JOT: From Here

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FROM HERE: Fall 2002

Writing From the Bezazian Branch, Hall Branch, Humboldt Park Branch, King Branch, Mabel Manning Branch, and Woodson Regional Library Groups

Read the latest issue of JOT. This 84 page installment features:

Brand new writers from Woodson, Bezazian, and Humboldt Park libraries
Our first issue ever with pieces in Spanish and English
Photography by John Brooks

Please look out for this, our longest issue of JOT ever!

Read excerpts below.

FROM HERE
(For Sept. 11, 2001)
Michael Bowie

Let the tears fall where
They may
To wash away the pain of
That empty and sorrowful day

There is something much higher
Than this
That requires the thought of
Everything that we’re not
Supposed to miss

Stuck we stood still
Eclipsed by a season
Looking inside man
For the purpose and
A reason

Asking every how and
Looking at every why
Left with the who
What and when
As a tear from the eye

Now more than ever
We must question those
Who lead
Are they about us or are
They about their own
Particular needs?
They still hold the key
To what we don’t know
To what we’re told to believe

Only the masses can fill
This hole
Walk this ground
And pave this road
Each step will be
Safe and slow
This is the time
That everything we do
Must be everything we know

We’re already there
At the door where the
Obvious lay
This is our tomorrow
That came yesterday.

WHERE I'M FROM
Felicia Madlock

I am from
Malcolm X memories and Martin Luther King’s dreams
I am from hands that toiled cotton, steel, and paper
And red bone women with neck snapping charisma

I am from family that stretches along the mud paths of the Mississippi
Grazing the greenery of Georgia
And reciting folktales in Tennessee

I am from hope that crept north in the darkness
Dodging demons on their quest for freedom
I am from dreams deferred
For I, too, am America
And life for me hasn’t been no crystal stairs
I am from Langston Hugh’s lyrical poetry
Frost’s indecisiveness in his cross roads
Emily’s sheltered world
And Zora’s silent voice

I am from Double Dutch days
When Mary Mack was dressed in Black
And Jack be Nimble changed to Jack be Quick
I am from the dying days of Disco
When Funk was the fever
And House was planted in the streets of Chicago

I am from Saturday morning shopping
And Sunday School sermons
I am from corporal punishment capitalists
Who never believed that “Whipping “ was abuse

I am from Michael Jackson mania
Prince’s Purple Passion
And Boy George girly gears “garments”

I am from pigtails to perms
From cornrows to French-rows
From straight to kinky and somewhere in between

I am from the façade of Jane Byrne’s reign
To Harold Washington’s historical victory
I am from heroes being reduced to humans
Presidents lying to stay in the White House
And unfit leaders lying to get in the White House

I am from the Engle of the Woods
The center of Chatham
And the migration to the Rose of the Land

I am from BB King’s Blues
Motown’s memories
Al Green’s Transformation
And Marvin Gaye’s moments

I am from lust that disguised itself as love
From hearts ripped open from lies and deception
I am from dreams forgotten
In blue puddles of passion
Poison with procrastination

I am from hope that has been revived
Passion found
And dreams that fight to live
I am from life lessons
Moments that transfix into memories at the blink of an eye

I am from poetry
My most pleasing passion
I am from Joy’s jovial sound on a July’s afternoon
I am from eyes that seek truth
And decipher wisdom
I am from lover’s goodbyes
And acquaintances fleeing passing
I am from friends who have written their initials in my heart forever
I am from heaven and hell
And Earth’s ecstasy
I am from….

WALLS
Denise Lopez

Smile (Wall)
Stop just meeting men and giving them your number (Wall)
Call people back (Wall)
Stay in touch with your family (Wall)
Hang out with others besides yourself (Wall)
Independent. Don't need nothing, don't need nobody (Wall)
Went to the Taste by myself (Wall)

Walls
Crashing down one by one
Though up they'll come again
But for now, companionship
Two hours full--reading my mind, my soul, and my face

How did you do that?
Climbed my walls and called them by name
Encouraging and discouraging all in the same voice
“Make me comfortable”
No that's my job.
That wall is the thickest

I go out of my way to let you have your way so that
You can't see the walls that I have constructed
They are so expertly done I forgot they were there

Extensions of my body, my actions, my words . . .
My walls have become a house that needs to be refurbished.