IF YOU WANT TO KNOW ME
(by Noémia de Sousa)
This is what I am
empty sockets despairing of possessing of life
a mouth torn open in an anguished wound...
a body tattooed with wounds seen and unseen
from the harsh whip-strokes of slavery
tortured and magnificent
proud and mysterious
Africa from head to foot
This is what I am
© Noémia de Sousa
Pride in a place, in origins, in self, comes out usually when it is challenged. It can be challenged by many things. Slavery can and has challenged the pride of many. In general, when what one holds dear and closest is put down and danced upon, pride bursts.
For example, parents are proud when their offspring achieve incredible things. They hold them dear and closest.
When one has not been enslaved, when one's dignity has not been trashed, when one's child, spouse, brother, sister, country... when all these have not been attained by scorn or derided in any way, can a poem such as Ms de Sousa's still be written?
NOTA BENE:
I have brought this out of the archives. It appeared here for the first time in July 2006.
11 voices:
"Empty sockets" is such a powerful image.
It's an interesting twist that the pain is so tied up with the identity.
The Image that you build with your beautiful words is a powerful one. I like this poem very much.
I blog hopped to see who you were and to know what you had to say.
I am very glad I did. I will be back
-bd
hey rethabile.. thanxs for the comment... i liked this poem and ur annotations...
your poem moved me!
This is very painful to read, but should be read again and again....lest we forget.
i like this poem.
very effective!
Wow! The pride clothed in pain is palpable! Terrific
Heavy piece with great imagery. I agree that much can come from overcoming hardship, if we bring some compassion out of it.
Peace.
I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer your questions - but the poem certainly does speak for itself. Proudly.
i do not even know the history of my people past my great grand mother who came to the us steerage from ireland at the age of eight years with her eight brothers and sisters and a mother that died with in the first year..... i know some of us were very poor.. very poor and lived in shanty towns and were sold off into marriage with older more financially stable men so as to make an easier way of life for the family and siblings.. i know this is not the slavery to which you refer,, but this is my heritage,, my blood,, but never my shame.
nor was it ever my grandmothers.
A sense of personal pride and dignity overcomes the physical wounds. A great, uplifting poem for anyone feeling physically wounded. There is always inner strength that is yours alone.
Gemma
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