African American author SIGNED I was looking June Jordan (1995 hardcover)

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Seller: memorabilia111 ✉️ (808) 100%, Location: Ann Arbor, Michigan, US, Ships to: US & many other countries, Item: 176269159323 African American author SIGNED I was looking June Jordan (1995 hardcover). June Jordan I was looking at the Ceiling and Then I saw the Sky Inscribed and signed by June Jordan. Fine book in a near fine dustjacket. Signed first edition June Millicent Jordan was a Jamaican American, bisexual poet, essayist, teacher, and activist. In her writing she explored issues of gender, race, immigration, and representation.  Born: July 9, 1936, Harlem, New York, NY Died: June 14, 2002, Berkeley, CA
One of the most widely-published and highly-acclaimed Jamaican American writers of her generation, poet, playwright and essayist June Jordan was known for her fierce commitment to human rights and political activism. Over a career that produced twenty-seven volumes of poems, essays, libretti, and work for children, Jordan engaged the fundamental struggles of her era: for civil rights, women’s rights, and sexual freedom. A prolific writer across genres, Jordan’s poetry is known for its immediacy and accessibility as well as its interest in identity and the representation of personal, lived experience—her poetry is often deeply autobiographical. Jordan’s work also frequently imagines a radical, globalized notion of solidarity amongst the world’s marginalized and oppressed. In volumes like Some Changes (1971), Living Room (1985) and Kissing God Goodbye: Poems 1991-1997 (1997), Jordan uses conversational, often vernacular English to address topics ranging from family, bisexuality, political oppression, racial identity and racial inequality, and memory. Regarded as one of the key figures in the mid-century American social, political and artistic milieu, Jordan also taught at many of the country’s most prestigious universities including Yale, State University of New York-Stony Brook, and the University of California-Berkeley, where she founded Poetry for the People. Her honors and awards included fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Massachusetts Council on the Arts, and the New York Foundation for the Arts, a Rockefeller Foundation grant, and the National Association of Black Journalists Award. Born July 9, 1936, in Harlem, New York, Jordan had a difficult childhood and an especially fraught relationship with her father. Her parents were both Jamaican immigrants and, she recalled in Civil Wars: Selected Essays, 1963-80 (1981), “for a long while during childhood I was relatively small, short, and, in some other ways, a target for bully abuse. In fact, my father was the first regular bully in my life.” But Jordan also has positive memories of her childhood and it was during her early years that she began to write. Though becoming a poet “did not compute” for her parents, they did send the teen-aged Jordan to prep schools where she was the only Black student. Her teachers encouraged her interest in poetry, but did not introduce her to the work of any Black poets. After high school Jordan enrolled in Barnard College in New York City. Though she enjoyed some of her classes and admired many of the people she met, she felt fundamentally at odds with the predominately White, male curriculum and left Barnard  to study at the University of Chicago, prior to returning to Barnard to finish her BA degree. In 1955, Jordan married Michael Meyer, a White Columbia University student. Interracial marriages faced considerable opposition at the time, and Jordan and her husband divorced after ten and a half years, leaving Jordan to support their son. At about the same time, Jordan’s career began to take off. First working in film, Jordan explored the impact of environment and architecture on the lives of low-income Black families, working with the architect Buckminster Fuller. In 1966 she began teaching at the City College of the City University of New York, and in 1969 she published her first book of poetry, Who Look at Me. Aimed at young readers, the book was originally a project of Langston Hughes. In a vernacular voice, Who Look at Me describes several paintings of Black Americans, prints of which are included in the book. Jordan felt strongly about the use of Black English, seeing it as a way to keep Black community and culture alive. She encouraged her young students to write in that idiom through her writing workshops for Black and Puerto Rican children. With Terri Bush, she edited a collection of her young pupils’ writings, The Voice of the Children; she also edited the enormously popular and influential Soulscript: Afro-American Poetry (1970; reprinted 2004). Jordan’s concern for children remained central to her work. Her 1971 novel for young adults, His Own Where, also written in Black English, explores Jordan’s interests in environmental design. Sixteen-year-old Buddy, and his younger girlfriend, Angela, try to create a world of their own in an abandoned house near a cemetery. Jordan explained her feelings about the book to De Veaux: “Buddy acts, he moves. He is the man I believe in, the man who will come to lead his people into a new community.” Jordan’s other work for young people includes Dry Victories (1972), New Life: New Room (1975), and Kimako’s Story (1981), inspired by the young daughter of Jordan’s friend, fellow writer Alice Walker. Although Jordan had not written specifically for young readers since Kimako’s Story, she explores her own formative years in Soldier: A Poet’s Childhood (2000). Jordan’s searing description of learning to be a “good little soldier” under the severe tutelage of her father who drove her to be strong and smart, to appreciate beauty, but often at the cost of a beating, is told in the voice of a child. Jordan explained her goal for the book in an interview with Elizabeth Farnsworth of NewsHour: “I wanted to honor my father, first of all, and secondly, I wanted people to pay attention to a little girl who is gifted intellectually and creative, and to see that there’s a complexity here that we may otherwise not be prepared to acknowledge or even search for, let alone encourage, and to understand that this is an okay story…a story, I think, with a happy outcome.” Jordan further commented in an Essence interview: “My father was very intense, passionate and over-the-top. He was my hero and my tyrant.” Booklist critic Stephanie Zvirin observed that Soldier, written “in the flowing language of a prose poem” is “a haunting coming-of-age memoir.” Throughout her long career, Jordan gained renown as both an essayist and political writer, penning a regular column for the Progressive. In Some of Us Did Not Die: New and Selected Essays of June Jordan (2002), published the same year of the author’s death from breast cancer, Jordan presents thirty-two previously published essays as well as eight new tracts. The essays examine a wide range of topics, from sexism, racism, and Black English to trips the author made to various places, the decline of the U.S. educational system, and the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington, DC, on September 11, 2001. A Kirkus Reviews contributor wrote, “Some of the stronger pieces here…address the vast complex of injustice that is contemporary American life.” An edition of Jordan’s collected poems was also published posthumously. That volume, Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan (2005), includes various poems published from 1969 through 2001, many of which discuss her battle with cancer. Janet St. John, writing in Booklist, declared the book “a must-read for those wanting to learn and be transformed by Jordan’s opinions and impressions.” Other posthumous volumes include We’re On: A June Jordan Reader (2017). In an obituary for the San Francisco Chronicle, Annie Nakao wrote that the author “left a mountain of literary and political works.” Nakao added: “As I discovered soon enough when I picked up a June Jordan work, its contents could shout, caress, enrage. The thing it never did was leave you unengaged.” In an article of appreciation in the Los Angeles Times following the author’s death, Lynell George explained how the author “spent her life stitching together the personal and political so the seams didn’t show.” George further stated that throughout her life the author “continued to publish across the map, swinging form to form as the occasion or topic demanded. Through poetry, essays, plays, journalism, even children’s literature, she engaged such topics as race, class, sexuality, capitalism, single motherhood and liberation struggles around the globe.” However, Jordan perhaps understood her own legacy best. In an interview with Alternative Radio before her death, Jordan was asked about the role of the poet in society. Jordan replied: “The role of the poet, beginning with my own childhood experience, is to deserve the trust of people who know that what you do is work with words.” She continued: “Always to be as honest as possible and to be as careful about the trust invested in you as you possibly can. Then the task of a poet of color, a black poet, as a people hated and despised, is to rally the spirit of your folks…I have to get myself together and figure out an angle, a perspective, that is an offering, that other folks can use to pick themselves up, to rally and to continue or, even better, to jump higher, to reach more extensively in solidarity with even more varieties of people to accomplish something. I feel that it’s a spirit task.” June Millicent Jordan (July 9, 1936 – June 14, 2002) was a Jamaican American, bisexual poet, essayist, teacher, and activist. In her writing she explored issues of gender, race, immigration, and representation.[1][2] Jordan was passionate about using Black English in her writing and poetry, teaching others to treat it as its own language and an important outlet for expressing Black culture.[3] Jordan was inducted on the National LGBTQ Wall of Honor within the Stonewall National Monument in 2019. Contents 1 Early life 2 Personal life 3 Career 4 Literary topics and influence 5 Contributions to feminist theory 5.1 "Report from the Bahamas" 5.1.1 Privilege 5.1.2 Concepts of race, class, and gender 5.1.3 Common identity vs. individual identity 6 Death and legacy 7 Honors and awards 8 Reception 9 Bibliography 10 References 11 External links Early life Jordan was born in 1936 in Harlem, New York, as the only child of Jamaican immigrant parents, Granville Ivanhoe and Mildred Maud Jordan.[4] Her father was a postal worker for the USPS and her mother was a part-time nurse.[5] When Jordan was five, the family moved to the Bedford-Stuyvesant area of Brooklyn, New York.[4] Jordan credits her father with passing on his love of literature, and she began writing her own poetry at the age of seven. Jordan describes the complexities of her early childhood in her 2000 memoir, Soldier: A Poet's Childhood. She explores her complicated relationship with her father, who encouraged her to read broadly and memorize passages of classical texts, but who would also beat her for the slightest misstep and call her "damn black devil child".[6] In her 1986 essay "For My American Family", Jordan explores the many conflicts in growing up as the child of Jamaican immigrant parents, whose visions of their daughter's future far exceeded the urban ghettos of her present.[7] Jordan's mother died by suicide, as is mentioned in On Call: Political Essays.[8] Jordan recalls her father telling her: "There was a war against colored people, I had to become a soldier."[6] After attending Brooklyn's Midwood High School for a year,[4] Jordan enrolled in Northfield Mount Hermon School, an elite preparatory school in New England.[9] Throughout her education, Jordan became "completely immersed in a white universe"[10] by attending predominantly white schools; however, she was also able to construct and develop her identity as a black American and a writer. In 1953, Jordan graduated from high school and enrolled at Barnard College in New York City.[1] Jordan later expressed how she felt about Barnard College in her 1981 book Civil Wars, writing: No one ever presented me with a single Black author, poet, historian, personage, or idea for that matter. Nor was I ever assigned a single woman to study as a thinker, or writer, or poet, or life force. Nothing that I learned, here, lessened my feeling of pain or confusion and bitterness as related to my origins: my street, my family, my friends. Nothing showed me how I might try to alter the political and economic realities underlying our Black condition in white America.[11] Due to this disconnect with the predominantly male, white curriculum, Jordan left Barnard without graduating. June Jordan emerged as a poet and political activist when black female authors were beginning to be heard.[12] Personal life At Barnard College, Jordan met Columbia University student Michael Meyer, whom she married in 1955.[1] She subsequently followed her husband to the University of Chicago,[1] where she pursued graduate studies in anthropology. She also enrolled at the university but soon returned to Barnard, where she remained until 1957. In 1958, Jordan gave birth to the couple's only child, Christopher David Meyer.[1] The couple divorced in 1965, and Jordan raised her son alone.[1] After the Harlem Riots of 1964, Jordan found that she was starting to hate all white people.[1] She wrote:[1] ... it came to me that this condition, if it lasted, would mean that I had lost the point: not to resemble my enemies, not to dwarf my world, not to lose my willingness and ability to love. — June Jordan, ISBN 0195156773[full citation needed] From that time on, Jordan wrote with love.