In celebration of Juneteenth 2020.
William Forchion's poetry presentation recorded at Brooks Memorial Library, Brattleboro, VT February 10, 2020.
I know I'm so jealous. William's a little taller than me just below. So welcome. Welcome everyone to this very special evening. Um, thank you for coming out on a, on a dismal day to be, you know, warmed up by this fantastic evening that we're going to have tonight. Um, nearly every day I reflect on my incredible good fortune to live in this community. And William fortune is one of those things that I reflect on because the very first, uh, cultural event I attended outside of the library when I moved to Brattleboro four years ago, was the loss of his one person show that was also, um, directed by Peter Gould is here somewhere. There he is. So, um, so I please, all of you join me in welcoming William Forchion and, uh, reveling in his form and his poetry.
William Forchion:[inaudible] thank you. I've been doing stand up and almost wanted to say a joke right there. Alright. So we are here for black history month or African American history month, and I have a difficult time with both of those, um, for, from where I stand, there is no such thing as African-American, because I'm an American. I was born in Camden, New Jersey. My parents were born in New Jersey. Their parents were born in Virginia and New Jersey. So we should be Americans. And yet, for some reason I'm not, uh, and I am by choice black. And the choice comes from if I have to choose what I am, I choose to be all inclusive. It doesn't pigment. Black is the inclusion of all colors. And I didn't come up that one on my own. Um, when I was figuring out, cause as a middle elementary schooler, the first box I had to check was Negro. Then as I moved through school, it became Afro-American in the early seventies. And then there was a few other things I even checked the box that said Negroid onces. And by the time I got to middle school I wanted figure out who I was.
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William Forchion:and I wanted to be that thing. And that thing was black. Wasn't the color black. It was the idea of black. I'd like to read, not from my works, but from other works that have helped me deal with being an African American and dealing with African American history. We, the people of the United States in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility provide for the common defense, promote the general wear welfare and secure the blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our posterity do ordain and establish this constitution for the United States of America. Another piece of writing when in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands, which have connected them with another. And to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and nature's God entitle them a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes, which impel them to the separation. We hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal pause. When they wrote that they were slave holders, they chose to enslave people and right[inaudible] that we have the right to life, Liberty and the pursuit of happiness as an elementary school. Or I struggled with that as well. And lastly, my struggles were led to, I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands one nation under God, individual, indivisible, with Liberty and justice. For all, I watched two of my uncles go to jail, unjustly[inaudible] as an elementary schooler. I also chose not to put my hand over my heart. When I said the pledge of allegiance allegiance. I said it, but I didn't put my hand over my heart because I didn't see justice life isn't that heavy. And it doesn't have to be history in the making one of an unpublished work of mine. Day by day, we turn the page. Bloodshed continues with far too little outrage. Are you combatant? Are you witnessed or standard by the difference illuminates whether you are with or against FAU or ally? I lack the ability to stand by quietly for the assaults, whether implicit or outright or ignorance do impact me. History does not happen accidentally. It is crafted. It is coerced. It has grown intentionally in this movement. We may sit attentive and unaware yet in the future. This is the history that we will share. Let us look each other in the eye and see mr. Ms. Mrs. Mx. For, we are the corrections for history's fix[inaudible] for a long time. I didn't have words. I didn't know how to use the words. And I was all too often frightened by the words I heard what people said to each other, and I thought people were just unkind to each other and they were allowed to be unkind to each other. And so I sat and I watched quietly and I learned how I want it to be in the world. And I couldn't see myself as an activist. I couldn't see myself marching with a banner or a picket sign. And I didn't know how to be an activist that could have a purpose and a meaning until I found my words and the words they come. Sometimes they don't even make sense to me and I'll read them and they'll make me tear up. And I was one of my mentors and teachers and friends. One said, read it again. If it resonates with you again, it's true. Read it again. And if it resonates with you again, it's true. And that teacher, that mentor, that friend encouraged me to speak my truth, not just write it down. And that's why I'm here today. No two people of color shares the same experience. So black history to me is not the same as it is to Denzel Washington. Black history to me is not the same as it is to my brother or my father or my mother, because we are each living our own. We're each dealing with our own things. Now, there are certain things that are common and I'll get to some of those a little later. And in waking up to this presence, I also have to be the Jew, say goodbye more than the death of that kid that I once was, who was frightened, who didn't know what to say, who was tired of listening and wanted to say something. And yet another unposed I'm a published poem. This