No Time to Be a Girl

My father was born in 1919, I in 1964.  He died at the age of 61, when I was 16.  I am as similar to him as a girl who was overly attached to rag dolls and tales of faeries, who grew up to love lipstick entirely too much, can be to a Black man who trained soldiers to fight for a country in which he himself was by law not allowed to drink from whatever water fountain he pleased.  He heard Malcolm X preach in Dudley Station in Roxbury.  I  used to hang out at the nearby library reading the poetry of Langston Hughes that Daddy’s voice had inspired me to love.

My father did not live to see a Black man make it to the top two candidates in his party to run for president of the USA.  By the time I was in college, I figured a man of color would be president someday.  Is it still amazing to see?  Well, yes.  I love the historic occurrence of a Black man running for president for  sentimental reasons; but today I did what my father taught me to do, to be my own woman and to think with my head.  I voted for Hillary Clinton—not because I never thought I’d see a woman president, not because I went to a girls’ prep school and a women’s college—because I think her the best person for the job of leading this country in times of war and peace.  My father would have understood.

Three Artists, One Stone

I must admit, I was skeptical about a “mixed media” arts event.  Frankly, if I head out to listen to open-mic poetry, I don’t care to hear a harpsicord, or a bongo, or even a guitar accompaniment thank you very much; nor do I stay for a slam if I went for open mic.  Call me a purist.  Poetry. Or music. Or visual art.  Well, but I know the visual artist, and love her work, so I bravely forged ahead to Union Square in Somerville on a Saturday night for what I might sum up as a three-woman, feminist-leaning, multimedia artists’ event (reading/performance/exhibit).  Oh, now I know what you’re thinking, but it worked!

Mary Alexandra Agner began with the odd Willa Cather’s Dedicatory.   It was an introduction to the rather fine poem Ode to Pioneers.  Geese Speak is a poet’s dream: it began as an exercise to combat writer’s block, yet it turned into a three-word-per-line poem that was quite good, smooth and interesting, not cute and gimmicky.  Brutus—an imagined monologue in which the ultimate backstabbing bud apologizes to his wife for leaving her out of the loop on the ol’ planning to off my friend plot—makes the heart of an old Shakespearean tragedy fiend go pitter-pat.  The poet plans to write a poem for each of Shakespeare’s plays.  Ooh, can’t wait!

Now comes the transition into collaboration.  Ms. Agner reads her poem The Marian Lee in front of a lively painting of it, rendered by artist Julia Tenney.  Audible sighs from the audience.  Cool! 

Next up was Carolyn Jean Smith, playing the recorder.  I confess my ignorance of the finer points of recorder finesse; however, I do know the difference between average recorder-playing and coming as close to jamming as one might’ve come in the 18th-Century drawingroom.  This woman can jam.  She made the instrument cry.  Yes, cry.  Her performance of The Bird and the Donkey included…wait for it…playing two recorders simultaneously.  Unreal.  This piece of music was also depicted in a painting by Julia Tenney.  Don’t ask me how she makes a tear shape into a horse, then flames, then a bird in one painting; a fish or dragon or tree in others.  I told you she’s good.  You should see her bunny tarot cards.

The only complaint I have about the event is that few of us 21st-Century types have enough class to be big fans of all three media, so as the Bard would say, brevity is the soul of wit.  It’s quality art presented in an imaginative and unique manner, so shorter time quantities for each part would be plenty.  Brava!