "wandering inspiration," and in this, her sixth volume of poems, she proves to be just that. Each poem consists of short lines, sometimes simply a word or two, that are all centered. A group called "Refrigerator Poems," which hovers somewhere between song and prayer, was composed while Walker was visiting a friend who had magnetic poetry tiles. Sometimes there is a real edge to Walker's poems: "Thousands of feet/ Below you/ There is a small/ Boy/ Running from/ your bombs./ If he were/ To show up/ At your mother's/house.../ He'd be invited in/ For dinner." But more often than not, the tone is more uplifting: "Though not/ A contest/ Life/ Is/ The award/ & we/ Have/ Won." For contemporary poetry and African American literature collections.-Louis McKee, Painted Bride Arts Ctr., Philadelphia (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