is good morning for loved, lost, and lives. Expired unexpectedly too soon for ignorance that conquered innocence and contributed to growth. This is the wake up call the moment to sleep in the now and not question how everything falls together. You don't have to hold back. And as we sit here in silence, this one speaks right to that silence. The silence makes me cry inside for an answer. I grasped when I tried to confide and found myself alone, the God I sought nowhere near and human comfort pushed away in fear. The cathedral is empty with hope. My tears may start this heart beating for now. The silence makes me cry inside. That's all I smile at the tension, raise their, uh, of that silence and what that is because in that silence, I, I hear God. I hear the process of empowerment. I hear the process of deep thought change. I could rally and rail against a lot of things. As I talk about black history and African American history. And the next poem I have is entitled number one, two,(274) 207-3018. And it is in response to, I heard a radio thing on the radio about a woman who was sentenced to 15 years in prison for killing her abuser. And there was a record in the history that went with that as well. They'd been to court multiple times and yet nothing was done. And she was sentenced 15 years for killing her abuser.[inaudible] and I had to pull over. When I heard that it was driving in the car, I pulled over and I started writing this and it grew from what I had had to write down at the side of the road, into the piece that's here. Um, I was born to be a prostitute. I knew this was who I would be when grandma walked 10 miles to clean houses, seven days a week, I knew this is who I would be when great grandma died. And the family inherited the burden of putting her in the ground and putting food on the table. I knew this is who I would be when my body started to change. And the tickle fights got messy. The boys started acting like men.[inaudible]. The boys started acting like men and the men started treating me like fruit. I knew this is who I would be when the men bruised my flesh. And it was my fault for being too fine, too cute. I knew this is who I would be when I first heard the darker, the fruit, the sweet of the juice. I knew this is who I would be when I cried for help. And they cleaned me up. So my herders could have second helpings. I knew this is who I would be when I cried for help. And I was reassured that love is like that. Sometimes I knew this is who I would be when I shot the man who hurt me and no one cared why, and I was sentenced to die. And no one could see that I was broken, swept into the corner with no words, spoken the coffee, staying on the coffee table, a nuisance easily covered with a coaster. I was born to be a prostitute for your pleasure. Grandma was born with nothing and died with less. The least I can do is lift my dress and maybe I can leave my baby something to forget me with. I was born to be a prostitute when grandma walked 10 miles home to cook and clean for her own when grandma died and there was no one left to see how brilliant my mind is when the men started touching me. And I liked that someone could see me when I stopped hearing the word and no one seemed to miss it. I was born to be a prostitute. When he hit me, he hit me. He hit me. When I made him stop, they gave me this number. It sure does seem like the world needs a prostitute.[inaudible] I don't know where that one came from, but it needed to come out.[inaudible] there are many wonderful things about black history that I like to carry on as well. One is Cowboys. The majority of Cowboys are how hands in the West were black, freed slaves who went to where there was open air. There was free range. And the term cowboy was a derogatory term because the people who own the ranches were ranchers. The people who work them who were fair skin were cattle hands. The people of color were Cowboys. And you had to earn your, keep. The Cowboys worked so hard that the cattle hands chose to call themselves Cowboys. And it stuck one of the most famous Cowboys, not most famous, but very famous cowboy bill Pickett. I share two of his names, a was known for bulldogging. And when he first started, he would grabbed the bull by the face, lift up on the lips, turn it inside out and flip it over. It was called bill dogging. At first later, it became bulldogging and still called bulldog. And the Negro nod many times in gentlemen needs see each other on the street. They give the nod. Blacks do it quite often because it was assigned at a time when we could only be boy, we couldn't be men. We could acknowledge each other as men anywhere. No one could stop us. You may not be able to shake hands or touch, but I can see you from anywhere and give you a nod that says, I see you that nod to me now is also like saying Ms. Day. And I give it to everyone. It's not just for black men any longer for me. It's for everyone. I see. I see the God in you. There are still dark parts of the history. We are at a time right now, where we're in a global crisis. And we're trying to figure out how to save this planet. We're cutting back on plastics, recycling. And as a child, when I go shopping, one of the things that we were always told was get a receipt and get a bag, get a receipt and get a bag. Seems simple enough why this is a black child. If you were in a store and you had an item that you were walking out with, and you didn't have the receipt, you stole it because when you paid for it, you got a receipt and they put it in a bag. The bags were behind the counter. There was no way that I could put something in a bag unless it was purchased. And I heard this over and over again. My cousins who lived in the city that did this as well. One time my cousin came to visit and she went to the corner store, the corner store, we called it Italian Angelos. The family was extremely racist. My cousin went in and purchased something from my parents. She came running, home crying because all she had was the change. She didn't get a bag and she did have the receipt, but they told her she stole it and they grabbed it from her and kicked her out the store. My mother went back with the receipt and with the change and demanded her merchandise[inaudible] to this day, it is hard for me to say no to a bag. But to this day, I speak to everyone on my way in the store, on my way out of the store, because they know if you know me, I'm not stealing from you. And if you think I stole from you, I'll give it back and we'll find a way to make it right.