[1] She also identified as bisexual in her writing, which she refused to deny, even when this status was stigmatized.[1][13] Career Jordan's first published book, Who Look at Me (1969), was a collection of poems for children. It was followed by 27 more books in her lifetime, and one (Some of Us Did Not Die: Collected and New Essays) of which was in press when she died. Two more have been published posthumously: Directed By Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan (Copper Canyon Press, 2005), and the 1970 poetry collection SoulScript, edited by Jordan, has been reissued. She was also an essayist, columnist for The Progressive, novelist, biographer, and librettist for the musical/opera I Was Looking at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky, composed by John Adams and produced by Peter Sellars. When asked about the writing process for the libretto of the opera, Jordan said: The composer, John [Adams], said he needed to have the whole libretto before he could begin, so I just sat down last spring and wrote it in six weeks, I mean, that's all I did. I didn't do laundry, anything. I put myself into it 100 percent. What I gave to John and Peter [Sellars] is basically what Scribner's has published now.[14] Jordan began her teaching career in 1967 at the City College of New York. Between 1968 and 1978 she taught at Yale University, Sarah Lawrence College, and Connecticut College. She became the director of The Poetry Center at SUNY at Stony Brook and was an English professor there from 1978 to 1989. From 1989 to 2002 she was a full professor in the departments of English, Women's Studies, and African American Studies at the University of California, Berkeley. Jordan was known as "the Poet of the People".[15] At Berkeley, she founded the "Poetry for the People" program in 1991. Its aim was to inspire and empower students to use poetry as a means of artistic expression. Reflecting on how she began with the concept of the program, Jordan said: I did not wake up one morning ablaze with a coherent vision of Poetry for the People! The natural intermingling of my ideas and my observations as an educator, a poet, and the African-American daughter of poorly documented immigrants did not lead me to any limiting ideological perspectives or resolve. Poetry for the People is the arduous and happy outcome of practical, day-by-day, classroom failure and success.[16] Jordan composed three guideline points that embodied the program, which was published with a set of her students' writings in 1995, entitled June Jordan's Poetry for the People: A Revolutionary Blueprint.[16] She was not only a political activist and a poet, but she wrote children's books as well.[17] Literary topics and influence Jordan felt strongly about using Black English as a legitimate expression of her culture, and she encouraged young black writers to use that idiom in their writing. She continued to influence young writers with her own published poetry, such as her collections, Dry Victories (1972), New Life (1975), and Kimako's Story (1981).[18] Jordan was dedicated to respecting Black English (AAVE) and its usage (Jordan 1). In her piece "Nobody Mean More to Me Than You and the Future Life of Willie Jordan,"[19] Jordan criticizes the world's quickness to degrade the usage of Black English, or any other form considered less than "standard". She denounced "white English" as standard English, saying that in stark contrast to other countries, where students are allowed to learn in their tribal language, "compulsory education in America compels accommodation to exclusively White forms of 'English.' White English, in America, is 'Standard English.'" "Nobody Mean More to Me Than You and the Future Life of Willie Jordan" opens On Call (1985), a collection of her essays. Jordan tells the story of working with her students to see the structure that exists within Black English, and respect it as its own language rather than a broken version of another language. Black English was spoken by most of the African-American students in her classes but was never understood as its own language. She presented it to them for the first time in a professional setting where they ordinarily expected work in English to be structured by "white standards." From this lesson, the students created guidelines for Black English. Jordan's commitment to preserve Black English was evident in her work. She wrote: "There are three qualities of Black English— the presence of life, voice, and clarity—that intensify to a distinctive Black value system that we became excited about and self-consciously tried to maintain."[20] In addition to her writing for young writers and children, Jordan dealt with complex issues in the political arena. She engaged topics "like race, class, sexuality, capitalism, single motherhood, and liberation struggles across the globe." [18] Passionate about feminist and Black issues, Jordan "spent her life stitching together the personal and political so the seams didn't show." [18] Her poetry, essays, plays, journalism, and children's literature integrated these issues with her own experience, offering commentary that was both insightful and instructive. When asked about the role of the poet in society in an interview before her death, Jordan replied: ?The role of the poet, beginning with my own childhood experience, is to deserve the trust of people who know that what you do is work with words."[18] Contributions to feminist theory "Report from the Bahamas" In her 1982 classic personal essay "Report from the Bahamas", Jordan reflects on her travel experiences, various interactions, and encounters while in The Bahamas. Writing in narrative form, she discusses both the possibilities and difficulties of coalition and self-identification on the basis of race, class, and gender identity. Although not widely recognized when first published in 1982, this essay has become central in the United States to women's and gender studies, sociology, and anthropology. Jordan reveals several issues as well as important terms regarding race, class, and gender identity. Privilege Jordan repeatedly grapples with the issue of privilege in both her poems and essays, emphasizing the term when discussing issues of race, class, and gender identity. She refuses to privilege oppressors who are similar to or more like certain people than other oppressors might be. She says that there should be no thought of privilege because all oppression and oppressors should be viewed at an equal standpoint. Concepts of race, class, and gender "[In 'Report from the Bahamas'] Jordan describes the challenges of translating languages of gender, sexuality, and blackness across diasporic space, through the story of a brief vacation in the Bahamas."[21] Vacationing in the Bahamas, Jordan finds that the shared oppression under race, class, and/or gender is not a sufficient basis for solidarity. She notes: "These factors of race and class and gender absolutely collapse.. .whenever you try to use them as automatic concepts of connection." They may serve well as indicators of commonly felt conflict, but as elements of connection they seem about as reliable as precipitation probability for the day after the night before the day. As Jordan reflects on her interactions with a series of black Bahamian women, from the hotel maid "Olive" to the old women street sellers hawking trinkets, she writes: I notice the fixed relations between these other Black women and myself. They sell and I buy or I don't. They risk not eating. I risk going broke on my first vacation afternoon. We are not particularly women anymore; we are parties to a transaction designed to set us against each other. (41) Interspersing reflections of her trip with examples her role as a teacher advising students, Jordan details how her own expectations are constantly surprised. For instance, she recounts how an Irish woman graduate student with a Bobby Sands bumper sticker on her car provided much needed assistance to a South African student who was suffering from domestic violence. Such compassion was at odds with Jordan's experience in her neighborhood of being terrorized by ethnic Irish teenagers hurling racial epithets. Jordan's concluding lines emphasize the imperative to forge connection actively rather than assuming it on the basis of shared histories: I am saying that the ultimate connection cannot be the enemy. The ultimate connection must be the need that we find between us ... I must make the connection real between me and these strangers everywhere before those other clouds unify this ragged bunch of us, too late.[22] Common identity vs. individual identity Jordan explores that, as human beings, we possess two very contrasting identities. The first identity is the common identity, which is the one that has been imposed on us[22] by a long history of societal standards, controlling images, pressure, a variety of stereotypes, and stratification. The second is the individual identity that we have chosen[22] once we are given the chance and feel are ready to expose our true selves. Death and legacy Jordan died of breast cancer at her home in Berkeley, California, on June 14, 2002, aged 65.[1] Shortly before her death, she completed Some of Us Did Not Die, her seventh collection of political essays (and 27th book). It was published posthumously. In it she describes how her early marriage to a white student while at Barnard College immersed her in the racial turmoil of America in the 1950s, and set her on the path of social activism.[23] In 2004, the June Jordan School for Equity (formerly known as the Small School for Equity) in San Francisco was named after her by its first ninth grade class. They selected her through a democratic process of research, debate, and voting.[24] A conference room was named for her in the University of California, Berkeley's Eshleman Hall, which is used by the Associated Students of the University of California.[citation needed] In June 2019, Jordan was one of the inaugural fifty American "pioneers, trailblazers, and heroes" inducted on the National LGBTQ Wall of Honor within the Stonewall National Monument (SNM) in New York City’s Stonewall Inn.[25][26] The SNM is the first U.S. national monument dedicated to LGBTQ rights and history,[27] and the wall’s unveiling was timed to take place during the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots.[28] Honors and awards Jordan received numerous honors and awards, including a 1969–70 Rockefeller grant for creative writing, a Yaddo Fellowship in 1979, a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship in 1982, and the Achievement Award for International Reporting from the National Association of Black Journalists in 1984. She also won the Lila Wallace Reader's Digest Writers Award from 1995 to 1998, as well as the Ground Breakers-Dream Makers Award from The Woman's Foundation in 1994. She was included in Who's Who in America from 1984 until her death. She received the Chancellor's Distinguished Lectureship from UC Berkeley and the PEN Center USA West Freedom to Write Award (1991).[29] In 2005, Directed by Desire: Collected Poems, a posthumous collection of her work, had to compete (and won) in the category "Lesbian Poetry" at the Lambda Literary Awards, even though Jordan identified as bisexual. However, BiNet USA led the bisexual community in a multi-year campaign eventually resulting in the addition of a Bisexual category, starting with the 2006 Awards. Reception Author Toni Morrison commented: In political journalism that cuts like razors in essays that blast the darkness of confusion with relentless light; in poetry that looks as closely into lilac buds as into death's mouth ... [Jordan] has comforted, explained, described, wrestled with, taught and made us laugh out loud before we wept ... I am talking about a span of forty years of tireless activism coupled with and fueled by flawless art.[30] Poet Adrienne Rich noted: Whatever her theme or mode, June Jordan continually delineates the conditions of survival—of the body, and mind, and the heart.[30] Alice Walker stated: Jordan makes us think of Akhmatova, of Neruda. She is among the bravest of us, the most outraged. She feels for all of us. She is the universal poet.[30] Thulani Davis wrote: In a borough that has landmarks for the writers Thomas Wolfe, W. H. Auden, and Henry Miller, to name just three, there ought to be a street in Bed-Stuy called June Jordan Place, and maybe a plaque reading, 'A Poet and Soldier for Humanity Was Born Here.'[31] Bibliography Who Look at Me, Crowell, 1969, OCLC 22828 Soulscript (editor), Doubleday, 1970, OCLC 492067711 The Voice of the Children, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1970 (co-editor), OCLC 109494 Some Changes, Dutton, 1971, OCLC 133482 His Own Where. Feminist Press. 2010. ISBN 978-1-55861-658-5. Dry Victories, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1972, ISBN 978-0-03-086023-2 Fannie Lou Hamer, Crowell, 1972, ISBN 978-0-690-28893-3 New Days: Poems of Exile and Return, Emerson Hall, 1974, ISBN 978-0-87829-055-0 New Life, Crowell, 1975, ISBN 978-0-690-00211-9 Things That I Do in the Dark: Selected Poems, 1954–1977, Random House, 1977, ISBN 978-0-394-40937-5 Passion, Beacon Press, 1980, ISBN 978-0-8070-3218-3 Kimako's Story, Houghton Mifflin, 1981, ISBN 978-0-395-31604-7 Civil Wars, Beacon Press, 1981, ISBN 978-0-8070-3232-9; Civil Wars. Simon and Schuster. 1995. ISBN 978-0-684-81404-9. Living Room: New Poems, Thunder's Mouth Press, 1985, ISBN 978-0-938410-26-3 On Call: Political Essays, South End Press, 1985, ISBN 978-0-89608-268-7 Lyrical Campaigns: Selected Poems, Virago, 1989, ISBN 978-1-85381-042-8 Moving Towards Home, Virago, 1989, ISBN 978-1-85381-043-5 Naming Our Destiny, Thunder's Mouth Press, 1989, ISBN 978-0-938410-84-3 Technical Difficulties: African-American Notes on the State of the Union, Pantheon Books, 1992, ISBN 978-0-679-40625-9 Technical Difficulties: New Political Essays Haruko: Love Poems, High Risk Books, 1994, ISBN 978-1-85242-323-0 I Was Looking at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky, Scribner, 1995 June Jordan's Poetry for the People: A Revolutionary Blueprint. Taylor & Francis. 