Affrilachia

Poems

Frank X Walker

• Editore: Ohio University Press
• Anno: 2022
• ISBN:
  9781735224251
• Argomento: Literature
• Categoria: American Poetry

A milestone book of poetry at the intersection of Appalachian and African American literature.

In this pathbreaking debut collection, poet Frank X Walker tells the story of growing up young, Black, artistic, and male in one of America's most misunderstood geographical regions. As a proud Kentucky native, Walker created the word "Affrilachia" to render visible the unique intersectional experience of African Americans living in the rural and Appalachian South.

Since its publication in 2000, Affrilachia has seen wide classroom use, and is recognized as one of the foundational works of the Affrilachian Poets, a community of writers offering new ways to think about diversity in the Appalachian region and beyond.

Published in 2000 by Old Cove Press

Violins or Violen . . . ce

empty

depleted

dust dry tears

not drops

like tumbleweeds

rolling down

across my face

aching still for the children

hands cracked

from giving

fatigued

from filling sandbags

and sand hearts

with all that we are

trying to counter

not erase

years of neglect

generations of not knowing

not believing the difference

between

violins

and violen . . . ce

face to face

with certified

menaces to society

used to be

boyz in the hood

who come to us

in stereo

music jacked up so loud

the bass

jump-starts their hearts

every time they die

in their sleep

who bounce into the room

pants hip hopped

down low

rapped around imaginary waist

where their manseed

not manhood

should be

malnourished

from love deficient

hug-less diets

gangster rap lyrics

movies

and statistics

that scream

IF YOU SEE A BLACK FACE

IN THE MIRROR

KILL IT!

and that beautiful sistah

is just somebody’s ho or bitch

and YO MAMMA . . .

you cannot defuse

legitimate anger

with a government check

from behind a desk

or by passing a collection plate

what is faith to those

who measure their lives

not with calendars

but with stopwatches

noosed comfortably

around their necks

who stay up all night

and live every minute

like it’s too short

or the last

one

with faded twisted

bald dreaded heads

that are simply

bus stops

for eyes

that haven’t closed

since way before

x, rodney and king

even before tuskegee experiments

lynchings

and castrations

eyes that don’t remember shut

that refuse to even blink

’less they miss some vital part

of their choreographed

insignificance

how do you fill up

the sometimes empty vessels

they are

as 911

becomes their reality

while old age

and equal opportunity

is just smoke

from a gun

fired point blank

at the symptom

and not the disease

these children

claim their manhood early

because they might not be here

when it comes

they raise hell

’cause nobody raised them

they worship defiant outspoken

light and sound shows

armed with remote controls

they select entertainment

over education

as if they’re on death row

and are requesting

one last feel good

before they go out

with a bang

and they will

because they never heard

of medgar evers

a family man

and activist

shot in the back

in his own driveway

never heard of

fred hampton

betrayed by another panther

killed ...