BY TIFFANY SCIACCA
The fifth featured poet of this series is Mari Evans, an African-American poet, writer, and dramatist born in 1919. Having lost her mother at an early age, she was encouraged to pursue writing by her father. She wrote in the style of Langston Hughes, Arna Bontemps, and Gwendolyn Brooks employing Baptist Church rhythms, the vernacular, and the lyrical. I came across her name via two poems The Rebel and Status Symbol in the anthology I Am the Darker Brother (1968). Evans wrote five books of poetry, but most known for her book I Am a Black Woman (1970). She also edited Black Women Writers (1950-1980) A Critical Evaluation in 1984.
A lot of her work was political/activist orientated and spoke of the fight for equality and justice. She wrote to wake up the Black consciousness, to know thyself, love thyself, and therefore fight for thyself. She also wrote from her own experiences and interests that at times reflected Western influences and didn’t always jive with the Black Movement she was part of, to the dismay of some writers as well as critics. Her work is wide and diverse and to my surprise was hard to find even in my Black anthologies, which were men laden with a few women whose names are easily found in most anthologies.
Below is the handful of poems that I was able to find and I hope you enjoy them!
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The 7:25 Trolley
ain’t got time for a bite to eat
I’ll have to run to catch my trolley at the end of the block
and if I take
my coffee
there
she looks at the cup and she looks at the clock
(Sure hope I don’t miss my car…
my house looks like a hurricane
if I did what I ought to do I’d stay at home today
I can’t eat no
hurricane
broke as I am I need what she will pay
(Hope I just don’t miss my car…
wish my life was a life of ease
a maid cook and butler runnin’ at my beck and call
I may scrub floors
but
I don’t
get on my knees…
and someday
I won’t go at all
(Sure hope I don’t miss my car…
This is C.T.R. Reed/Mari Evans
(A Black Man of the Old School)
Bending waist deep
blackfingered smiling sure
good morning madum this
is C.T.R. Reed
Fashioning Kilimanjaro from his
fivefootnine he
stood
for something
he handled
responsibility
he dealt
with laboring
he loved
his image knew who
he was
tendertough
tinder/tuff
wrysweet
constant
good morning madum this
is
C.T.R. Reed
Where Have You Gone
Where have you gone
with your confident
walk with
your crooked smile
why did you leave
me
when you took your
laughter
and departed
are you aware that
with you
went the sun
all light
and what few stars
there were?
where have you gone
with your confident
walk your
crooked smile the
rent money
in one pocket and
my heart
in another...
When in Rome
Mattie dear
the box is full
take
whatever you like
to eat (an egg
or soup
…there ain’t no meat.)
there’s endive there
and
cottage cheese
(whew! if I had some
black-eyed peas…)
there’s sardines
on the shelves
and such
but
don’t
get my anchovies
they cost
too much (me get the
anchovies indeed!
what she think, she got –
a bird to feed?)
there’s plenty in there
to fill you up.
(yes’m. just the
sight’s
enough!
Hope I lives till I get
home
I’m tired of eatin’
what they eats in Rome…)
Tiffany Sciacca is a writer who has recently moved to Sicily from the Midwest. Her work has appeared in the Silver Birch Press, SOFTBLOW and DNA Magazine UK. When she is not learning a new language or trying to blend in, she is reading horror anthologies, binging on Nordic Noir or plugging away at her first Giallo screenplay. @EustaceChisholm