“So My Soul Can Sing”*
Etheridge Knight,
Black Identity and Women
One of my most inspiring takeaways from the archival materials I read was the unabashed humanity of Etheridge Knight. I feel there is often pressure in creative communities to present the most perfect and polished version of your art you possibly can. The first poem I read by Knight was entitled “Feeling F—ed
Up. ” This poem breaks the operating framework of poise and perfection; it is a poem of raw, visceral, unedited, relatable emotion. Knight’s willingness to honestly explore raw emotion is foundational to his ability to connect with others and to oer insight into issues of human concern.
I focus on two interconnected facets of Knight’s work that offer insight into his humanity. First, many of Knight’s poems are inspired by the women in his life, whether it be his mother, his daughter, his lovers, or his mentor. These poems oer a window into Knight’s life based on human connection. While Knight was
influenced by and influenced many women, three women are well-represented in the archives: Sonia Sanchez, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Deta Galloway. All three are or were poets and not only served as mentors for Knight but also made significant contributions to the creative sphere as Black women.
My second focus derives from Knight’s willingness to honestly explore his own identity and experience. Knight, Sanchez, and Brooks were unwaveringly firm in their Blackness, and it shines through their creative work. They were unafraid of being political; to be Black is to live in a state of politics at all times. To be a woman is to live in a state of politics at all times. They didn’t run from who they were; they poured every burden and aspiration into their work and were deeply fueled by their identities. In this sense, they are profoundly connected to and perhaps even guided by each other in their approach to life and in their contributions to the Black Arts Movement.
The artifacts presented here highlight these intersecting themes: the influence of women on Knight’s creative identity and how Knight’s poetry embodies Black experience in a way that offers audiences an opportunity to identify as fellow human beings.
*”So My Soul Can Sing” is drawn from Knight’s poem “Felling F—ed Up,” published in The Essential Etheridge Knight, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1986
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Many of Knight’s most moving poems reflect upon relationships with women in his life, among them the lover of “Feeling F—ed Up” and the daughter in “Circling the Daughter.”
This poem, written for his daughter Tandi, is a profession of love and hope for an unlimited life ahead for his daughter. Working so closely with a handwritten piece, especially one written with such care and intention, was particularly affecting for me.
—Transcription—
Circling the Daughter
You came / to be / in the Month of Malcolm,
And the rain / fell with a fierce gentleness like a martyr’s tears,
On the streets of Manhattan, when your Light was Lit.
And the city sang you welcome. Now, I sit,
Trembling in your presence. Fourteen years
Have brought the moon-blood, the roundness, the girl-giggles.
We are touch-tender in our fears.
You break my eyes with your beauty.
Ouu-ou-baby-I love-you.
Do not listen to the lies of old men
Who fear your power,
Who preach that you were “born-in-sin.”
A flower is moral by its own flowering.
Reach always within
For the Music and the Dance and the Circling.
O Tandiwe, my Beloved of this land;
Your spring will early,
And when the earth begins its humming,
Begin you dance with men with a Grin,
And a Grace of whirling, your place
Is neither ahead nor behind; neither right nor left.
The world is Round. Make the sound
Of your breathing a silver bell at midnight
Or the chilling wet of the morning dew.
You break my eyes with your beauty.
Ouu-ou-baby-I love-you.
– Etheridge Knight
“I am a Tree…” exemplifies the influence of Black women as love interests in Knight’s life. These relationships and their endings are sources of sadness and inspiration for Knight, helping him to mature and strengthen his poetic voice.
In this poem, Knight reflects on the love, fear, and insecurity he felt with both lovers he describes. He juxtaposes the first woman’s activism and vibrant personality with his own immaturity and fear that drives her away. He then reflects on his time with the second woman, whose warmth and love he could enjoy because he had matured, although perhaps not enough emotionally—the stones growing in their bed weigh on and separate them, leading to the end of their relationship.
Though “I Am a Tree” shows Knight’s insecurity as a factor in driving away both lovers, it is a poem of love and loss that reaches its audience; they feel the emptiness of his lover zooming away and the weight of the stones that grow in the couple’s bed.
—Transcription—
I am a Tree, My Lovers Fly to and From Me:
1
She appeared, soaring out of the sunset
of San Francisco, leaving Hayakawa and his cops.