1995. ISBN 978-0-415-91168-9. Kissing God Goodbye, Anchor Books, 1997, ISBN 978-0-385-49032-0 Affirmative Acts: Political Essays, Anchor Books, 1998, ISBN 9780385492256 Soldier: A Poet's Childhood. Basic Civitas Books. 2001. ISBN 978-0-465-03682-0. June Jordan. Some of Us Did Not Die. Basic Civitas Books. 2003. ISBN 978-0-465-03693-6. Soulscript: A Collection of Classic African American Poetry. Random House Digital, Inc. 2004. ISBN 978-0-7679-1846-6. (editor, reprint) Directed by Desire: The Complete Poems of June Jordan (Copper Canyon Press, 2005) (edited by Jan Heller Levi and Sara Miles), ISBN 978-1-55659-228-7 ' Jordan, June (1939-2002)   In both her poetry and her essays, June Jordan called for the rejection of stereotypical views of bisexuality, and she associated sexual independence with political commitment. Born on July 9, 1936, in Harlem to Jamaican immigrants, June Jordan grew up in Brooklyn's Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood. Her childhood in one of the largest black urban areas in the country, coupled with her three high school years at a predominantly white preparatory school, gave Jordan an early understanding of racial conflicts. Sponsor Message. She attended Barnard College, where she met and married Michael Meyer, a white Columbia University student who shared her political beliefs. Divorced after eleven years, Jordan continued studying architectural design and working as a free-lance political journalist to support herself and her son. Her broad-based inclusive politics were significantly influenced by her work in 1964 with visionary architect Buckminster Fuller, her mother's suicide in 1966, her meetings with Fannie Lou Hamer in 1969, and her travels to Nicaragua in the 1980s. She began her teaching career in 1967 at the City College of New York and also taught at Connecticut College, Sarah Lawrence, and Yale; in 1989, she became a professor of African-American studies at University of California, Berkeley, and began writing a political column for The Progressive magazine. She has received a number of awards and fellowships, including a Rockefeller Grant, the Prix de Rome in Environmental Design, a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship, and a National Association of Black Journalists Award. Although primarily known for her poetry, Jordan wrote essays, plays, novels, and musicals. The title of her 1989 collection of new and previously published poems, Naming Our Destiny, succinctly describes her ethical vision, as well as a central theme in her work: the importance of individual and collective self-determination. This dual emphasis on personal and communal autonomy, coupled with the belief that her own self-determination entails recognizing and affirming the interconnections between herself and apparently dissimilar peoples, gives Jordan's work an aggressive optimism and a diversity that grow increasingly complex in her later writings. Throughout her work, she explored multiple personal, national, and international issues, including her relationships with female and male lovers, homophobia, Black English, racial violence in Atlanta, South African apartheid, and the Palestinian crisis. Given the opposition bisexuals have received from both heterosexual and lesbian and gay communities, Jordan's willingness to identify herself openly as bisexual established an extremely important precedent. Her most radical statement can be found in "A New Politics of Sexuality" (in Technical Difficulties, 1993), where she calls for a "new, bisexual politics of sexuality." In addition to rejecting the stereotypical views of bisexuals, she associates sexual independence with political commitment and maintains that homophobia and heterosexism do not represent "special interest" concerns or secondary forms of oppression less important than racism or sexism. Indeed, she suggests that sexual oppression is perhaps the most deeply seated form of human conflict. Jordan enacted her bisexual politics in "A Short Note to My Very Critical Friends and Well-Beloved Comrades," "Meta-Rhetoric," "Poem for Buddy," and other poems in Naming Our Destiny, where she rejected restrictive labels and exclusionary political positions based on sexuality, color, class, or nationality. On June 14, 2002, June Jordan died of breast cancer. June Jordan, who came of age as a poet when the voices of black female writers were just beginning to be heard, died on June 14 at her home in Berkeley, Calif. She was 65. The cause was breast cancer, which she fought for a decade, said Adrienne Torff, a friend. Like the careers of Audre Lord and Alice Walker, Ms. Jordan's was forged by the black arts movement of the 60's and 70's. Her poetry was imbued with advocacy for the poor, for women and the disenfranchised. In an interview yesterday, Ms. Walker, a close friend, called the small, elegant but tough Ms. Jordan, ''unwillingly nonviolent.'' In ''Poem About Police Violence,'' she wrote about the so-called accidental death of a black man in police custody: ''Tell me something/ what you think would happen if/ everytime they kill a black boy/ then we kill a cop/ everytime they kill a black man/ then we kill a cop/ you think the accident rate would lower/ subsequently?'' ADVERTISEMENT Continue reading the main story Still, Ms. Jordan could be a poet of great delicacy, as in ''On a New Year's Eve,'' in which she describes watching a lover sleep: ''and/ as I watch your arm/ your/ brown arm/ just/ before it moves/ I know/ all things are dear/ that disappear/ all things are dear/ that disappear.'' Dig deeper into the moment. Special offer: Subscribe for $1 a week. She was the author or editor of 28 books, essays and novels for children and the libretto for the 1995 opera by John Adams ''I Was Looking at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky.'' She was also a teacher. At the University of California, Berkeley, where she was a professor of African-American Studies, she founded Poetry for the People, which trains undergraduates to take poetry to community groups as a form of political empowerment. Ms. Jordan was born in Harlem, the daughter of Jamaican immigrants, Granville Ivanhoe Jordan, a postal clerk, and Mildred, a nurse. Ms. Jordan's mother was deeply depressed and eventually committed suicide. Her father had wanted a boy and referred to her as ''he.'' In ''Soldier: A Poet's Childhood'' (Basic Civitas Books, 1999) she described being brutally beaten by him: ''Like a growling beast, the roll-away mahogany doors rumble open, and the light snaps on and a fist smashes into the side of my head and I am screaming awake: 'Daddy! What did I do?!' '' Yet her father helped forge her identity as a writer, she said, giving her books by Paul Lawrence Dunbar and forcing her to memorize Shakespeare. ADVERTISEMENT Continue reading the main story In a radio interview two years ago, Ms. Jordan appeared to have come to terms with her father. She said: ''He didn't know what to do to try to provide against the failure of his only child in this new land. I think that probably contributed to the violence of his frustration. But that he loved me and thought me capable of anything and everything there was never any doubt.'' After the family moved to Brooklyn, Ms. Jordan became the only black student at Midwood High School. Later, she won a scholarship to the Northfield School for Girls in Massachusetts, now the coeducational Northfield-Mount Hermon School. After Northfield she attended Barnard College in New York City where she met Michael Meyer, a white student. The couple married and had a son, Christopher, who lives in Montana. In her book of essays, ''Civil Wars'' (Scribner's, 1996), Ms. Jordan wrote of the difficulties of an interracial marriage. In 1966 the couple divorced. She raised her son largely on her own, struggling to eke out a living as a freelance journalist. She was a researcher and writer for Mobilization for Youth in New York, and in 1967 she got a teaching job at City College. Two years later she published a children's book, ''Who Look at Me?'' To the end, she remained involved in politics. In September Basic Civitas books is scheduled to publish ''Some of Us Did Not Die,'' which contains essays on Israel, Islam and O. J. Simpson. The book's title is from a poem she read last year in a speech at Barnard. She spoke of her battle with breast cancer and about the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, which she said proved the need for a secular democracy that protects the rights of ''male/ female/Jew/ Gentile/ Muslim.'' She read from a poem in which she imagined her dying body and a predatory hawk gliding overhead: ''He makes that dive/ to savage/ me/ and inches/ from the blood flood lusty/ beak/ I roll away/ I speak/ I laugh out loud/ Not yet/ big bird of prey/ not yet.'' Correction: June 20, 2002 An obituary on Tuesday about the poet June Jordan misspelled the middle name of an author whose books she credited with having helped forge her identity as a writer. He was Paul Laurence Dunbar, not Lawrence. Correction: June 27, 2002 An obituary of the poet June Jordan on June 18 misspelled the surname of a poet whose career, like Ms. Jordan's, was forged by the black arts movement of the 60's and 70's. She was Audre Lorde, not Lord. “I still do not recognize a necessary conflict between the sonnet and the bow and arrow,” wrote June Jordan in 1986, “I do not accept that immersion into our collective quest for things beautiful will cripple our own ability to honor the right of all human beings to survive.” Through a dazzling range of poems, essays, articles, lectures, speeches, and reviews, June Jordan stands at the interstice of beauty and politics. Her work demonstrates a rare and unceasing commitment to the realization of social justice, political equality, and to the unseen possibilities of true human coalitions across race, sex, and class. Currently a professor of African American studies at The University of California at Berkeley and a regular columnist for The Progressive, Jordan is the award-winning author of 21 books, including 1992’s collection of essays Technical Difficulties (Vintage) and the recently published book of poems Haruko Love Poems (Serpent’s Tail/High Risk). Poetry for the People, a book project with her students, will be published by Routledge this fall. Always urgent, inspiring, and demanding, Jordan’s work has left its indelible mark everywhere from Essence to The Norton Anthology of Poetry, and from theater stages to the floors of the United Nations and the United States Congress. But sitting in her light-filled living room in Berkeley, Jordan was most eager to discuss her libretto for I Was Looking at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky (Scribner’s), an experimental contemporary opera created in collaboration with composer John Adams and director Peter Sellars. Featuring sets painted by California graffiti artists and music by a jazz, funk, and rock fusion ensemble, the story in songs of this “earthquake-romance” centers on the young lives of men and women in Los Angeles struggling to find and articulate love in the midst of moral and physical devastation, tragedy, and upheaval. Like all of her work, the opera strives to bear witness to the human ability to survive nightmares of injustice and embrace visions of a more hopeful future.   Josh Kun Why did you choose to set the opera in Los Angeles? June Jordan It’s the most heterogeneous city in the United States and demographically probably represents the forecast for the country. That’s why. Folks will work it out in the context of that extreme diversity, or we won’t. JK Your opera dealt with young people within a context that is fairly uncharacteristic these days, in that it was hopeful. It was not drenched in cynicism or nihilism—or any of the other phrases that get hammered down our throats in both the academic and popular presses. Was that a conscious move? JJ Absolutely. That’s one of the reasons I was excited to take this on, because I saw it as an opportunity to present Americans under 25 years old through a completely different prism, one which is realistically hopeful. JK As opposed to? JJ Well, when people use the word hopeful often the next word behind that is idiotic. JK Or utopian. JJ Or utopian, naive, mistaken. This opera is realistic and hopeful. Yeah, both. (pause) My take is based on my actual experience at UC Berkeley, so you can’t argue with me about this. I know that there are all these different components embodied by all of us, and I also know the tremendous positive possibilities of people working together. I’ve spoken with reporters and so on who patronize me, and I think: you can go ahead and patronize all you want, you don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s in my face, my life, my ears—every day. I’ve been teaching here for five years. And my course, Poetry for the People is, if you will, a laboratory and the results are in. It works and it’s people under 25 who are making it work. JK Let me ask you about the process the three of you went through to put the opera together. Did you write the libretto first? JJ The composer, John [Adams], said he needed to have the whole libretto before he could begin, so I just sat down last spring and wrote it in six weeks I mean, that’s all I did. I didn’t do laundry, anything. I put myself into it 100 percent. What I gave to John and Peter [Sellars] is basically what Scribner’s has published now. JK Did writing with the knowledge that it was going to be sung stretch or change the writing process for you? JJ Yeah. I wrote everything with the determination to rhyme as much as possible and to have many rhythmical attributes, loading every line and every stanza to facilitate the transliteration of the work into music. John asked me to tape most of it, which I did, so he could hear how I intended it to sound. We had a couple of conversations trying to figure out a common language for his music and my music, so to speak, so that he could move it from words into his vocabulary. I think we partly succeeded. What is very striking about this piece is that the words are clear throughout. Peter has been fastidious about insisting on enunciation and John took painstaking care in protecting the clarity of the words and verse. JK That’s a lucky situation. JJ Yeah! From what I understand sometimes people don’t speak to each other after all this.   