11-06-2010, 02:42 AM
Meester Hess-lop, dancing in blackface to the beat of the drum;
his jive encircled by rodeo clowns, he shakes his hands
and shuffles his feet, abreast an upside down lectern,
painted like a rocket in a child’s drawing.
Singing “Yellow Basket” behind a curtain,
an unseen performer amplifies the jig,
as the merry coon’s shoes make splinters in the stand.
The audience, all white, observes silently,
devoid of expression on their weathered faces,
their features like blackboards, which once held writing,
since wiped clean by successive teachers.
But still the nigger dance goes on, as the rodeo clowns
shower them with posies. Picking up such a flower from between
his feet, the nigger’s sweetheart sees that it’s plastic.
[youtube]SrDx7uVyP38[/youtube]
his jive encircled by rodeo clowns, he shakes his hands
and shuffles his feet, abreast an upside down lectern,
painted like a rocket in a child’s drawing.
Singing “Yellow Basket” behind a curtain,
an unseen performer amplifies the jig,
as the merry coon’s shoes make splinters in the stand.
The audience, all white, observes silently,
devoid of expression on their weathered faces,
their features like blackboards, which once held writing,
since wiped clean by successive teachers.
But still the nigger dance goes on, as the rodeo clowns
shower them with posies. Picking up such a flower from between
his feet, the nigger’s sweetheart sees that it’s plastic.
[youtube]SrDx7uVyP38[/youtube]
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe
I've wanted to write a poem about me in blackface for quite a while, but could never find the words. For me, this poem is a metaphor for my social awkwardness, how, when I try and interact with people in my day to day life, I feel somehow exposed, ludicrous and "other," like a performing minstrel. This idea became a bit lost as I continued writing, though I think I just managed to hold it togethor. I could be wrong, of course
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