Horses Make a Landscape Look More Beautiful

Poems

Alice Walker

• Éditeur: Open Road Media
• Année: 2011
• ISBN:
  9781453224045
• Sujet: Literature
• Sous-sujet: American Poetry

Poems from the author of The Color Purple: "This book has two fine strengths—a music that comes along sometimes [and] Walker's own tragicomic gifts" ( The New York Times Book Review ).
The title of this collection comes from a Native American shaman who, reflecting on the terrible problems brought by white colonizers, nearly forgave them all because with the settlers came horses to the North American Plains. And, indeed, in these poems we find Alice Walker seeking a saving grace even in the most difficult circumstances, and in the hearts of the most brutal oppressors. Here Walker's attention turns toward the small moments and subliminal exchanges between lovers and enemies, even as her verse addresses concerns as vast as the choking of the planet by war and pollution.
This ebook features an illustrated biography of Alice Walker including rare photos from the author's personal collection.

THESE DAYS
Some words for people I think of as friends.

These days I think of Belvie

swimming happily in the country pond

coating her face with its mud.

She says:

“We could put the whole bottom of this pond in jars

and sell it to the folks

in the city!”

Lying in the sun she dreams

of making our fortune, à la Helena Rubenstein.

Bottling the murky water

too smelly to drink,

offering exotic mud facials and mineral baths

at exorbitant fees.

But mostly she lies in the sun

dreaming of water, sun and the earth

itself—

Surely the earth can be saved for Belvie.

These days I think of Robert

folding his child’s tiny shirts

consuming TV dinners (“A kind of processed flavor”)

rushing off each morning to school—then to the office,

the supermarket, the inevitable meeting: writing,

speaking, marching against oppression, hunger,

ignorance.

And in between having a love affair

with tiny wildflowers and gigantic

rocks.

“Look at this one!” he cries,

as a small purple face

raises its blue eye to the sun.

“Wow, look at that one!” he says,

as we pass a large rock

reclining beside the road.

He is the man with child

the new old man.

Brushing hair, checking hands, nails

and teeth.

A sick child finds comfort

lying on his chest all night

as do I.

Surely the earth can be saved for Robert.

These days I think of Elena.

In the summers, for years, she camps

beside the Northern rivers

sometimes with her children

sometimes with women friends

from “way, way back.”

She is never too busy to want at least

to join a demonstration

or to long to sit

beside

a river.

“I will not think less of you

if you do not attend this meeting,” she says,

making us compañeras for life.

Surely the earth can be saved for Elena.

These days I think of Susan;

so many of her people lost

in the Holocaust. Every time I see her

I can’t believe it.

“You have to have some of my cosmos seeds!”

she says

over the phone. “The blooms

are glorious!”

Whenever we are together

we eat a lot.

If I am at her house

it is bacon, boiled potatoes,

coffee and broiled fish:

if she is at my house it is

oyster stew, clams, artichokes

and wine.

Our dream is for time in which

to walk miles together, a couple

of weeds stuck between our teeth,

comfy in our yogi pants

discoursing on Woolf

and child raising,

essay writing and gardening.

Susan makes me happy

because she exists.

Surely the earth can be saved for Susan.

These days I think of Sheila.

“‘Sheila’ is already a spiritual name,” she says.

And “Try meditation and jogging both.”

When we are together we talk

and talk

about The Spirit.

About What is Good and What is Not.

There was a time she applauded my anger,

now she feels it is something I should outgrow.

“It is not a useful emotion,” she says. “And besides,

if you think about it, there’s nothing worth

getting angry about.”

“I do not like anger,” I say.

“It raises my blood pressure.

I do not like violence. So much has been done to me.

But having embraced my complete being

I find anger

and the capacity for violence

within me.

Control

rather than eradication

is about the best

I feel I can do.

Besides, they intend to murder us,

you know.”

“Yes, I understand,” she says.

“But try meditation

and jogging both;

you’ll be surprised how calm you feel.”

I meditate, walk briskly, and take deep, deep breaths

for I know the importance of peace to the inner self.

When I talk to Sheila

I am forced to honor

my own ideals.

Surely the earth can be saved for Sheila.

These days I think of Gloria.

“The mere sight of an airplane puts me to sleep,”

she says.

Since she is not the pilot, this makes sense.

If this were a courageous country,

it would ask Gloria to lead it

since she is sane and funny and beautiful and smart

and the National Leaders we’ve always had

are not.

When I listen to her talk about women’s rights

children’s rights

men’s rights

I think of the long line of Americans

who should have been president, but weren’t.

Imagine Crazy Horse as president. Sojourner Truth.

John Brown. Harriet Tubman. Black Elk or Geronimo.

Imagine President Martin Luther King confronting

the youthful “Oppie” Oppenheimer. Imagine P...