I wrote a series of poems.
Do you know who Cleo Laine is?
Cleo Laine is a singer.
She can sing so good.
And I was at home and I was being depressed.
People think I never get depressed, but I-- my kids
will tell you.
And when I'm depressed, I am depressed.
I mean, I don't play.
And I was being really depressed.
And I was-- and then, I started listening to the music.
And Cleo Laine was singing a song
called "The Streets of London."
Do you know that?
And she was singing the lines.
So how can you tell me you're lonely
and that for you the sun never shines?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you
through the streets of London.
I can show you something that will make you change your mind.
And I thought about my poor little depression.
And I felt so tacky.
And so I started--
I wrote a poem.
And then, I started writing some other poems.
And they all are prefaced by their dreams.
So it's my dream about this, my dream about that.
I'd like to read a couple of them.
I'd like to say, though, that I have never dreamed any of this,
OK?
I'll read two.
One is called "My Dream About Time."
One of the things I noticed is that, when I was little,
my mother told me if I was good, all the right stuff
would happen for me.
And I was very good.
And a lot of the right stuff did not happen.
And I thought that was a big drag.
And I have a poem in another book that says,
it seems like some Black people missed out more than all
the time.
This is called "My Dream About Time."
A woman, unlike myself, is running down
the long haul of a lifeless house
with too many windows, which open on a world she
has no language for.
Running and running until she reaches
at last the one and only door, which she pulls open to find
each wall is faced with clocks.
And as she watches, all of the clocks strike no.