She brought smiles and flutters, black babies
and a white dog who would eat no bones
I was a boy then, non born and bred among
bricks and bars. I was a boy then, and I trembled
Before her beauty, and her might. I felt fright
and I bent and shook and leaned and would not
stand still. And she flew away. Zoom.
2
She came, zooming outta New York with the sun
in her hair. Her smiles were white teeth. Her breast
were plums in my mouth. We ride south thru the night.
Her thighs were warm and soft like summer,
and our love was thick and spilled like milk
Under the Missouri sky. There was water and laughter
and friends bringing gifts. I was a man then, but
still afraid, and stones began to grow in our bed.
Knight often wrote poems to his family members or used them as subjects of his writing. “For Honey” is a poem Etheridge Knight wrote for his sister, Lois “Honey” Knight, after she passed away. This poem demonstrates his love and the influence of his sisters in his life and provides a vehicle for his grieving.
Knight notes that he does not find comfort in the beliefs of family members and yet he uses potent religious symbols to express the intensity of his grief about Honey’s passing. Knight also likens his sadness and heartache to the feelings of mother and child in the famous case of Emmett Till and his mother Mamie Till-Mobley.
In making these associations, Knight connects with his family and his readers on a deep emotional level.The intensity in which he feels the grief of the loss of his sister highlights the love he had for his family, how much he valued his relationship with his siblings, and how well he understands grief as a universal human emotion.
—Transcription—
For Honey
Unlike your Father + your Mother
Your other sisters and brother
Neither in Yahweh, Allah, Buddha
Nor any of the other Patriarch do I believe
And yet I grieve – I grieve
For you, or if I were a Jew
At the Wailing Wall, or if I were a monk
In a yellow robe, running in flames
Thru the streets of Saigon, I grieve
Emmet Till’s Mama moaning in the hot
Mississippi afternoon.
Poet Deta Galloway wrote this letter to Knight on June 26, 1985, as the first in a series of prison letters while Knight incarcerated. Galloway and Knight were friends through poetry, and through their shared struggle and lives of heartache and rejection.
Galloway’s letters serve as a reminder of the broader context of Knight’s life in prison and the kind of support and criticism he received from others.
This first letter offers a nuanced insight to Knight’s life. Galloway begs Knight to stay healthy, get his life together, and continue to create.Though Galloway recognizes Knight and his words as a brilliant gift to the world, the letter also reveals Knight the “Black junkie,” as he sometimes referred to himself. Galloway documents the impact of his struggles with addiction and violence on both himself and his loved ones. She writes as a witness to someone whose “compellances” and demons of trauma were so strong he sometimes could not avoid or navigate them.
Her letters stand out to me because not only are they raw and honest, but almost every line she wrote in these casual letters sounds like poetry. One of my favorite quotes from this letter is “You best not mess up the dance. Sing the blues. Don’t kill the blues.”
—Transcription—
Dear Eth.
Hi – hi my Brother. You scare me. You scare the hell out of me. I just cannot say, the fright. You make me feel you’re in real danger. As if a collision is about to take place, and I’m watching this and cannot prevent it. Eth What in the hell are you doing to yourself. I failed I guess to understand this means war. Maybe I cannot ever understand adversity. It has a magical weakness. A magical wickedness. I have been furious at you off and on for the past three years and mostly it’s at your word’s inconsistent life. Yet maybe at the base of this is something larger than I really came to understand. Yet this war I now am beginning to understand its monstrous existence. Well, it’s frightening – and it gives me butterflies in my belly. I feel so sorry – and find myself worried. And first it’s the care for you – because you are my good friend. You can be so magically beautiful – and clear and elusively a genius in reasoned conversation. That you could damage this precious gift. That you could hasten its silence – baffles me. I am compelled to think that your compellances must be demonic and chillingly brutal. I’m amazed and bewildered. I cannot say what I expect or is praying for. I just hope without any deliberate force.