[inaudible] my next poems are a trilogy on black history. The first one is called. I am black history from Africa, America spanning the world. Quite possibly my DNA, struggled to survive to make me my existence is a Testament to survival fitness. My life is to nurture the future and bear witness the past. My name is the name of property they gave my heritage. My lineage is that of a slave. Yes. Slave property, harsh words to hear great. Granddad was born and slaved. Three generations too. Near granddad, laid bricks, played music and sang hope from grandma's illiterate lips. I sprang it. Lineage broken in Georgia or Carolina, South passed on and on by word of mouth. The legacy must pass through me to give my children power for their mamas line. Stopped off, stepped off the Mayflower in both. I must help them see honor for the strength and the pride that made me must endure listening and teaching and learning. I press on without blame learning from the past about my past, I move on without shame each new day, new creation. I write the story. One of survival, renewal reflection, doggedly pushing toward glory. I am black yesterday. I am black. Now I am black history.[inaudible] the second one. This is young lady, and it's somewhat speaks to a stereotype that I have really worked hard to avoid to steer clear of. And that is of the black stud veer aisle, strong, healthy worth breeding. Sure. I couldn't help it. Multiple baby mamas, children everywhere. It's not me. And it's a choice for me to not be that person. This next poem is called young lady, young lady. I look you in the eye. Not because you are the object of my desire. It is not that you set my heart. My mind, my loin on fire. I nod to you. It is my bow to the honor you are born with, but may not know right now. It is not the curve of your hip or the pucker of your lip. That catches my eye. It is the queen in you. The hope that one day you will be president the hope that one day you will know your power. Young lady. I look you in the eye and see a daughter, a sister, a mother, a grandmother, and hope you do not know their struggle. Young lady. My hope that should you choose. So in life you accomplish more than just life. You turn from me and laugh. You think your underwire accepts it. Lights my fire. That your hip makes my heartbeat. Dip. Young lady. I look you in the eye and send via spiritual wifi, honor. Courage, strength, and love for, with this. The girl you are will become the lady I see. Okay.[inaudible] and the third of this is called young black man. I wave at you. Not because we are friends, although we may be one day, because not very long ago, you were unseen. Not very long ago. You could not grow to be a man. You could only be a boy, young black man. I nod to you because maybe your father or your father's father was only worth the work he could do. And you are worth my time. Young black, man, you see me and laugh. You see my nod and don't understand, may you never know. I wave at me and you, the me that did not know hate the me that did not know injustice. The me that did not know I was not a leading man. The men, the me that did not know what was ahead. Young black man, one day you will wave at me when you wave. I hope you wave at you. You see inside of me[inaudible] I had a heavy stuff. It has a heavy history. Uh, and the next part I have is actually I have quite a few poems that were inspired by the turmoil that we had Trayvon Martin. Uh, yeah. Um, and it, but it goes back, uh, cause I was young and I happened to find, um, a jet magazine. It's a little little publication. And in that magazine there were pictures of Emmett till, and it was the[inaudible]. That was eight year old. Me opening up that jet magazine again. And seeing those things, I didn't know it was human. I didn't know that was a person. Um, what I saw and when I did it hurt. Um, and yet it continues. It continues in so many different ways. Uh, and this next poem was actually not really inspired by that. It was actually inspired by the fact that Amatil was somebody's son, Trayvon Martin was somebody's son. Um, and these are kids who didn't get to grow up. Maybe they were the history, the answer to the change that we need in the world. And that's why it's delayed because we're waiting for the next one. This poem was called too soon. You entered this world right on time, just when we needed. And we did not know it. You were feisty and wonderful. And funny many days you tested me. You challenged my resolve. You lit up more rooms than you darkened. The only rooms you darkened were the ones where you hit the switch. I expected to see your smile until my vision faded. I anticipated the day when your wisdom would exceed my own. I never expected the sorrow of missing you. Whatever strike the past few words I've spoken. I will speak you back into this room. And hopefully men in the fractures of my broken heart, you entered this world right on time. You left this world far too soon for those of, you know, Pooja Meyer just came to my mind. And that's why I struggled at the end, uh, too soon. Take a moment. Yes. To breathe for some strange reason, I put it on the future. Looks bright. The future starts today. That's hope short poem I've ever written. I think a year ago, I guess it was, I started a project writing a poem a day and I thought I'd get through a few months. And a few months led into a few more months. And then I got going and I figured I'd continue for the duration of a year. See if I can get through 365 poems. And I managed