Jordan_01.jpg The cast of I Was Looking at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky, composed by John Adams, libretto by June Jordan and directed by Peter Sellars. Photos © 1995 by Ken Freidman, courtesy of Lincoln Center. JK How did you come up with the characters? Were you trying to stick within types or were you trying to disrupt the representations of those types? JJ I wanted to have a cast representative of the people who live in LA, the people that I teach and work with here at UC Berkeley. I came up with all the characters except for Tiffany, the crime television reporter—she was Peter’s brainstorm. I don’t watch television, so I didn’t know such a thing as crime-as-news existed. I was incredulous when he told me about it. He gave me a list of programs to watch and I was like, “Oh, my God!” And together, Peter and I figured out the Asian-American character, Rick. Actually, I was trying to have everyone in the cast be equal. JK Equal as far as actual lines? JJ Yeah. How many times you get a solo, how many times you get to the center stage. JK The ultimate egalitarian opera? JJ I was really trying very hard. (laughter) It’s an all-star cast. The first character I was hot about was David, the black Baptist preacher, ‘cause I thought that was such obvious, dramatic material. To start the piece with a gospel praise song about a girl who, “like to make me lose my religion!” You think you know who this person is and then you realize you don’t, and that’s true for all the characters. Rick is so eloquent in the courtroom, but then one-to-one the guy can’t talk. I made a deliberate effort to dislodge people from their familiar habits of expectation about other folks they don’t really know. JK One of the things I found so striking about the opera is that it deals with various kinds of earthquakes—both actual and concrete as well as symbolic and metaphorical—I was wondering what it is, for you, about the concept of an earthquake that is so attractive or seductive to work within? In your essay, “Unrecorded Agonies,” you write about the feelings of being unsettled and how this can be a productive space. JJ Actually, I had just arrived in California when the Loma Prieta took place and it was because I saw how most people responded to it that I decided to stay. People were completely humane and the volunteers were fabulous. That had a profound effect upon me. Secondly, my idea of romance is that it’s like an earthquake. From the very beginning I didn’t call it an opera, I called it an “earthquake-romance.” After I finished Act One, I asked Peter if he could do an earthquake onstage and he said, “Absolutely!” So I said, “Here we go!” And then I had huge problems figuring out how to get from Act One to Act Two; I was stumbling around. Peter came up from L.A. and we were brainstorming and on the counter I had a very beautiful edition of the Koran that someone had sent to me. So Peter pulled it out and came to the section towards the end about the earthquake. It says that when an earthquake occurs, every atom of evil will be known and every atom of good will be known. And we thought, “That’s it!” Now I knew what I was going to aim for; a kind of denudation would take place between and among people, that a natural catastrophe would coerce or make possible. I felt very solid about having an earthquake. But I didn’t want it to be a cheap shot or a deus-ex-machina, or to be melodramatic. When Peter found that in the Koran, I thought: This is something that folks have recognized forever, that possibility of coming clean in a disaster. JK I was re-reading the libretto this morning, that lyric, “Sometimes the news ain’t something that you choose.” At that point I thought of the opera as a blues response to the earthquake and the romance of contemporary life—getting the news that you don’t choose and enduring it, transcending it. JJ Yeah, you’re onto something there. I’ve been saying it another way, and I hope folks will notice that although everybody is beleaguered, nobody gives up on the love. So, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a good news piece. But it’s a lot of good news coming out of a lot of bad news. JK I went back and looked at your essay, “Where Is the Love?” where you write about the ability to love yourself as the necessary precursor to loving another, and to forging alliances and coalitions across race, gender, and class through that love. How did you see love operating in this piece? JJ I thought of it as what Leila describes, in the opera: “Everybody wants to be somebody’s straight up number one.” It’s sexual, it’s exclusive, but it doesn’t mean the closing off of the rest of the world. It’s a happy starting place. It’s a huge excitement, not ho-hum. To be very excited about somebody else and have that somebody else be very excited about you, is very wonderful. This is the way to go, and that’s what I mean by love. I don’t mean anything other than that. JK Another earthquake. JJ Yeah. It’s coming out of yourself, really. It’s a deeply appreciative and enthusiastic awareness of somebody else. I mean, in general. It’s what we’re living for and that’s what I’m fighting for. I think of myself as a political person doing whatever I do, but basically what I aim for is to make love a reasonable possibility. ‘Cause if things are really horrifying all the time, I don’t think it is a reasonable possibility. If we’re living in a climate of awesome cruelty exercised by folks who have power over us, it can happen, but I don’t think it becomes reasonable. But it’s that possibility that makes living worthwhile. My commitment to love is not an alternative to my political commitments. It’s the same thing. Except in this piece I was able to concentrate overwhelmingly on the lyrical side of the quest between two people, again and again. JK Yet it’s a quest that’s linked together by an overt political backdrop. All of your characters had to overcome tremendous odds to articulate many different things, political or otherwise, but the one thing that was struggling to become possible was the articulation of love. It was a moving ending. JJ Oh yeah? Good, I’m glad. Peter says he thinks of it as a kind of Shakespearean epilogue. When I finished Act Two, Peter flew up and the next morning we read it together. We just wept. I said, “Do you think it’s too sad?” And Peter said, “No, it’s truthful.” So I’m relieved that when you see it on stage, at least at this point, we’ll see how it evolves, indeed it is very moving and disturbing. If people are devastated, that’s not the intention. We don’t want folks walking out of there feeling wrecked.   Jordan_03.jpg Scene from I Was Looking at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky. JK Even the title, I Was Looking at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky, which is taken from a post-earthquake observation of destruction, can be looked at in two ways. First, there is a hole where my roof should be. On the other hand, by the end of the piece, it becomes a very hopeful statement: I’m looking beyond the ceiling to the bigger sky. That’s a nice inversion. Let me ask you a bit about the character Mike, the white cop, who throughout the piece is associated with a closeted queer sexuality. I wanted to hear more about this character especially in the light of your other work, your writings on bi-sexuality, your recent poetry and essays like, “A New Politics of Sexuality.” So many of your longer romance songs are built into the conventions of heterosexual romance, I was wondering how his character was meant to work in and out of that. JJ What I was looking at there, was to show somebody who is in love with the idea of being a man, which most people are, including women. The whole culture is about John Wayne and Clint Eastwood and so, to me, there is a homoerotic content to it. I was hoping that the character could help people toward a revelation. I think of him as a do-good Clint Eastwood. He’s sincerely a good guy who’s in the Marines, plays basketball… JK Likes being in the locker room more than he is aware… JJ Slapping each other on the butt, yeah, he likes guys. Then you have to look at that and say, “What does that mean?” ‘Cause if you really, really like guys and you really, really, like looking at men then you’re really, really not that crazy about women, probably. Right? I was interested in trying to confront people with that, have them look at that as a possible revelation. JK Especially because he’s a cop. JJ ‘Cause he’s a cop, right. I’m not entirely happy yet with how he’s been realized, but I’m hoping we’ll get someplace where he’s a total guy-guy. The idea that he might be gay would be the farthest thing from his mind. And I want him to be a queer basher. In the rewrite I’ve made him a little more obnoxious and a little more obvious. He is ready to kill queers. I’m talking serious queer basher. So that when you get into Act Two, it’s like, “Whoa! Talk about earthquakes.” Why are you so overwrought about somebody else’s sexuality unless your own is not nailed down? This is the sort of question I’m trying to raise with Mike. It’s a very tricky thing that I’m trying to pull off and maybe it won’t work. I don’t know. I wanted to have him remain sympathetic, so I wanted it to be clear that he really does good things. He’s a committed guy. He’s what I call a community activist and he means well. He believes that everything he does is about being a good man. So he’s not coming from an evil place. And he’s also completely committed to this woman reporter, Tiffany, who rides with him in his car and is so infatuated with him. She’s excited just tagging along. He’s never had anybody like that. I tried to make it clear that there are a lot of people who are out of touch with themselves, most of us I think. He happens to be out of touch with himself in this way. He really does love Tiffany, it’s just a different kind of love each of them is talking about. What I was trying to do was to make each person realistic and complicated. So that if I could persuade you that each of these people was somebody to care about and cherish, then you would be cherishing somebody real and not a fantasy or some hero—somebody like yourself. I developed a legal pad for each character: What does he eat? What does he wear? What kind of shoes? What color socks? What kind of cereal? What kind of music? What kind of girl does he like? Everything I could possibly think of I had a pad for each of them, then I started figuring out, okay, who’s gonna hook up with whom? I didn’t have that clear at all. JK The ultimate matchmaker role! To actually set up your characters. JJ This is my party! But on the political side what was really creepy was that Propositions 184 and 187 were not a twinkle in anybody’s eye when I wrote the libretto. [Proposition 187 denies all state benefits except emergency medical care to undocumented immigrants and Proposition 184 is California’s “three strikes” law.] Now, suddenly, this is everybody’s opera out here because we’re all in it. (pause) I want to say something about the word ‘opera.’ It is a story in song. Everything is sung and nothing is spoken, which is partly the definition of an opera. Another definition, according to Leonard Bernstein, is that there are parallel plots and subplots. There is love. There is tragedy. There is triumph. There is extremity throughout. I thought that this context would automatically confer a dignity and stature upon these young men and women that otherwise might not be available to them.   