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Copyright 2015 by Elizabeth Alexander
Cover design by Lisa Honerkamp
Cover art by Ficre Ghebreyesus
Cover copyright 2015 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Anonymous, Windows of worship from The Poetry of the Kabbala, translated and edited by Peter Cole. Translation copyright 2012 by Peter Cole. Reprinted with the permission of Yale University Press.
Rocco Granata, excerpt from Marina. Copyright September Music Corp. Reprinted with the permission of Granata Music Editions N.V.
Lucille Clifton, the death of fred clifton from The Collected Poems of Lucille Clifton. Copyright 1989 by Lucille Clifton. Reprinted with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc., on behalf of BOA Editions, Ltd., www.boaeditions.org.
Excerpt from How I Got Over. Words and music by Clara Ward. Copyright 1951 by Clara Ward. Reprinted with the permission of Clara and Willa Ward Publications.
Langston Hughes, excerpt from Poem [I loved my friend / He went away from me] from The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, edited by Arnold Rampersad and David Roessel. Copyright 1994 The Estate of Langston Hughes. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf, Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House, LLC and Harold Ober Associates, Incorporated. All rights reserved.
Heaven. Words and Music by David Byrne/Herry Harrison (Bleu Disque Music Co Inc./ASCAP). Administered by Warner Bros./Alfred Publishing Co., Inc.
Esperanza Spalding, excerpt from Apple Blossom from Chamber Music Society (Heads Up International, 2010). Copyright 2010 by Esperanza Spalding. Reprinted with the permission of Esperanza Spalding Productions LLC c/o JAP Accounting LLC.
Rainer Maria Rilke, excerpt from [God speaks to each of us as he makes us,]. Copyright 1996 by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy. Used by permission of Janklow & Nesbitt Associates and RiverheadBooks, an imprint of Penguin Books (USA) Inc.
Melvin Dixon, excerpt from Fingering the Jagged Grains from Change of Territory: Poems (University Press of Kentucky, 1983). Copyright 1983 by Melvin Dixon. Used with permission of Deanna Dixon on behalf of the Estate of Melvin Dixon.
Heaven. Words and Music by David Byrne and Jerry Harrison. Copyright 1979 WB Music Corp (ASCAP) and Index Music, Inc. (ASCAP). All rights administered by WB Music Corp. All rights reserved. Used by Permission of Alfred Music.
ISBN 978-1-4555-9985-1
E3
Poems
Crave Radiance: New and Selected Poems
Praise Song for the Day
American Sublime
Antebellum Dream Book
Body of Life
The Venus Hottentot
Essays
The Black Interior
Power and Possibility: Essays, Reviews, and Interviews
For Solomon and Simon, who walk their fathers walk
There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole universe. If it does not shine, there is darkness.
T HE G OSPEL A CCORDING TO T HOMAS
O beauty, you are the light of the world!
D EREK W ALCOTT , T HE L IGHT OF THE W ORLD
the light insists on itself in the world
L UCILLE C LIFTON
THE LIGHT THAT CAME TO LUCILLE CLIFTON
The story seems to begin with catastrophe but in fact began earlier and is not a tragedy but rather a love story. Perhaps tragedies are only tragedies in the presence of love, which confers meaning to loss. Loss is not felt in the absence of love. The queen died and then the king died is a plot, wrote E. M. Forster in The Art of the Novel, but The queen died and then the king died of grief is a story.
It begins on a beautiful April morning when a man wakes exhausted and returns to sleep in his beloved thirteen-year-old sons trundle bed, declaring, This is the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in! Or it begins when the wife says goodbye to the man a few hours later, walking in front of his car switching her hips a bit, a blown kiss as she heads to her office and he continues on to his painting studio.
Or the story begins as he packs a tote bag with the usual slim thermos of strong coffee made in an Italian stovetop moka pot, a larger thermos of cold water, two tangerines, a package of Nat Sherman MCD cigarettes, and a plastic sack of raw almonds. The tote is astral blue and printed with Giotto angels. Off to his studio for a day of painting, then homeas if nothing extraordinary has happened, when in fact he has been envisioning worldshanging the Giotto bag on a hook in the mudroom and changing out of his paint-splattered jeans into gym shorts and a T-shirt for yoga in the family room or a run on the treadmill in the basement.
Soon the two children will walk down Edgehill Road from the bus stop like burros under their knapsacks, and his wife will prepare dinner while listening to Thelonious Monks evocative open intervals and sipping from a glass of white wine that hes opened and poured for her. My frosty white? shed ask a few times a week, and hed chuckle and say, Right away, my love. Chop chop. They enjoyed playing, and acting out boy-girl courtliness. The thirteen-year-old does his homework and the twelve-year-old practices his drumming. The mans home life is the unchanging beautiful same, so anything could occur in the painting studio each day.
I am the wife. I am the wife of fifteen years. I am the plumpish wife, the pretty wife, the loving wife, the smart wife, the American wife. I am eternally his wife.
Perhaps the story begins with the three dozen lottery tickets he bought two days before he died, which I discovered weeks later, when they fluttered out of the pages of one of the many books he was reading.