to get through 365 days of foam. Sometimes it was difficult. Um, some times it was really easy and I would write three or four in the morning and try and stack them up. But then the next day I'd have three or more that I'd stack up. And, and it was, it was a wonderful exercise. And it also, it, it was, uh, an amazing can say fun struggle, um, to, to go through with that. Uh, and some of it, it brought me back to the lightness of being able to write, being able to conjure, uh, just about anything through writing and then putting that, putting that into the world and seeing what happens watching what magic has made. And this is one of the poems from a poem a day within the dream, tangible weaves within tangible substance becomes vapor and vapor becomes vegetable. Guardians of hope, laugh and dangerous sleeps night turns into pudding and day becomes a banquet feast waking. I am the dream, the dreamer and the dreamt[inaudible] through the work that I've done in writing and also dealing with myself. There's a lot of digging deeper into me. What motivates me? Who am I? What is my foundation? What is my root? Where's my spirit. And this is some of that in my Pulma day writings, there was only one me I can be. I may change my clothes style and restyle my hair or lock it off altogether, work this job. And not that one. And yet who I am remains. This is the me I am meant to be. I know because I know me[inaudible] we are one. You are neither daughter nor son for you are the star, the moon, the sky, in which reality hangs do not fight to define yourself. You are the God. You seek not a reflection, not a shadow. God knows you as God. It is time you stop pretending to be anything and be everything. The illusion of reality will melt away. Only after you give up on figuring it out, the universe will become your world. As it always has been. All that separates you from anything else will cease. You will greet everyone as God, just as you know yourself to be stand down, wake up dream on reality is the illusion. And all that is not is reality. Breathe in peace, breathe out peace, breathe in love and fill all that is with love. Not mistake, silly ending. That's what we need is a silly ending. Otherwise it's just heaviness. When you step out here without a purpose and a plan and a way of proceeding, and I have changed my way of activism from this writing and started writing jokes. Yes. Yes. Cause I figured it's a, it's actually a really subversive tool that I'm using. Because when, when you tell jokes, people laugh. When people laugh, they inhale and the exhale and you get a whole group of people inhaling and exhaling. It's joyful. And it changes the way a room is when you have a few people that are joyful and more people enter in and they become joyful and they don't even know why. And I can tell you what the reason why is because you have just charged the room, all that breathing in and out. It's still energy in the air and it's lingering. And those people are walking into it like a FOD screen, right? And they're chewing it like bubble gum and they don't even know it. And so what I'm working to do through my art is activism. Tell a joke or two talk deeply, tell another joke. We are the solution. We are the change. No night is going to write up here on a white horse in shining armor. They will probably get hit by a truck trying, um, it's up to us. We showed up we're here. How are we going to do that? We're going to each do it in our own way. Mine is through laughter and through poetry. And with that, the illusion is that reality is not what it seems the reality is. We haven't a clue as to where to begin questioning reality. The illusion is necessary to keep our heads from turning into lollipops, which stops us from trying to lick ourselves silly. And that's all I have to say about black history. Thank you very much for having me here. Thank you star for inviting me back and I'll keep coming back every year till I run out of words. Um, and thank you all for being here. And I, I can't say it enough. It is so wonderful to be in this community, um, to feel, and to know that there's a power of purpose and passion, um, amongst all of us. And, and we can look at each other in the eye and see the power of the passion, the God in each of us, and honor that. Thank you.[inaudible] if you have any questions you may ask away, there was also books for sale over there too, which I'll be over to attend to in just a moment. Bill, have you been as a Memorial for him until I have not. Let's go because I've been reading about it. They keep having to replace it because it gets shut off all the time. So now they've made a sign that is so Bulletproof. And why is that necessary? Yes, let's go. Yeah. So you can kill two birds or feed two birds with one handful of CDs can just share the poem with the woman. Yes. Sacred and sacrosanct has some of the poems, the shorter ones they did towards the end are in, uh, a poem a day. And I'm each of the poem of day ones. I have two of the, uh, half of a year. So each quarter of poems is in one of those books and I'm working on creating the, the large volume that's has the whole year. And so that hopefully will be out soonish here. There's a comedy night. Yes. Yeah. So, uh, do this thing where I'm trying to do comedy. No, I'm doing comedy. So third, Tuesday of the night, if those of you who need a laugh at the stone church, just steps from here. Um, third, Tuesday. So next Tuesday, the 18th is every month. Yes. Is comedy. And I host that 7:00 PM. We start well, 7:00 PM. The door is open seven 30. The comedy starts because it's open mic. So during that half hour, people can sign up. If you want to tell a joke, you can sign up and tell some jokes. And it's also one of the only open mics where I do give feedback to help you improve your joke telling as well. Um, and the feedback is to help improve, not to cut away anything what's working and how you can maybe enhance that. I have not. Thank you for the suggestion. Any other questions? You're welcome. Thank you.[inaudible].