This is from The Gathering of My Name.
And these poems are again dealing
with the idea of becoming more conscious of yourself
as a Black writer, but also as the idea of, I think, it more--
meaning more to the point might be
the idea of a question between your responsibility
as a poet to your community.
Or maybe even to another way of putting it
is the idea, the responsibility of the social poet, which
we don't seem to have that much of anymore.
Or maybe if we do have, it doesn't
be paid much attention to.
So this poem, and this first poem I'm about to read
is about a lot of stuff.
It's about the idea of--
of your idea of identity.
It's also about-- a deeper way of, when you get to a certain
point, being able to look back and see how other people look
at you, but you weren't really paying attention to, luckily,
because they weren't expecting much--
so and also the idea of saying "thanks."
Because you have to do that.
It's necessary.
This is called "Gratitude."
"I'm here to tell you an old story.
This appears to be my work.
I live in the world, walk the streets of New
York, this dear city.
I want to tell you I'm 36 years old.
I have lived in and against my blood.
I want to tell you I am grateful.
Because, after all, I am a Black, American poet.
I'm 36, and no one has to tell me about luck.
I mean, after a reading, someone asked me once,
if you weren't doing this, what, if anything,
would you be doing?
And I didn't say what we both understood.
I'm a Black, American male.
I own this particular story on this particular street
at this particular moment.
This appears to be my work.
I'm 36 years old, and all I have to do
is repeat what I notice over and over.
All I have to do is remember.
And to the famous poet who thinks literature
holds no small musics, love.
And to the publishers who believe in their marrow
that there is no profit on the fringes, love.
And of those who need the promise of wind,
the sound of branches stirring beneath the line, here
is another environment poised to open.
Everyone reminds me what an amazing odyssey
I'm undertaking, as well they should.
After all, I'm a Black, American poet,
and my greatest weakness is an inability to sustain rage.
Who knows what will happen next?
This appears to be one for the books.
If you train your ears for what's
unstated beneath the congratulations,
that silence is my story, the pure celebration
and shock of my face defying its gravity, so to speak.
I claim this tiny glee not just for myself
but for my parents, who shook their heads.
I'm older now that my father was when he had me,
which is no big deal, except I have
personal knowledge of the wind that tilts the head back.
And I claim this loose-seed-in-the-air glee
on behalf of the social studies teacher I had in the 10th
grade, a real bastard who took me aside after class
the afternoon he heard I was leaving for a private school
just to let me know he expected me to drown out there,
that I held the knowledge of the drowned man,
the regret of ruined flesh in my eyes,
which was fair enough except I believe I've been teaching far
longer now than he had that day.
And I know the blessing of a narrow escape.
And I claim this rooster pull-down-morning glee
on behalf of anyone who saw me coming and said yes,
even when I was loud, cocky, insecure,
even when all they could have seen was the promise of a germ,
even when it meant yielding ground.
I am a bit older than they were when I walked into that room
or class or party.
And I understand the value of the unstated push.
A lucky man gets to sing his name.
I have survived long enough to tell a bit of an old story.
And to those who defend poetry against all foreign tongues,
love.
And to those who believe a dropped clause
signifies encroachment, love.
And to the bullies who need the musty air of the clubhouse all
to themselves, I am a brick in a house that is
being built around your house.
I'm 36 years old, a Black, American poet.
Nearly all the things that weren't supposed to occur
has happened anyway.
And I have a natural inability to sustain rage
despite the evidence.
I have proof and a job that comes as simple to me
as breathing."
[APPLAUSE]