June Jordan: A Third-Wave Feminist towards a GenderedDemocratic Poetics Abeer Refky Seddeek Associate Professor in English Literature College of Language and Communication (CLC) Arab Academy for Science, Technology and Maritime Transport (AASTMT) 28 Abstract The aim of the present study is threefold: to prove that the American poet June Jordan (1936-2002) is able to combine her social and political views along with her personal life to serve public causes such as political oppression, African-American identity, democracy in the US, and racial inequality; to reflect her feminist advocation of shared human rights and goals for a better society; and to underline her globalized notion of solidarity amongst the world’s marginalized and oppressed in their search for democracy and freedom. The study is based on Nicky Marsh’s Democracy in Contemporary US Women’s Poetry (2007), its debate on third-wave feminism and democratic theory, and the complexities of being public in the US culture. The study proves that Jordan’s poetry examines the discursive assumptions of democracy in the US, contributes to the democratic tradition of the US contemporary culture through the gender theory that considers citizenship and publicness as the main concepts of third-wave feminism, and suggests new democratic cultures by its variety of publics and feminist discourse. The study concludes that Jordan’s feminist discourse focuses on the relation between the private, the political and the public and creates a strong public discourse capable of reforming the inequality deeply implanted in the contaminated formative discourses. As a third-wave feminist, Jordan is concerned with the conflict between a feminist and a democratic identity to form a new poetic language for being public. She adopts the gender theory that investigates the sociopolitical implications of democracy and exhibits the female identity as a societal construct. Jordan’s poetry suggests new models of gendered democratic poetics and shows that social reality shapes the poet’s identity through which reality is deconstructed and offered alternatives. Key words: Feminist discourse, Gendered-democratic poetics, Political activism, The political and the personal, The public and the private, Third-wave feminism 29 جون جوردان : شاعرة الموجة النسویة الثالثة والشاعریة الجنسانیة الدیمقراطیة ملخص ً: إثبات أن الشاعرة الأمریكیة ترتكز الد ارسة الحالیة على ثلاثة محاور أساسیة، ألا وهى أولا جون جوردان (١٩٣٦-٢٠٠٢ (تمتلك القدرة على الدمج بین آ ارئها الاجتماعیة والسیاسیة وحیاتها الخاصة لخدمة قضایا عامة مثل القهر السیاسي، والهویة الأفریقیة الأمریكیة، وثانی : توضیح دعم ً والدیمق ارطیة في الولایات المتحدة الأمریكیة، والتمییز العنصري. ا ًا: إلقاء الضوء جوردان النسوي لحقوق وأهداف الإنسان المشتركة نحو مجتمع أفضل. وثالث على مفهومها عن التضامن العالمي بین المهمشین والمقهورین في العالم أثناء بحثهم عن الدیمق ارطیة والحریة. وتستخدم الد ارسة كتاب الكاتبة النسویة نیكي مارش "الدیمق ارطیة في شعر الشاع ارت الأمریكیات المعاص ارت" (٢٠٠٧ ،(وما یشمله من تعریف بالموجة الثالثة النسویة والنظریة الدیمق ارطیة وصعوبات التحول إلى الخطاب العام في الثقافة الأمریكیة. وتثبت الد ارسة قیام جوردان بتحلیل الافت ارضات الخطابیة حول الدیمق ارطیة بالولایات المتحدة ٕ سهامها في التقالید الدیمق ارطیة للثقافة المعاصرة للولایات المتحدة من خلال الأمریكیة، وا نظریة النوع التي تعتبر المواطنة والعمومیة بمثابة المفهومین الرئیسیین في الموجة الثالثة النسویة، وطرحها لثقافات دیمق ارطیة جدیدة من خلال التنوع في الآ ارء العامة والخطاب النسوي. وتخلص الد ارسة إلى أن الخطاب النسوي لجوردان یركز على العلاقة بین الخاص ا یستطیع إصلاح اللامس ً ا قوی ً ا عام والسیاسي والعام ویطور خطاب اواة المترسخة في وسائل ً الخطاب الشكلیة الملوثة. ولكونها شاعرة تندرج تحت مظلة الموجة الثالثة النسویة ، تهتم جوردان بالص ارع بین الم أرة والهویة الدیمق ارطیة لصیاغة لغة شعریة جدیدة لمعالجة القضایا العامة. وتتبنى جوردان نظریة النوع التي تبحث في مضامین الدیمق ارطیة الاجتماعیة والسیاسیة وتوضح الهویة النسویة ككیان مجتمعي. ًا جدیدة للشاعریة الدیمق ارطیة ویبین كیفیة تشكیل الواقع كما یقدم شعر جوردان أی ًضا نماذج الاجتماعي لهویة الشاعر وتفككه من خلال تلك الهویة لطرح بدائل جدیدة. الكلمات المفتاحیة: الخطاب النسوي – الشاعریة الجنسانیة الدیمق ارطیة – النشاط السیاسي – السیاسي والخاص – العام والخاص – الموجة الثالثة النسویة 30 31 1. Introduction 1.1 Significance of the Study The American poet, June Jordan (1936-2002) was a poet, playwright, essayist, and professor of English at the University of California, Berkeley. Jordan has earned critical praise and popular recognition for her exceptional literary skill and her strong social and political insights. She is one of the widelypublished and highly-acclaimed African-American writers in history. Jordan believes that the role of the poet in society is to earn the trust of his/her audience and to be as honest and as careful as he/she possibly can. This paper attempts to show Jordan’s revolutionary spirit through her social commitment and conscientious activism, which are evident in her poems, and to prove that she is able to combine her social and political works and views with her personal life to serve public causes. In addition, the paper explains that Jordan uses conversational, often vernacular English, to address topics on family, political oppression, African-American identity and racial inequality. Her poetry highlights the African-American personal struggles of everyday life and the political oppression that this race is subjected to in a satirical style, which reflects the poet’s bitterness and rage. Jordan uses Black English and irony to reflect a culture that is violent, anti-black, and anti-feminist. Her images combine different emotions and voices that reflect her wide-ranging aesthetic and human concerns. Jordan’s poetry reflects her feminist advocation of human rights. Through her influential feminist vision, Jordan creates an “antiracist, antihomophobic US feminism” in an aesthetic form that is thematically “comprehensive, humane, and charged with conviction” (“June Jordan” 237). 32 Jordan addresses shared human goals in search for a better society. Her poetry tackles issues related to identity and the recreation of the private/personal. It is associated with politics and foregrounds “a radical, globalized notion of solidarity amongst the world’s marginalized and oppressed” (Phillips). She belongs to the “second renaissance” of African-American arts in the 1960s and 1970s, as she is one of the initiators of the “cultural revival and the rise of the black consciousness in the 1960s” (“June Jordan” 236). Jordan bridges the gap between local and international issues, fights for humanity at large, opposes injustice that is rampant in the whole world, and calls for freedom for all the oppressed minorities. She draws attention to the “emotional, physical and political spaces required for the survival of marginalized peoples everywhere” (Kinloch 163-64). This is manifested in her commitment to the people in the US, Nicaragua, Lebanon, South Africa, Bosnia, Palestine, etc. This commitment enables her to discover the multicultural and multiracial identities as well as feminist politics, third-world activism, and power movements. Consequently, her dedication to freedom and to humanity at large has a provocative and strengthening effect on civil rights movements and the lives of disenfranchised women, children, and men. Jordan also plays a significant role in some of the major African-American political movements calling for the rights of women and for a democratic society. The significance of studying Jordan’s poetry is thus threefold. Firstly, her poetry examines the discursive assumptions or the discursive representation of democracy in the US culture. Secondly, it contributes to the democratic tradition in the US contemporary culture through the gender theory, which argues that citizenship and publicness are the main concepts of third-wave feminism. Thirdly, it suggests new kinds of democratic cultures by means of its variety of publics and its feminist discourse, which renews the possibilities of the democratic contract. 33 1.2 Democracy in the US and Third-Wave Feminism Alternatives This paper analyzes Jordan’s contribution to the democratic tradition in the US contemporary culture through the recent gender theory, which argues about citizenship and publicness as the main concepts of third-wave feminism, in an attempt to reveal that her poetry suggests new kinds of democratic cultures by means of its variety of publics. In 2003, poetry emerged as a new sphere that investigated “national democratic culture” (Marsh 1). Advocating democracy in the US is twofold: it is characterized by unequal mechanisms, on the one hand, and the ideological, “semiotic relations of representation” (4), on the other. In this regard, Jordan attempts to question the US democratic culture by investigating its discursive assumptions or representation in the American culture. Theories of US democracy adopt two perspectives: A laissez-faire liberalism, which advocates that liberty mean noninterference or any compulsion by force, and the republican tradition that reinforces political participation and active civic identity. Theorists of both sides, the Left (Liberals) and the Right (Republicans), strive to rescue the concept of democracy from the control of “institutional individualism” and to enhance the concept of the “democratic public sphere” (March 4). The Leftist attempts are divided between the public “rational deliberative models” and the more “radical agonal models” (4). Such attempts, with reference to critic Seyla Benhabib (1950- ), call for the active participation of collective identities. The Right side or conservative thinkers, with reference to the political theorist, Chantal Mouffe (1943- ), assume that the tension between equality and liberty provides the indefiniteness or indeterminacy that is essential for democracy. They believe that democracy threatens the religious power relations and fosters the concept of 34 multiculturalism. Thus, it can be assumed that the Right (Republicans) adopts a more rational perspective of democracy. All attempts to define modern democracy are as cultural as they are political. Ken Hirschkop argues that modern democracy, advocated by the Leftist perspective, is not only the outcome of the totality of power relations, but also of the intersubjective linguistic patterns that frame it (37). Thus, democracy is a discursive construct despite the existence of the freedom of speech. The intersubjective relations of US exceptionalism, aiming at constituting collective identities, can be traced in the poetry of various American poets, such as Walt Whitman, Robert Frost, George Oppen, William Carlos Williams and Robert Pinksy. Pinksy underlines the anti-poetic nature of US democracy as well as the intersubjectivity of poetry that represents democracy’s fragile social contract – that is the presence or absence of an auditor. Therefore, such terms used in debates on democracy as “individual and collective, public and private, unity and difference, security and contingency” (Marsh 5) are essential in American poetry and specifically in the poetry of Jordan. Gender is an integral part of the discussions about democracy since the dynamics of sexual politics obviously influence US democracy’s nationalist discourses and women’s relationship to the division between the public and the private that plays an exasperating role in the discourses of democracy. The Liberal and the Republican democratic traditions have opposite viewpoints; whereas the Liberals find freedom in the private, the Republicans find it in the public. The second-wave feminism deconstructs the political activities of liberalism in drawing a line between the public and the private. Feminist critics paid attention to the “masculinist content of the republican civic identity” (Marsh 5) or, in other words, the republican public masculine authority. Feminist theorist, Drucilla Cornell (1950- ), indicates that whatever is referred to as feminine is banned from the public 35 sphere, which highlights how the feminine has thus become the guarding angel of discourses of US democracy (218). In this regard, theorists foreground the feminist discourse as significantly fundamental to renew the possibilities of the democratic contract as the issue of democracy can perfectly be examined through feminism. Feminist thinkers mainly focus on the relations between the private, the political, and the public and withdraw from the political and cultural processes of the masculine society to fall in the formalism of the feminist literary community. Third-wave feminism has emerged as a social movement that has overhauled the late twentieth century with its emphasis on democratic cultures. It explores the problematic shift from feminism to democracy, taking into consideration both the rejection of the politics of resentment and the debates about “power” and “victim” feminism (Marsh 6). Most female poets, including Jordan, are concerned with the conflict between a feminist and a democratic identity in an endeavour to form a new poetic language for being public. This underlines how the gender theory examines the socio-political implications behind democracy, which foregrounds feminist identity as a societal construct. Debates in democratic theory and third-wave feminism help investigate the way contemporary women poets negotiate the complexities of being public and how they are engaged with the heterogeneous social forms of poetry in addition to their suggested new possibilities for public culture. Although women poets examine the complex relationship between the private and the public as normative conventions of US democracy, “their writing and its cultural structures” attempt to find out alternatives for them (Marsh 10). Jordan, for example, recasts some of the established narratives for feminist poetics in her search for freedom. 36 Unlike second-wave feminism, third-wave feminist movement is a radical anti-foundationalism that aims at deconstructing all the terms and aims of the second-wave feminism and constructing new meanings essential for the desires and strategies of third-wave feminists. Literature can mold new political possibilities for gender relations by making women of different backgrounds share a sense of communality/community and have the same identity at a time when difference dominates in contemporary feminism. In light of this, the following sections discuss Jordan as a third-wave, anti-foundationalist feminist. Women poets have significantly contributed to modernist and late modernist experimental traditions, which resulted in particularly different and “increasingly expansive” literarypolitical vocabulary insofar as the visual, the aural, the crossmedia and performed poem have become clearer ever since (Marsh 15). Debates also rose on the private, the political and the public and their new meaning as the “literalism of identiterian critiques” has been abandoned and the “constitutive rather than the descriptive role of discourse” has become partially accepted (15). Feminist critics have given more energy to the democratic public subject in the post-feminist future overcoming existing divisions within feminism. It has become evident that one of the basic tasks of thirdwave feminism is to create a strong public discourse capable of finding a remedy and reforming the inequality deeply implanted in the contaminated formative discourses. 