[pg2] It’s midnite and I’ve returned from the prison hospital. It shook me like thunder. Then like cold rain. I glimpsed you through the glass. And I couldn’t even speak to you. What kind of an arrangement is that. You mean you consented to give up so much of your civil human rights. I really ponder as to their long term successes with healings happening. The whole thing seems so violent. Nothing good comes out of prison. Wounded brilliance-?! Maybe!? You can’t call save one call in 24 hours. You can’t receive calls. You can’t leave. You signed your kidnap papers. Damn! What sort of desperation breeds and enforces this!? So. So. My friend. It tears me to pieces to see her going through personal sacred items I brought you. Like my writing my precious diary, my typed poem – The Sanitorium. Her withholding water I brought you. Fruits! My heavens, it tore me to shreds. My hands start visible shaking. My frustrations crystalized. The inability to maintain contact. You are trying to lock yourself away from your self – Eth this is not it – Seven C at the VA. Where you are locked away?! You don’t need any more jail sentences. You! Not you! You’ve got to give up jail as your metaphor. You have got to stop killing yourself. You who likes to laugh and dance and write.
[pg3] You who parties into life’s boogie streams. Would risk it all. I began to really hurt for you must feel the agony of this confinement. And you walk the floors unknown and alone – for what. You really upset my spirit. I am unable to change your humiliations and it blew me away. So I bring your cancer sticks. Five dollars, like a child’s pocket money. I thought do you have socks. Pyjamas, a Robe? Undershirts and underpants – toothbrush and some toiletries. This wipes me out. What is your overall condition. Are you running scared. Are you unable now to fight off drugs – cuz you do not have a fortnight of the years in which you can continue this assault. I go back ‘n’ forth. I’m futile, I’m enraged. Yet I know that you need help more than words that reprimand. Why don’t you let us love you and can this be above your destructive tendencies. All of us bear intense pain. But why should yours kill you. And how dare you scare me like this? I’ll get your belongings from the bus station. I’ll keep them.
[pg4] I don’t know what your plans are – but let me know. I’ll stand beside you – cuz I must. We artists gots to help each other. I’m not gonna stand-by and let you suffer alone, but I want you to clean up your act for the one hundredth time. You gonna cut short your life and prose. It’s an awful tragedy we’ve had Berrigan, Plath – Delmore, Sexton – Brodigan [Brautigan] and this list curves – why you too? Why have you wished death over life?! You gonna break our hearts real good. But you’re a heartbreaker. Are you afraid to grow old. Well. I love you too. And I know you scared – but you’re like a truant boy. You let me loose words. You let me shrink back. You may list me for N.O.K and person to contact in case of needs – emergency or reference or an advocate. You can use here as your release address, if it matters. I toyed with calling your poor mother, but I decided not. I fear if it’s the best. I know mothers’ hearts – they are the first to die and the first to cry. They remember the innocent – and looks harshly upon the words assault. Any way. You want me to call her?! I will!?
[pg5] You’ve got your book party coming up in the fall, will you be well to get there! I was just getting happy for you, then you gripped me with sorrow again. Eth, what’s the trouble? Brother, what’s the need to die?! Oh – I’m out of words. It’s late. I’m tired. I’m uneasy – and my short sleep will be littered with fitful thoughts.
Please guard and secure my work I loaned you & take it soon. I’m afraid it gets lost. Yet I wanted you to climb in some of my moments – hoping you’d find comfort and reassurance and that poet life will surround me. I’ve lent you my sacred map to keep you company till you get out. Papers to write. I’ll bring you stamps and envelopes. I’ll visit you each day – and although I can’t see you – hopes, that the vigilance will give you courage. I’m not sure why you crossed my path. Save destiny is played by god – I hope I can be always your friend – and not to ever judge you. You are a good person and youth is in your ways. You’re beautiful and bright. Why don’t you try to live among us for long summers.
[pg6] I hope you’re not too lonely. I hope you see the light. God will protect you if you lean heavily on him. I hope to pray for you each day. I will. Yet your light must shine inside you. Stop seeking love on this earth. Stop letting the fence press your freedom.
In my short life I have been so utterly rejected. Used. Manipulated. Lied to – betrayed – given unfaithfulness. Words that fist as blows. Love denied me – snatched away. Unchosen. Mocked for kindness, ostracized for brilliance. Left to the cold elements. And some secretly feel I’m suffering and hope to bring me to my knees. I don’t deserve it. Yet I’d rather it be me than you. Yet I say I have nothing now to fear. I bear no shame. I have planted no forks in people’s hearts or houses. Can you to be free. Keep an undying faith and inflict no wounds on your spiritual and mortal flesh. You are so without malice then too for your selves – be well. Please don’t break our hearts. Please! The Lord be with you my brother.
