Praise Song For the Day

the inaugural poem
by Elizabeth Alexander

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.

If I Was President

Not long ago, those words were merely the name of a Wyclef Jean song. Today, they hold so much more meaning.

Today was a very intense, beautiful, and emotionally exhausting day. I found myself feeling all sorts of ways throughout the day; from being hyperemotional to nonchalant to deliriously anxious to the verge of tears. Witnessing the inauguration of Barack Obama as the 44th president of the United States is one that I will never forget.

One of the most poignant moments during the day came when my mind raced back 13 and a half years ago to October 16, 1995. As my uncle, grandfather, and I strolled the National Mall that day I can clearly recall being overwhelmed by an intense feeling of joy and excitement. It was something almost magical to bear witness to history in living color.

Fast forward to today and that same aura came back. It was truly a remarkable sight to see. My grandfather called me later in the day to shoot the shT for a bit and we spoke about how magical it all really turned out to be. And then he heaped praise upon me that I don't even think I deserve, but it means so much to hear it from him. I remember as a child hearing this one story in particular he used to tell. Having grown up on the Lower East Side, his multicultural neighborhood was always full of surprises. One day, he got sent home from school because he hadn't washed up properly. Apparently, the teacher had told him to wash his neck, but he mistook that for a simple soap remedy when, in fact, there was nothing he could do to rid his skin of its hue. With a spanish surname, light eyes, and dark skin; what was he to do? Today, was a day that will will forever be etched in the hearts, minds, and souls of millions across the globe.

Throughout the day, I kept changing my facebook status via phone to match my changing mood and/or perspective. From wondering how "shook" the limo driver must have been to secretly hoping Bush got booed, it was a great experience to see the power of technology to connect. I don't even like Twitter that much but we were definitely getting our super-twit on today. And honestly, it would have been bad form for the crowd to boo Bush en masse. But I also did secretly hope that somebody would shove Chaney's gangster a$$ down those steps as well. Oh well. I need to stop being so mean, I suppose.

Even more profound were the dozens of articles I have read from journalists on down to everyday people sharing their thoughts, perspectives, and insights on the inauguration and election in general. The part of Obama's speech that stood out to me the most: "be judged by what you can build, not by what you can destroy." It was a truly beautiful piece of simple wordplay with such a deeply compelling message of hope, leadership, and substance all in one.

it's me, a monster y'all done created, i've been inaugurated

"I'ma show 'em who's the global gangster
Sentence me to four more years, thank you
I'ma make you feel a little bit safer
Because it ain't over
See that's how we get your fear to control you
But ain't nobody under more control than the soldier
And how could you expect a kid to keep his composure"
-The Roots, "False Media"

So the inauguration is a week away and the Washington Post profiled a local blogger with a nice short piece. I find it intriguing to read about the varying experiences of others who are willing to "bare all" in short to allow the world to see them in all of their vulnerability and complexity. It made for a great read. Similarly, the school district pitched some really great story ideas on its web site. I think it would be great if the local media ran with some of the ideas and did some in-depth stories or covered the events. I'm sure there's someone out there who'd wager that they (Globe/Herald/Phoenix) won't cover any of them.

can it be all so simple

Cause times is changed and life is strange
Wu Tang Clan, "Can It Be All So Simple"

i consider myself to be a power user of all that is computer or technology-related. i am a super techie. i don't have every gadget under the sun and don't want to, but I damn sure will spew out some jargon in a hot second.

the last two days, i attended a professional development workshop on project-based learning and differentiated instruction. hosted by Apple, it was a nice break from the regular schedule as I got to mix, mingle, and interact with other colleagues and some new faces from across the district.

the whole idea behind project-based learning is an approach to engaging students and tap into all the various learning styles and personality types that run the gamut of students we serve. obviously, there's more to it than simply turning around and implementing something like this with a district of our size. the thing that stood out the most to me is that teachers become facilitators and have to be willing to compromise some of their control and students have to create a personally-meaningful artifact as a part of the process. we naturally had to simulate the experience and work on our own artifacts. we came up with a way of initiating the discussion. my group started on a project and didn't quite get it all done. nonetheless, I felt compelled to finish it up at home. pretty bare-bones basic ish, but feel free to comment. after i made it i came up with a better explanation; the USB is like a treasure chest with unlimited resources to support any educator. it literally is like a key to a world of opportunities and possibilities. damn, i think that sounds better than the video. oh well.

gun to your head, handcuffs on your wrist

"Gun to your head, handcuffs on your wrists
everywhere we at we gotta start to resist
Black po' people get no JUSTICE
the courts, the judge, and the jury is fixed
every ghetto you go, sick of this shT
throw up your fist if you sick of this shT"
-Dead Prez, "Cop Shot"

I've always had a love-hate relationship with authority. I'll follow the rules, but I'll also break them on occasion. Sometimes, even telling me I cannot or should not do something can often compel me to go against the grain.

To some people, the most easily-recognizable form of authority are police officers. As a black man, you learn to hone that love/hate relationship. Some take it to either extreme, yet there is usually at least a small amount of angst within every black man in America reserved for the boys in blue.

Today, I am getting caught up on the serious tragedy that went down in Oakland a mere 2 hours after 2009 came into effect. A 22-year-old, unarmed brother was shot in his back - while laying face down - at a public transit station by a 2-year veteran officer. There are several videos recorded by fellow passengers form that night that have surfaced on the web. And I'm sure there are even more still out there.

