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Spetman Spotlight October 17, 1979 Page 8
Dear Readers,
As Literary Editor for the
Spelman Spotlight for 1979-80, I
would like to invite you to share
with me and the Literary Staff the
pages of “ALL YOURS”, our
Literary sextion. Essentially,
“ALL YOURS” is a page of
creative writing forms composed
by students of the AUC. It is so
entitled because it must be em
phasized that it is not ‘My’ page
nor that of the Literary Staff;
“ALL YOURS” belongs to all of
us. Each month we will be
featuring such talented and ver
satile campus writers as Veronica
Smith, Tyrone Harris, Stephanie
Boone, Michael Bowie, Julie
Biram, contributing writers for
this issue and many others (and
you?). We will be exploring dif
ferent forms and innovative
themes and I think you will be
pleased with the results.
Also, in each issue we will
present a profile of a Literary
genius (ie. Paul Lawrence Dun
bar, Phyllis Wheatley, James
Baldwin, etc.), and a sample of
their works. This issue features
Ntozake Shange and an excerpt
from For Colored Girls Who
Have Considered Suicide/when
the rainbow is enuf. We are cer
tain that you will find this feature
both interesting and inspiring.
Please send all comments,
criticisms, ideas for themes and
forms, and samples of your work
in creative writing to:
Michelle
Spotlight
P.O. Box 40
We look forward to your
patronage throughout the year.
“ALL YOURS"
Michelle Denise Dacus
Literary Editor
Literary Staff
Ntozake Shange is a dedicated
and sincere choreo/poet. Her
works involve expressions
through dance forms and poetry.
She began FOR COLORED
GIRLS WHO HA VE CON
SIDERED SUICIDE/when the
rainbow is enuf in San Francisco,
performed it with her staff in New
York, and has toured the country
with its performances. She has
also written for Black Scholar.
Yard bird Reader, Invisible City.
Third World Women. Time to
Greez. Martins. Broadway
Boogie. and many other
publications. Ms. Shange
received her B.A. from Barnard
College and an M.A from the
University of Southern Califor
nia. She currently lives in New
York City.
"ALL YOURS"
A BLACK WOMAN
There’s no doubt in my mind
What kind of woman she is
She’s not a screamer
Nor a wailer
She’s A BLACK WOMAN
She’s not
She’s not a beggar
Nor a borrower
She’s A BLACK WOMAN
She’s strong, vital and humble
She’s A BLACK WOMAN
She’s graceful, elegant and exquisite
She’s A BLACK WOMAN
There's no doubt in my mind
What kind of woman she is
A BLACK WOMAN
To know love hurts is
To think love is forever is
To know love has gone is ,
Sheila A. Reid
All women are not weak
some and maybe most can hold their own
To believe we fall apart with the slightest mishap
is nothing but an insult
Who started that lie?
Every man does not possess or control a woman’s heart
that situation can be reversed
No-one ever remembers to mention those poor guys
sitting along somewhere with their heart
in their hands
I know you’re out there
When you keep the hurt inside it will stay much longer
The smart ones will get hip to the reason why women cry
They let it out and keep on going
A few weak ones won’t go on
but the weak men don’t go on either
Who’s to say whose got it worse
Granted women write, speak, and sing about losing
love alot more often
But that’s because you MACHO MEN like to keep that sort of
thing to yourselves.
Sheila A. Reid
‘growing up’
my hypothesis of life/is that everything remains stable/ until af
fected /until moved or motivated/ until disturbed/ everything
remains constant/until tested/until questioned/ or not accepted/
until challenged/I wasn’t hurt or angry/ by what happened bet
ween us/today/though I would instinctively have made/a grand
and precocious scene/I was not at all touched/or torn/by what you
did/and perhaps that means ' that I’m growing up.
Michelle Denise Dacus
“A LOVE POEM?”
Since the recipient of a love poem
Is equally as in love and inspired
As the writer
(Since a love poem is produced
By the same emotion whose name it bears,
And since one cannot be truly in love
As we are told
Without the other)
Then a love poem is experienced
By both the giver
And the recipient
With such compassion and/or sentiment
That it was meant to entertain.
And since, in most cases.
Lovers are love poets
(Since the rule of thumb in writing
Is to write about what you know about)
Then love poems
Are received with that same
Personal, tear-jerking, aw-invoking.
Seducing, soul-wretching ecstasy
That encompasses the spirit and vitality
(If not emotional fulfillment)
As love itself.
And knowing how he feels
About it,
I wonder if he would
Consider this a love poem.
Michelle Denise Dacus
By Adele S. Newson
She and her sister were playing in the countryside. They were too
young to help their mother with any of the meaningful duties. Her
hair was coarse and kinky. The clothes she donned were bright and
scanty. The fields were high with rich yield. And it was oh so hot!
Suddenly, they could hear commotions from afar. She raced to
investigate. Her sister, afraid, returned to the safety of the village.
She went alone.
She cautiously approached what appeared to be warriors from
another village leading men, women and children against their
wills, to where?
She turned to hide; too late she was spotted. She raced through
the fields running, running, running...
She woke up from her dream covered with perspiration. She
noticed her sister sleeping peacefully on the other side of the room.
She turned on the freshly ironed sheets that smelled of Downy and
slept dreaming sweet dreams of ginger bread houses and sweet
shoppes.
EXCERPTS FROM FOR COLORED GIRLS...
lady in orange
ever since i realized there waz someone callt
a colored girl an evil woman a bitch a nag
(.been tryin not to be that & leave bitterness
in somebody else’s cup/come to somebody to love me
without deep & nasty smellin scald from lye or bein
left screamin in a street fulla lunatics...
i didnt have any of that for you/i brought you what joy
i found & i found joy/
especially cuz i can make the music loud enuf/
so there is no me but dance/& when
i can dance like that/ ther’s nothin cd hurt me/ but
i get tired & i haveta come offa the floor& then there’s
that woman who hurt you/who you left/ three or four times/
& just went back/ after you put my heart in the bottom of
yr shoe/ you just walked back to where you hurt/ & i didnt
have nothing/ so i went to where somebody had somethin for me/
but he waznt you/ & i waz on the way back from her house
in the bottom of yr shoe/so this is not a love poem/
...this is a requium for myself/ cuz i
have died in a real way/ not wid aqua coffins & du-wop Cadillacs/
i used to joke abt when i waz messin round/ but a real dead
lovin is here for you now/ cuz i dont know anymore/ how
to avoid my own face wet wit my tears/ cuz i had convinced
myself colored girls had no right to sorrow/ i lived
& loved that way & kept sorrow on the curb/ allegedly
for you/ but i know i did it for myself/
i cdnt stand it
i cdnt stand bein sorry & colored at the same time
it’s so redundant in the modern world Ntozake Shange
Very few are lucky as I
To walk away without goodbye
For neither part there was no pain
No need to endure the constant strain
When my mind was clear and free of doubt
He kept the apologies I left without
reality
fantasy
tragedy
“THE MARTYR, THE FOOL’
It’s said I’m a fool,
But my happiness is
Due to this role.
It’s said I’m a martyr.
And I’ll always be
In this hole.
But tell me, what do you do
That brings you up
When down?
Is it your drugs.
That can’t keep
Solid ground?
No, nothing is as stable as
A warm man beside you.
And to sacrifice for that
Is no problem, mind you.
So, I’ll stay a martyr, or
A fool, if you please.
But you’ll stay the sufferer
And never be at ease.
Eugenie
Sheila A. Reid