1.3 Jordan’s Gendered-Democratic Poetic Space This part sheds light on Jordan’s complementary critiques of the narrative of US democratic culture as well as examines her complex modeling of a literary counter-public. It also highlights Jordan’s attempts to create new forms of a democratic public to demolish the political theorist Wendy Brown’s (1955- ) concept 37 of the “plastic cage” of institutionalized discourse and the impossible goal of freedom, and reflects Jordan’s antifoundationalism in suggesting new models of a gendered democratic space. Jordan’s poetry investigates the “discontinuities between the varied spaces of the public available to the African-American woman poet and gestures towards the possibility of alternatives” (Kinloch and Grebowicz 16). Thus, her poems offer a reinterpretation of the radical antifoundationalist critiques and multiculturalism liberal notions leading to the emergence of third-wave feminism. Contemporary poet Kathleen Fraser (1935- ) mentions that poets of the second-wave feminist movement were attached to various post Second World War poetic movements, which highlights how their discourse served the status quo. She argues that the second-wave feminist movement did not trigger women’s full self-expressions against oppression and marginalization neither in the poetic language they used nor in their artistic style. However, women’s poetry that emerged in the late 1970s and continued throughout the 1980s shows that women poets were able to overcome the “double-bind” of aesthetic and social exclusion (31). This approach gives privilege to the female writing, like Jordan’s, striving to overcome the inequalities legitimized by the separation between the public and the private. There were no longer any distinctions between the public and the private and the vocabulary has become neither static nor identitarian. However, the literary vocabulary used to represent the self was limited to forge an elusive unity of the public and private. Poets also tried to fight against the divided voice and to consolidate the tension between the “personal ‘real’ self” and the “strong poetic ‘fantasy’ self” that the androcentric literary culture insisted upon for the woman writer (Ostriker 80). Jordan’s poetry has no determinate meaning towards the public though she tries to reformulate its boundaries in her attempt 38 to create her own alternative model for a gendered-democratic poetics. Jordan’s model questions the limits of its discursive grounding and does not accept identity or the personal private as a basis for politics and remains completely focused on the social realities. When Jordan refers to the failed promises of US democracy, she turns to the largely disenfranchised global community characterized by inequality and exclusion. She realizes that identity cannot be a sufficient basis for politics. Jordan attempts to achieve an alternative by choosing the words that can show the difference between the common identities through which social and political realities are examined. Such individual identity, which would offer alternative realities in terms of language and thought, is deemed an endeavour to create an ethical language for individuality. It becomes evident in Jordan’s poetry that social reality shapes the poet’s identity and it is through this identity that reality is deconstructed and offered alternatives. Jordan struggles for freedom though she knows that its institutionalized assumptions are inevitable for its realization, taking into consideration identity and power. Such knowledge on Jordan’s part questions the “relations between democracy, gender, and poetics that strives for a literary counter-public whose efficacy derives from its incorporation, rather than its exclusion, of difference, of the economic, of the irrational” (Marsh 35). It is ultimately important to note that this attention to the public sphere’s broad implications matches the theory of feminist democracy, illustrated by Fraser, which suggests one kind of possibility of a democratic model of feminist poetics (35- 36). Thus, it becomes clear that with Jordan a gendered democratic poetic space is taking place. 39 1.4 Fake Democratic Existence and Racial and Sexual Discrimination 1.4.1 Building black identity and cultural nationalism Jordan urges the blacks to establish a common culture by studying Black English and calls on the whites to give up on the idea that the Negro is the construct of racist white America. She encourages silent minorities to get together and “transform a ‘tree’ that has never really been planted or a movement that has not been fully actualized, into a discourse on a rhetoric of rights for disenfranchised people” (Kinloch 73). In her 1964 essay, “Letter to Michael,” Jordan described the 1964 Harlem Riots to her husband and spoke of the police violence that shocked the black community, forcing it to realize that it is a minority. She criticized the police absurdities and violence that made the African-American community acknowledge that their suffering is real and provoked them to end their silence and protest against the immorality of their victimizers. Jordan employs a personal letter to serve a public purpose. She advocates the idea of an individual voice speaking from an African-American perspective rather than speaking on behalf of all African Americans. In her essay, “Nobody Mean More to Me” (1988), Jordan declares that having the black people living in the American society resembles living in a house where every mirror reflects the face of someone who does not belong there and the way he/she walks or talks seems wrong. A reason for this is that the house, or America, shelters people who are hostile to black people. She writes that one becomes mature in a social body that does not tolerate his/her attempt to be different and forces him/her to become “clones of those who are neither our mothers nor our fathers” (160). She adds that the term Black English is not a linguistic threat, but rather it refers to a community of blacks that is marginalized from the social and political spheres 40 of the American society, thus, its culture, language and everything else that signals its difference and intelligence are becoming extinct. In addition, Jordan embodies the ideals and principles of the Black Arts Movement. The black artists who supported the black cultural traditions and artistic innovations in the black community include Poet-critics Amiri Baraka, Ed Bullins, Harold Cruse, Nikki Giovanni, Ron Karenga, Askia Muhammad, Larry Neal, and Sonia Sanchez. The aim of these writers is to create the black aesthetic, namely the existence of a powerful artistic and culture-based political collective that strives to reform current understandings of beauty and privilege, culture and power, and the philosophical principles of a black genius, or imagination, as related to black life, politics, and work through art (Kinloch 76). To affirm such aesthetic, black musicians, dancers, writers, filmmakers, poets, educators, dramatists, and even working-class labourers antagonized all the oppressive conditions they witnessed in America as represented in US imperialism, police violence, and other practices of racism against the blacks, in an attempt to achieve social reform. Jordan attempts to bridge the gap between the old generation and the new generation of black poets by focusing on issues such as racism, classism, and sexism in both the literary and critical mainstream and the civil rights efforts in America. Though the work and principles of the Black Arts Movement have a great impact on Jordan’s art and politics, she does not take any of this movement’s poets as her mentor, but rather develops a voice of her own. Her writings mainly discuss black social and political concerns and she affects “a transition in the way that the black intellectual functions in American culture” (MacPhail 58). She is committed to civil rights, political opportunities, quality education, and better housing conditions for black people. She criticizes the works, philosophical teachings, and the political 41 disposition of Martin Luther King (1929-1968), the Civil Rights Movement, and Malcolm X (1925-1965) and Black Power Movement. During the Civil Rights Era, Jordan rejected King’s ideals or belief in nonviolence, benevolent love, integration, and the “Beloved Community” insofar as the blacks are obliged to stand up to segregation and all acts of violence. Jordan, thus, strongly believes that violence cannot be met with love and the white contempt must not be tolerated. Jordan questions the validity of the political movements and their leaders. She seeks a politically committed international human rights movement that can represent the various experiences of women, men, and children with the aim of internationalizing “the black protest movement in its inclusivity” (Kinloch 85). In Civil Wars: Observations from the Front Lines of America (1981), Jordan expounds the lack of black leadership, King’s assassination, and the black peoples’ uprising in Miami. She suggests that black leadership, even during the 1980s, was “dangerous and tired” because of the increasing violent acts against people of colour. She thus claims, “Where is justice? Where is love? Where is leadership? Who is to be turned to for guidance? Who will stand up and lead the demonstrations, protests, and movements of resistance that once shaped black life in America? Is leadership really “dangerous and tired?” (37). The mid- and late 1960s witnessed a drastic transformation in the African-American Civil Rights Movement. The AfricanAmerican social movements of the 1960s focused on black identity rather than the white victimization of blacks and hence there was a move towards cultural nationalism. Such movements developed from the “peaceful protests” that King called for to the “cultural nationalism” that was supported by the true revolutionary Malcolm X (MacPhail 59). This transformation is reflected in the rhetorical strategies of writers who influenced Jordan, such as Baraka. 42 Jordan embraces the forceful strategies of Malcolm X and admires his magnificent oratorical skills and heated speeches, calling for social action and black cultural awareness. Though at the beginning she was only concerned with opposing the denial of black people’s civil rights, she was later seeking justice for all people treated unjustly whether in America or elsewhere. Hence, her activist and political efforts developed from focusing merely on the civil rights of black people to an international context. Similarly, Malcolm X aspires to expand the civil rights movement into a human rights movement; hence internationalizing “the black freedom struggle” (Kinloch 80). It is thus evident that Jordan’s political experiences of the 1960s and 1970s were remarkably influenced, on the one hand, by the legacies of King, whom she perceives as a hero despite contradicting his nonviolent attitude at the beginning, and Malcolm X, who helped her foresee a new, different America, where equal rights prevail and there is no violence or hate. Their influence can still be traced in her poetry during the 1980s. After both leaders’ assassinations, Jordan began to perceive the struggle for black people’s liberation in light of other international civil rights struggles. Her enthusiastic involvement in political movements makes her believe that the lives of the blacks will be improved if people keep on marching, demonstrating and protesting to call for change. Therefore, Jordan’s poems and political essays became more intense and full of rage, as they discuss power and empowerment, pride, survival as well as social and political advancement for the black community. 