The raw video footage from that night is a painful sight to witness. It is far more egregious than the Rodney King incident or any police brutality beatings I have ever seen. It evokes the spirit of many past police brutality episodes and killings. I've often brushed aside some of the rah-rah behind complaints of police brutality because of the stark contrast in volume compared to the unarmed brothers that get gunned down in hood everyday. But this is beyond comprehensible. I've participated in both kinds of marches in the past - peace ones and anti-police brutality ones - and felt compelled to write about this while the imagery was still fresh in my mind as Oakland is literally on edge.

There has already been all sorts of analysis from folks in the area as well as their peoples around the world as more catch wind of the news. I read one comment that compared the hood to Gaza and the police to Israel, which - in making the simplest of analogies - does in deed conjure up a lot of interesting comparisons that can be more dissected fully.

PS - Anybody from Chucktown know where my old buddy Reuben Greenberg is?

your reign on top was short like leprechauns

Notoriously Overrated: What Was So Big About Biggie Smalls?

"Talib Kweli once rapped about how we have the uncanny ability to find beauty in the hideous. In the case of Biggie's lyrics, we also try to find depth in the shallow."

Whoa.

I'm a little iffy on whether I'm going to go see the movie, to be honest. I remember back when the had the auditions and dudes flocked there in droves to be considered for the role. Plus, Angela Bassett still looks good, but her [h]eavy [h]accent is MIA.

The editorial really does pose some interesting questions. But they ain't all that brand-new. Basically, why do the bad guys get the girls?

However, I would like to see a feature film made about Fred Hampton though. Like Rubin Carter, I think there's a strong and powerful message in his story.

Nonetheless, this was a very introspective and hard-hitting piece. Sometimes, it takes a lot of balls to look in the mirror and ask ourselves the tough questions that make us cringe and wince in pain.

How the city hurts your brain

This may very well be one of the Globe's best articles ever. It is a wonderful synopsis of a uniquely-urban phenomenon. It is fascinating to me the research on how cities can have a damaging effect on your attention, mood, self-control, and memory. I can understand the mood part. But I was of the belief that your attention is enhanced in cities because of all the urban stimuli that you have to constantly tune in or out on any given day. The piece also delves briefly into the restorative effect that nature has on the brain. I think we're going to finally spruce up the courtyard this year, neighbors.

more board service in 2009

About three months ago, I put out a call for folks interested in stepping up to a leadership role for the governing board of my son's school. I was pleased to get some responses and help move toward a full board. This time around, I'd like to put out some more feelers.

A local church has an accompanying community center with its own board and is seeking candidates interested in bringing their fresh perspective to the table. The center's mission is to provide educational and economic development opportunities to strengthen families in the Greater Roxbury community. If this interests you and you would like more information, holla at me.

Board service is a great way for an eager volunteer to participate in the vision and planning for an organization by sharing their expertise and insight. Plus, it's also an informal opportunity for networking and relationship-building. Leadership starts with you!

i from Edisto

i from Edisto
the capital of the sticks
we built these foundations upon bricks
laid by men with bare hands and even barer souls

i am the forgotten Bengali child of the black dust
cleaning D-cell batteries that
that leave my lungs accumulated with clouds of coal
yet, i never could quite tell which way the wind blows

i am the son of boll weevil
born in cotton gins
the bastardized child of unforgiven sins
my cousins never kissed
yet, the taste of fresh shrimp and grits is indeed sweet bliss

i am from the boogie down
instead of a crib i slept atop my boombox radio
my face is hidden not by a blanket but by a hoody
i still wear no socks
my soul is live and in stereo
hard knock life was my theme song, son

i come from the bases of the Blue Hills
where we lay in pits of snow reserved for those
who need balance in their lives
but these bunny slopes don't match our hues
so thus i am subdued by these three stripes on your shoes
to which you cling to like a rite of passage

i am from the borough that keeps it thorough
standing strong on my own two
this bodega is my way of fighting for my small slice of the pie 24/7 on through
i found myself weaving in and out consciousness
at the corner of Nostrand and the Parkway
i know the smell of curry goat from a mile away

i am from the sweet grass baskets of the sea islands
i used to give warm hugs and hieroglyphic pounds
but i only give head nods now
you see, my brittle hands ache in arthritic agony
yet, my clenhced fists are forces with which to be reckoned

let the dirt road children rejoice
in a harmonious symphony
let the senior citizen gangs put down their canes
and march in unison like the S1Ws of Public Enemy

let this sharecropper blood in our veins
speak volumes
but it cannot substitute for reverence
we cannot feign our existence
we smile only to acknowledge our parallel paths
and pray to sand dune goads
we offer okra soup as our homage

who are we to be unafraid of the weeping willows that hover above our fantasies
like spiritual remnants of our deferred laziness
our solace comes solely from the salt water that beckoned
our ancestors back to those haunted shores
in search of wisdom
with bare-feet and gullah-lined tongues
we are the children of Edisto
swinging from tree limbs too connect our dots and our genes
huddled on shrimp boats to cast wider nets
fishing for our dreams

joy is the essence of success

learn something new each day

give a hug a day

smile


don't worry

be happy.

word.