A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 16,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.
Hard Rock / was / “known not to take no shit From nobody,” and he had the scars to prove it: Split purple lips, lumbed ears, welts above His yellow eyes, and one long scar that cut Across his temple and plowed through a thick Canopy of kinky hair. The WORD / was / that Hard Rock wasn’t a mean nigger Anymore, that the doctors had bored a hole in his head, Cut out part of his brain, and shot electricity Through the rest. When they brought Hard Rock back, Handcuffed and chained, he was turned loose, Like a freshly gelded stallion, to try his new status. And we all waited and watched, like a herd of sheep, To see if the WORD was true. As we waited we wrapped ourselves in the cloak Of his exploits: “Man, the last time, it took eight Screws to put him in the Hole.” “Yeah, remember when he Smacked the captain with his dinner tray?” “He set The record for time in the Hole—67 straight days!” “Ol Hard Rock! man, that’s one crazy nigger.” And then the jewel of a myth that Hard Rock had once bit A screw on the thumb and poisoned him with syphilitic spit. The testing came, to see if Hard Rock was really tame. A hillbilly called him a black son of a bitch And didn’t lose his teeth, a screw who knew Hard Rock From before shook him down and barked in his face. And Hard Rock did nothing. Just grinned and looked silly, His eyes empty like knot holes in a fence. And even after we discovered that it took Hard Rock Exactly 3 minutes to tell you his first name, We told ourselves that he had just wised up, Was being cool; but we could not fool ourselves for long, And we turned away, our eyes on the ground. Crushed. He had been our Destroyer, the doer of things We dreamed of doing but could not bring ourselves to do, The fears of years, like a biting whip, Had cut deep bloody grooves Across our backs. -- Copyright Etheridge Knight. From The Essential Etheridge Knight (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1986). Used by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press. .
.
Etheridge Knight (1931 – 1991) was an African-American poet who made his name in 1968 with his debut volume, Poems from Prison. The book recalls in verse his eight-year-long sentence after his arrest for robbery in 1960. By the time he left prison, Knight had prepared a second volume featuring his own writings and works of his fellow inmates. This second book, first published in Italy under the title Voce negre dal carcere, appeared in English in 1970 as Black Voices from Prison. These works established Knight as one of the major poets of the Black Arts Movement, which flourished from the early 1960s through the mid-1970s. With roots in the Civil Rights Movement, Malcolm X and the Nation of Islam, and the Black Power Movement, Etheridge Knight and other American artists within the movement sought to create politically engaged work that explored the African-American cultural and historical experience.
“Hard Rock…” is one of the great poems by anyone anywhere at any time. It carries with it a truth that time will never diminish.
LikeLike
I couldn’t agree more, Ed.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Broke my heart. Somehow “His eyes empty like knot holes in a fence” plain hurt!
LikeLike
Me too.
>
LikeLike
That’s a heartbreaker. First it almost made me cry, then very, very angry.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s like a folktale. Very simple on the surface and yet it resonates.
>
LikeLike
hey michael this poem also didn’t come through. condolences for your tech issues – never a fave.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Abby. It seems to be a problem with the way that Adobe interacts with Word. I’m working on it.
M.
>
LikeLike
If I tap n the title on m phone, it comes up
LikeLike
Thanks, Barb!
>
LikeLiked by 1 person