Jayne Cortez

I take a bow to Jayne Cortez.

One of the central figures of the Black Art Movement, a relentless campaigner for Civil rights, a strong, outspoken African-American woman and above all an exceptional, musical poet and performer. Her poetry brought together the political, the lyrical, the surreal. In the anthology, Hoover calls her work “public and declamatory”, deeply rooted in the African-American tradition of jazz, blues and social protest.

For me it is the powerful mixture of political engagement and artistic practice which speaks to me more than anything else. Cortez once gave a summary of her understanding of her artistic work saying:

The arts are just a part of the weapons of life
Art can make us see and feel reality
and help change that reality
Art is revelation. Art is hard work
Art is a part of protest.

There it is… (http://www.jaynecortez08.com )

I definitely recommend listening to some of her poetry performances on YouTube – there is plenty to be discovered. Like this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftrVsO4dP5o

My own dedication below.

Links:

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/jan/04/jayne-cortez

http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/jayne-cortez

~ - ~

For the poet (Jayne Cortez)

After today

another online petition share

newspaper blurb spoon-fed

in our follower’s mouths

not a drop trickling through the filter

bubble of complacency

singular existence of petty performers

as uniqueness builds battery cages

and we take pride in the shiny steel

After today

another 10 things we never cared about

but felt compelled because fomo stuck

as the urge contaminates our every

move towards crotch pocket

or fumbling under tables

scrolling along someone’s timeline

pixilated flat surface

in a world of gaping holes

After today

showing hashtag sympathy cutting

open scarred wounds with idle claims

of the good and the bad

black and white smugness

worn on virtual sleeves

as we catch the bus to work

blending smoothly in with the café

latte crowd of sugary froth

After today

Still waiting and waiting

and waiting and waiting

and waiting

and waiting and

waiting just

wait and always waiting

for something

to

spark

your anger

your fucking roaring vicious anger

your cry-our-loud we-will-be-heard-standing-shoulder-to-shoulder pounding anger

your voice of sharkteeth and cockroaches

your voice of the poor the damned the dead

your voice coarse with pain and fever

your thunder of poetic wrath

just like in 77

today