1.4.2 Jordan’s political activism and calling for democracy As a political activist, Jordan advocates that no single issue could be separated from the rest. She helps minorities, who may speak different languages, practice different religions and have 43 different histories, to see themselves as connected to all the struggles for freedom in all places around the world. Jordan took part in a core Freedom ride, witnessed and reported on the Harlem Riots of 1964 and strongly insisted that one must resist any kind of injustice. She was involved in the 1960s Black Power Movement and her work as a political activist is indebted to this movement. She is “one of the fiercest and most compassionate voices of the twentieth century” (Pe´rez 326). In Civil Wars, Jordan illustrates the intersection of private and public reality, which she explores through blending personal reflection with the political analysis of such topics as freedom and civil rights to rally people into action. The American poet Walt Whitman (1819-1892), who enabled Jordan to recognize the relation between America’s failed promise of democracy and the alternative possibilities that poetry offers (Marsh 25), has a major influence upon her. She strongly believes that Whitman is the aesthetic voice of all people, the same role she assumes in her poetry. Whitman’s “aesthetic democracy” dedicates the autopoetic dimensions of political life. He believes that “popular attachment to democracy requires an aesthetic component” and attempts to depict the needed “reconfiguration of popular sensibility through a poetic depiction of the people as themselves a sublimely poetic, worldmaking power” (Frank 402). Whitman seeks political regeneration in everyday citizenship poetics and ordinary life democratic potentials. In her attempt to have a US that accepts diversity; multiculturalism; multilingualism; justice; and social, political and sexual freedom, Jordan is considered an apprentice of Whitman. In his poem, “Song of Myself” (1855), Whitman addresses themes that Jordan tackles in her collection of poetry Moving Towards Home (1989). In this poem, Whitman advocates comprehending the self as a spiritual entity that signifies both the individual and 44 the universe. He, therefore, searches for ways to nurture man’s mind and to build a strong relationship between the self and others or the surrounding community. Jordan’s poetry depicts the relationship between politics and representation and seeks to understand how the public sphere she is struggling for is formed. She fully understands that the democratic project requires rethinking of the tensions between identity and difference: [r]ather than simply assuming the coincidence of “poem” and “political action” Jordan interrogates the potentially uneven match between her writing’s insistent re-signification of the frames of representation and the more literal economic and pragmatic influences that controlled the thresholds for public participation. (Marsh 26) Jordan advocates a pluralistic approach to poetry in her essay “For the Sake of a People’s Poetry: Walt Whitman and the Rest of Us” (1980), where she antagonizes censorship and silencing minority voices in American literature. Whitman’s influence and literary techniques are also evident in Jordan’s “Poem About My Rights.” Her writings show a “Whitmanesque wisdom” and as Kinloch argues they are like the melody that rearranges the connection between man and the universe as well as the obligations man has to the world. Jordan thus employs the lessons learned from Whitman to “serve a positive and collective function” (Kinloch 53). Jordan’s political activism and poetic visions are of utmost significance in a time of war resistance and the dream to achieve social justice, particularly after September 11 events and the continuous “War on / of Terror,” where poets were required to take part in enlightening the people and confront all forms of violence prevalent in every aspect of human life. In Some of Us Did Not Die (2002), Jordan illustrates that fighting for equality and against violence never stops. She fought energetically for universal peace as she says, 45 ONCE THROUGH the fires of September 11, it’s not easy to remember or O recognize any power we continue to possess. Understandably we shrivel and retreat into stricken consequences of that catastrophe. But we have choices, and capitulation is only one of them. I am always hoping to do better than to collaborate with whatever or whomever it is that means me no good. For me, it’s a mind game with everything at stake…. Luckily, there are limitless, new ways to engage our tender, and possible responsibilities, obligations that our actual continuing coexistence here, in these United States and here, in our world, require. (8) These lines epitomize Jordan’s activist efforts and political stance in the last thirty-five years of her life. She is totally devoted to creating “new ways to engage people in a discourse of difference that would rebuild a world that embraces all perspectives, including women’s and children’s” (Kinloch 59). She thus introduces readers to the fact that the American life is threatened by social negligence, economic despair, and civil unrest. 2. Jordan’s Gendered-Democratic Poetics and Minority Rights From the mid-1970s, Jordan began to bring international issues to her poetry and to domestic audience. She identifies with the causes of the misrepresented, silenced and marginalized people, since she believes that they share her needs and experiences as an African-American woman living in the US (MacPhail 67). She started to address the issues of discrimination in terms of race and gender in addition to other political issues. Her writings speak for groups or individuals who were intimidated or marginalized to speak their own voice. She antagonized racism in the US, war in Vietnam and colonialism in Africa, which urged people to speak truth to power. Further, in the 1980s and 1990s, 46 themes of discrimination, equality as well as social and economic inequality were still the focal point of her writings. Jordan addresses issues such as religious intolerance, global poverty, minority rights and America’s foreign policy in countries such as Nicaragua and the Persian Gulf. She also discusses the ArabAmerican response to the situation in Palestine. Furthermore, Jordan’s collection of essays Technical Difficulties (1993) discusses the causes of the silenced and the marginalized. In these essays, Jordan uses her voice as an individual voice among many other voices that are fighting to gain power in the public forum. In this regard, Jordan’s political writings are deemed “honest attempts to grab and redirect power” and her political essays in Technical Difficulties are “iconoclastic” as she links domestic to international political issues (MacPhail 67). 2.1 Building Black Identity and Cultural Nationalism Jordan perceives that the past is essential to both the present and the future because having a better future depends upon healing the wounds and correcting the wrong doings of the past and the present. In her poem “Calling on All Silent Minorities,” Jordan adopts some of Baraka’s rhetorical strategies and responds to his poem “SOS” to awake and build the black community: HEY C'MON COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE WE NEED TO HAVE THIS MEETING AT THIS TREE AIN' EVEN BEEN PLANTED YET (Directed by Desire 1-9) 47 Here Jordan attempts to imitate Baraka in creating a community that only exists as a future projection and to give voice to a silent audience by the act of naming it. The audience Jordan addresses is highlighted by the pronoun “We” that involves the speaker who is black and thus one may think that she addresses a black audience. However, the title clearly illustrates that Jordan is neither interested in colour or in race nor in the exclusion of any minority and that she urges all minorities to speak out and indulge in the serious game of making their voices heard to build the community. This is foregrounded in her choice of the preposition “OUT,” not “in” to grab the attention of her listeners to themselves as one coherent entity. Thus, like Baraka, she is committed to the idea of building a community by instilling its virtues in its audience. Many incidents have contributed to Jordan’s realization of her minority status. “Who Look at Me” (1969) gives a series of visual images of African Americans in one long poem where Jordan says: Who would paint a people black or white? * For my own I have held where nothing showed me how where finally I left alone to trace another destination * A white stare splits the air by blindness on the subway in department stores The Elevator (that unswerving ride where man ignores the brother 48 by his side) … * Is that how we look to you a partial nothing clearly real? (Directed by Desire 1-20) The poem depicts the Harlem riots that were provoked by a white policeman’s shooting of a fifteen-year-old black male. This was an area where gunfire could be heard everywhere even among the masses of black people who gathered to eulogize the dead boy. Young people were ready to confront police officers and were determined not to keep silent of the violence committed against them by their own protectors. Events culminated in several rounds of gunfire, throwing grenade, verbal and physical abuse, and various causalities among innocent people. These riots urged Jordan to march in demonstrations and write poems seeking the rights of innocent civilians. The poem seeks to reflect the interdependencies between social integration and visual and literary representation. This is manifested in the opening question: “Who would paint a people black or white?” The poem also tackles the modernist crisis in representation by depicting the “white stare” violence that “splits the air” with its blindness. In the poem, Jordan foregrounds the difference between the creation of image and ordinary representations. For instance, in the excerpt quoted above, Jordan refers to Charles Alston’s painting Manchild, which draws the image of a black figure, adopting the cubist style in painting. Such style of paintings highlights ambiguity in its representation/mimeticism of reality, which is clearly reflected in Jordan’s rhetorical question “is that how we look to you / a partial nothing clearly real.” Another painting, which Jordan refers to in the same poem, is The Slave Market (1866), which she depicts twice. She refers to the painting as a whole before she starts to foreground the intricate patterns of a poor child, who is pulled by the hair from his own mother by a man who looks like 49 a slave trader. The lexical she employs as in “(slavery:) the insolence” (148) suggests rage and contempt. In an essay in The Progressive, Jordan combines the issues of race, gender, and class to discuss the case of Mike Tyson, the American professional boxer. On Tyson’s experience, Jordan writes “Requiem for the Champ” (1992) where she links Tyson to her Brooklyn neighborhood that is barren and devoid of trees and claims that the violent lifestyle and the economic and spiritual poverty of the society surrounding him led him to the violent act of raping a woman. She explains that the issue of Tyson emanates from a larger social “atrocity” (Finn 124). Jordan believes that the Brooklyn community, the US economic system and herself are responsible for what Tyson committed. She elaborates that her culture must recognize the black man for other things than committed violence. She thus highlights, “I am Black. And Mike Tyson is Black. And neither one of us was ever supposed to win at anything more than a fight between the two of us” (Some of Us 86): Do I believe he is guilty of rape? Yes I do. And what would I propose as appropriate punishment? Whatever will force him to fear the justice of exact retribution, … And do I therefore rejoice in the jury’s finding? I do not Well, would I like to see Mike Tyson a free man again? He never was free! (85-86) Thus, it is clear that Jordan blames the community as well as the economic structure for Tyson’s violent attitude as a black man. She seeks the advancement, pride and empowerment of the black community. 50 2.2 Patriarchal Behaviour and Disempowerment of Black Women In 1978, Jordan wrote, “As a black woman, as a black feminist I exist, simultaneously as a part of the powerless and as a part of the majority peoples of the world” (Ransby, “June Jordan…”). As a feminist, she is considered a courageous, rebellious and compassionate poet, who cares for all humanity. On Aug. 9, 1987, Jordan read the poem “Poem for South-African Women” at the United Nations to commemorate the 40,000 women and children, who gathered, 22 years earlier, in the heart of South Africa apartheid capital to defy the “brutal and dehumanizing institution that divided their country” (Walrond 30). The poem praises their courage and sacrifice and indicates the African-American struggle for justice, equality and liberation at a time of political unrest. Jordan does not want to wait for a messiah-like figure to pave the way towards salvation, but rather perceives the change to be within the people’s potential to impose social and political transformation. She says: And who will join this standing up and the ones who stood without sweet company will sing and sing back into the mountains and if necessary even under the sea we are the one we have been waiting for (Directed by Desire 29-35). Jordan here refers to the South African women living under the apartheid, oppressive regime and fully believing that they are the ones who can free themselves rather than wait for their own demise. Those women and children, enduring painful experiences and living under restrictions of all kinds, understand that only the oppressed can free themselves and that they must take part in forging a new road towards their freedom and not to wait for outsiders to help in their liberation. 