[heart heart] Deta Salome
Keep the
Call write often contact up
Gwendolyn Brooks was one of Knight’s teachers and mentors. She was a respected elder in poetry and life who kept in contact with Knight and he credits her with improving his poetry by introducing him to haiku. Like Galloway, Brooks provided ongoing support for Knight in navigating the struggle with prison life.
The first of Brooks’ letters was written after the passing of Knight’s sister, Lois “Honey” Knight. Brooks empathizes with Knight’s consuming feelings of grief, noting that she has lost many family members herself. She also writes about her own loneliness having lost her family, perhaps acknowledging Knight’s isolation in prison but reminding him of the family he still has. This letter demonstrates the poets’ connection beyond their artistic and professional similarities.
In the second letter, Brooks offers encouragement and admonishes him to “HOLD ON.” The letter is brief, but it’s warm message reflects their continuing relationship as mentor-mentee.
—Transcription—
1985 Letter (blue)
Dear dear Etheridge!!
I haven’t heard anything but good things about you lately! That you’re writing, reciting, and SURVIVING!! So you have plaudits a-coming to you! — because, believe me, I know how hard it is just to survive! And we’ve lost so many of our golden men: Hoyt, George Kent, Larry Neal, etc, etc, etc, etc.
HOLD ON!
Sincerely,
Gwen
1983 Letter (brown)
Dear Etheridge —
Good to hear from you, but I’m sorry for the unhappy news of the loss of your sister. Please accept the sympathy of one who knows the meaning of such a loss. My only brother died in 1974. My mother died in 1978. My father died in 1959. (I had no sisters)
I am the last leaf on the branch. It’s lonely.
Treasure the family you have left.
HOLD ON
Sincerely,
Gwendolyn
Knight drew on his experience as a Black man as a source of inspiration in his poetry. The same raw, visceral, unedited, relatable emotion that characterizes his other work is present in this work as well.
In this piece, Knight touches on the realities of being Black in America and the way systems of oppression intensify the pain in this reality. These themes of reality and the Black experience align with the views his mentor, Gwendolyn Brooks, taught him and are reflected in her own writing. This poem is also an example of how the work of Etheridge Knight transcends time and inspires thought and connection even in the present day.
This poem was written in 1987, but over three decades later it is still an accurate reflection of the same social injustices that wade in and out of the spotlight: housing crises, food insecurity, repression of change, and mass incarceration.
Knight not only created poetry that reflected his experience as a Black man but also encouraged others and poured energy back into the community by engaging in conversations and workshops.
Knight appreciated the fact that putting traumas, fears, and experiences down on paper to share with the world is a timeless and underappreciated talent. His very essence, his very being, and his very survival were all the result of his deep dedication to creating beauty through language.
This flier announces the first of what Knight called the Free Peoples’ Poetry Workshops. Through these workshops Knight was able to create an inclusive mix of readers, writers, and students interested in poetry who worked together as a community.
In creating this workshop, Knight earned the recognition and respect of many other prominent artists because they could see past his shortcomings and vices and realized that he embodied his art.
Knight received this letter from a Western Penitentiary inmate named ‘Tacuma Abdul Halim Ta’Zya.’ The writer explains that he chose the name for himself after years of self-discovery behind prison walls. Ta’Zya describes himself as an aspiring writer looking for guidance and resources from Knight. I think this letter represents an incredibly beautiful full-circle moment in Knight‘s life as a person and poet. Knight found his grounding in poetry during his prison sentence—a discovery that would go on to change the trajectory and purpose of his life. His ability to help Ta’Zya shows the depth of the impact of his poetry: it goes beyond words and publications. Knight’s dedication to his craft, even in the midst of some of the lowest points in his life, inspires others and gives them the audacity to imagine themselves as whoever they choose to be. They reimagine their own identities and they gain this agency through the power of poetry—an imaginative undefined space that encourages exploration of others and the self.