01-31-2017, 12:53 AM
Aja Monet Bacquie (born August 21, 1987) is an American contemporary poet, writer, lyricist and activist of Cuban-Jamaican descent from Brooklyn, New York. She is known to be the youngest poet to have ever become the Nuyorican Poets Café Grand Slam Champion at the age of 19 in 2007 and is the last woman to have won this title since. Wiki
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“My mother was a freedom fighter” (This is confusing as it seem untied from the next of the line, making the "she read" seem to be describing the way she looked, not that she had just read the preceding quote.)
She read like a blues veteran (period)
dressed in a midnight suit, at a White House (why "a" White House (instead of "the"), if this is suppose to be commentary, there needs to be more explication, there seems to be some conflict here and at other places throughout. The title confirms this is about the women's march and about "Trump's" attitude toward women, so the focus was "women" not "racism", although there is plenty of that to go around. For me anyway, it creates a bit of confusion about where the focus of the poem is.)
gathering, arms extended, palms out,
displaying the bedraggled truth.
She gave us her mother, standing in the ruins,
holding a “bouquet of bloody music in her hand,”
after she had carved a spear out of her lover’s bones.
A white woman in the audience, hands extended upwards,
flutttered(sic, fluttered?) her fingers, called the sky to hold these words.
Aja's slashing, sinewy phrases testified to the strength (nice alliteration)
of the first activists, standing off a pack of bullies,
who didn’t understand the poetry, but couldn’t deny (no need for enjambment, pull everything starting from "but..." down to the next line. As it stands it slows down the tempo and lessens the energy of the poem, plus it does not accomplish anything.)
the force of the words.
Her mother fought with the strength that came
from shotgun houses next to the picking fields,
grace earned through knowledge and the mission at hand.
She was a freight train of rapid fire explosive words, testimony (very nice imagery)
unheard with this force and vast audience before; a woman
speaking what has been ignored, distorted,
about the every day battles fought by her ancestors. (ancestors? Not really a correct word usage here)
Defiant, she attacks, lessons for racists,
the earth spins, upside down, awakening. (Could use better punctuation)
Her mother, lonely, yearning, had fast friends (why was she lonely if she had fast friends - punctuation)
together in a consensus of one mind, vision, action,
within her the heart of a hurricane.(cliche)
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Probably your best poem, of those I've read.
dale
________________________________________________________________________________________
“My mother was a freedom fighter” (This is confusing as it seem untied from the next of the line, making the "she read" seem to be describing the way she looked, not that she had just read the preceding quote.)
She read like a blues veteran (period)
dressed in a midnight suit, at a White House (why "a" White House (instead of "the"), if this is suppose to be commentary, there needs to be more explication, there seems to be some conflict here and at other places throughout. The title confirms this is about the women's march and about "Trump's" attitude toward women, so the focus was "women" not "racism", although there is plenty of that to go around. For me anyway, it creates a bit of confusion about where the focus of the poem is.)
gathering, arms extended, palms out,
displaying the bedraggled truth.
She gave us her mother, standing in the ruins,
holding a “bouquet of bloody music in her hand,”
after she had carved a spear out of her lover’s bones.
A white woman in the audience, hands extended upwards,
flutttered(sic, fluttered?) her fingers, called the sky to hold these words.
Aja's slashing, sinewy phrases testified to the strength (nice alliteration)
of the first activists, standing off a pack of bullies,
who didn’t understand the poetry, but couldn’t deny (no need for enjambment, pull everything starting from "but..." down to the next line. As it stands it slows down the tempo and lessens the energy of the poem, plus it does not accomplish anything.)
the force of the words.
Her mother fought with the strength that came
from shotgun houses next to the picking fields,
grace earned through knowledge and the mission at hand.
She was a freight train of rapid fire explosive words, testimony (very nice imagery)
unheard with this force and vast audience before; a woman
speaking what has been ignored, distorted,
about the every day battles fought by her ancestors. (ancestors? Not really a correct word usage here)
Defiant, she attacks, lessons for racists,
the earth spins, upside down, awakening. (Could use better punctuation)
Her mother, lonely, yearning, had fast friends (why was she lonely if she had fast friends - punctuation)
together in a consensus of one mind, vision, action,
within her the heart of a hurricane.(cliche)
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Probably your best poem, of those I've read.
dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.