51 Throughout her life, Jordan was keen on making the black community appreciate the black experience and the black culture, particularly that of black women, which is manifested in her collection, Passion: New Poems, 1977-1980 (1980). “Poem About My Rights” delineates her rage and disappointment at both racial and sexual discrimination. It opens with feelings of anger arising from her perceived “status as a woman alone in the evening”: Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear my head about this poem about why I can’t go out without changing my clothes my shoes my body posture my gender identity my age my status as a woman alone in the evening/ alone on the streets/alone not being the point (Directed by Desire 1-6) In this poem, Jordan does not care about being single. Rather she cares about the fact that many women and particular groups of people or countries have become known as the “Other” in the narratives of national identity. This is deemed a setback for the narrative of survival for people of colour, sense of belonging, and the myth of the American dream. She adds: I am the history of rape I am the history of the rejection of who I am I am the history of the terrorized incarceration of myself I am the history of battery assault and limitless armies against whatever I want to do with my mind (77-82) Jordan’s frustration becomes apparent as she establishes connections between personal aspects of human life and political struggles that humans should defy. She then acknowledges her ability to defend herself if necessary: I am not wrong: Wrong is not my name My name is my own my own my own and I can’t tell you who the hell set things up like this but I can tell you that from now on my resistance my simple and daily and nightly self-determination may very well cost you your life (109-114) 52 Jordan finally resists labels of “wrong” and substitutes political action with her own naming and freedom of choice. Similar to her politically charged poems, in “Poem About My Rights” Jordan entices readers to ponder on the intensity of her argument and to fight against the restrictions patriarchy imposes on the female body. She wants action to be taken otherwise all theorizing about the injustices practiced against disenfranchised people is of no avail. The poem reflects the inability of women “to think in solitude, to be mesmerized by the silence of the night, and to embrace her skin, her identifying qualities, the way she desires to” (Kinloch 69) since she cannot do what she pleases to do with her body without facing the threat of physical rape and systemic violence. In this context, “Poem About My Rights” discusses the violence that hinders peoples’ and countries’ democratic existence and impedes strengthening mutual choices and relationships between them. The poem derives its power from the sociopolitical connections Jordan establishes among womanhood, sexism, rape, politics, history, geography, economics, and identity to criticize abuses of power. On a larger scale, Jordan criticizes the inability of the black male leadership to stand up to its rhetoric and its disempowering of women. She believes that black women are disempowered by race. Jordan believes that war is not merely a conflict between nations. The way she comprehends warfare reflects women’s concept of war as represented by the feminist critic Jean Bethke Elshtain (1941-2013) who claims that women are enthusiastically patriotic and possess a kind of necessary maturity, which is vital to successful combat (xi-xii). Jordan explains in “Rape Is Not a Poem” and “Case in Point” that involvement of US troops in the Gulf War is not because of the newspaper stories of Iraqi soldiers’ rape of Kuwaiti women since she believes that foreign 53 policy can never depend on moral principles and that the American life has become warfare against women who have become fearful of physical abuse and rape. In these two poems, Jordan shows the connection between war and rape. In her essay, “Notes Toward a Model of Resistance,” Jordan emphasizes the notion of resistance and fighting against any form of domination such as sexual assault and acts of violence that stalk women on a daily basis. She writes about herself being raped twice (Some of Us 50-51). She reveals this fact in a 1994 interview with journalist Jill Nelson when she says: I have been raped myself, twice. I happen to think rape as one of the most heinous things that can happen to anyone. But there’s a victimization of people that is systematic….the media do not want to deal with that, they want to ignore the causative context that determines our lives, sometimes for great unhappiness and tragedy. (50) This reflects her commitment towards universal justice as one of the issues she believes Media evade, such as racism, patriarchy, diversity, and sexism: “I had been unable to find within myself the righteous certainty that resistance requires, the righteous certainty that would explode my paralysis and bring me to an ‘over my dead body’ determination to stop his violence stop his violation of everything that I am” (Some of Us 51). Jordan’s “righteous certainty” or “righteous rage” is different from the “masculinist and exclusivist edges of black-nationalist poetics” (172) that deny the female and non-black contributions to the struggle for justice and attribute them to the black male power. She advocates a “nationalist will-to-power” and sympathizes with the voiceless and the powerless in a style that is deemed an “exhortation to the voiceless and a cry of outrage against those who silence voices with their force” (172), particularly women’s voice. 54 In “Rape Is Not a Poem,” Jordan talks about being raped for a first time in 1986 by a white man who, she says, “overpowered the supposed protection of my privacy, he had violated the boundaries of my single self. He had acted as though nothing mattered so much as his certainly brute impulse” (Technical Difficulties 14). Jordan opens the poem with reference to a beautiful garden that had been full of life, colours and sweet sensations before it was destroyed: One day she saw them coming into the garden where the flowers live … they stamped upon and tore apart the garden just because (they said) those flowers? They were asking for it (Directed by Desire 1-12) She refers to “they” to indicate those who destroyed the garden and its flowers as if they have deprived it of its virginal charm. Jordan calls this violation “rape” and she obviously refers to being raped herself: I let him into the house to say hello … “Well, I guess I’ll be heading out, again,” he said. “Okay,” I answered and, “Take care,” I said. “I’m gonna do just that,” he said. “No!” I said: “No! Please don’t. Please” (13-25) The rapist left his victim defenseless and full of hatred towards men. It is this time when Jordan realized that there is no human autonomy and that one’s safety can be jeopardized at any time. However, Jordan uses language to regain her right and power and instead of using the passive voice “I was raped,” she uses the active voice “He raped me” (Some of Us 50) in an attempt to emphasize that language is the right tool to tell the truth about people who are abused and silenced by political regimes. 55 The poem goes on to describe the gender-based persecution and the society that gives men the upper hand and degrades women: And considering your contempt And considering my hatred consequent to that And considering the history that leads us to this dismal place where (your arm raised and my eyes lowered) there is nothing left but the drippings of power (33-41) In the last two lines of the poem, it becomes clear that Jordan antagonizes the society that looks upon rape as something natural or justifiably normal: “Is this what you call / Only natural” (44-45) and that she hates that the female body is chosen for violent domination. In “Case in Point,” Jordan gives a powerful critique of masculine uses of power in the black community. The poem begins with “a friend of mine” who tells the speaker that “there is no silence peculiar / to the female” (Directed by Desire 1, 5-6). The speaker turns to narrate her second rape in 1996 by a “blackman actually / head of the local NAACP” (13-14). The NAACP is the “National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.” It is ironical that this local national leader, who is supposed to protect the rights of coloured people, is the one who violates them. Jordan’s anger is intensified by this act of human degradation, complete violence and violation of a female privacy. Today is 2 weeks after the fact of that man straddling his knees either side of my chest his hairy arm and powerful left hand forcing my arms and my hands over my head flat to the pillow while he rammed what he described as his quote big dick unquote into my mouth 56 and shouted out: “D’ya want to swallow my big dick; well do ya?” He was being rhetorical My silence was peculiar to the female. (15-27) In this poem, the man’s question is “rhetorical” as he assumes that he already knows the answer since he is powerful enough to form an answer without getting his addressee’s consent. This is similar to “From the Talking Back of Miss Valentine Jones: Poem # One” (1976) where powerful male speakers assume that they know what black women would say and hence there becomes no need for any kind of dialogue, be it political, social, or even personal. Jordan, instead of remaining a victim after the two raping incidents, finds a resort in writing and turning a personal issue into a public one. She compares between rape and state violence, and consequently, “posits a relationship of violence between the powerful – the state – and the powerless – women, children, and people of colour” (Kinloch 138). In the long dramatic monologue “Miss Valentine Jones,” Jordan protests against the assumption that black women have no voice and are completely ignored by black men, even the Black Arts Movement poets. Jordan highlights the liberations needed for the blacks in this poem. The title plays a major role in dedicating the rhetorical context of this poem, which is a part of a longer poem and is the first in a series of similar monologues. The title indicates the speaker, Valentine, informing the reader that it is an individual voice that speaks out for many other voices. Jordan makes Valentine criticize the naming strategies of “bodacious Blackm[e]n”: and the very next bodacious Blackman call me queen because my life ain’ shit because (in any case) he ain’ been here to share it with me (dish for dish and do for do and 57 dream for dream) I’m gone scream him out my house because what I wanted was to braid my hair/bathe and bedeck my self so fully because what I wanted was your love not pity (Directed by Desire 71-85) According to critic Scott MacPhail, “The male ‘you’ of the poem presumes that no ‘real Miss Black America’ has stood up, and that his words are the ones that will help her stand up” (65). Valentine names all the domestic routines that the bodacious black man neither sees nor valorizes in response to the male emptying up then filling in the notion of black womanhood. He knows nothing about the real duties carried out by other black women and consequently, they are not real. In addition to this lack of love from the “bodacious Blackman” for the working black woman, Jordan’s poem points to the larger, more systemic failure by leaders of the Black movements to deconstruct images of blackness portrayed in popular white culture. For Jordan, a true black aesthetic could never really be actualized since some of the 1960s and 1970s political leaders did not fully take into consideration the voices and rights of black women and children. In another poem, “Getting Down to Get Over: Dedicated to my mother” (1972), Jordan pinpoints the difficulties of feminizing the speaking voice. She seeks to voice and foster the various meanings attributed to black femininity: “momma Black / Momma / / Black Woman / Black / Female Head of Household / Black Matriarchal Matriarchy / Black Statistical / Lowlife Lowlevel Lowdown” (Directed by Desire 36-43). The poem focuses on the unstable signifying ground of black femininity and makes it clear in its linguistic assumptions. Having a list of single words makes the structures of linguistic meaning and their imagined voicing clear: “buck / jive / cold / strut / bop / split / tight / loose / close / hot / / hot / hot (139-150). 58 The listing of verbs in this part clearly reflects a sexualized, racialized, and gendered movement. The contrast between synonyms such as (“jive,” “strut,” and “bop”) and contrasts (“tight” and “loose,” “hot and “cold”) adds to the poem’s intensity. In addition to showing the tensions between speech and writing as well as gender and race, the poem shows those tensions between selection/metaphor and combination/metonymy. Similar to Who Look at Me, the poem shows that the existing models of oral, literary, and visual representation are limited and seeks to expand its scope via other alternatives. Hence, Jordan attempts to have more expansive alternatives as opposed to politicized mimeticism. Thus, it becomes obvious that through her poems about black female rights, Jordan offers a model of resistance and survival from all the incidents that bring fear and powerlessness into a female life. She does not want “brute domination” (Kinloch and Grebowicz 59) to become the norm according to which females live and understand American citizenship. She wants females to fight back. 2.3 Repercussions of Imperial Racism Jordan sympathizes with all the marginalized in the world and this is exemplified in supporting the Iraqis and the Palestinians in the early 1980s and condemning the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982. In addition, towards the end of the Persian Gulf War, she wrote her long poem, “The Bombing of Baghdad,” where she strikes a comparison between bombing in that war and the US persecution of American Indians or Native Americans’ genocide. Jordan writes her war resistance poetry as a community-building action, which foregrounds differences. Her poems are thus motivated by specific events, and are performed for and directed towards a particular audience. 59 In “The Bombing of Baghdad,” Jordan antagonizes war makers and imperial racism that give justifications for the Gulf War. It is based on the chant form that has become significant in the late twentieth century poetry as well as African-American cultural forms. This chant form helps Jordan clearly depict the relentless bombing campaign that lasted for 42 days and the human crisis resulting from the destruction. The poem alternates as “elegy, protest, and alternative wire service” (Metres 174) and moves the reader directly from the title of the poem to the heart of battle: began and did not terminate for 42 days and 42 nights relentless minute after minute more than 110,000 times we bombed Iraq we bombed Baghdad we bombed Basra/we bombed military installations we bombed the National Museum we bombed schools we bombed air raid shelters we bombed water we bombed electricity we bombed hospitals we bombed streets we bombed highways we bombed everything that moved/we bombed Baghdad a city of 5.5 million human beings (Directed by Desire 1-14) Jordan’s delineation of the bombed targets and the suffering civilians who endured the repercussions of war becomes like a news story that is obviously ugly, truthful and uncensored. Her word selection serves a dual purpose by referring to her national community as well as the war devastated communities, which share the same destruction and the same destiny either by having the same passports, enduring the same taxes, or even watching the CNN. Jordan’s usage of the pronoun “we” denies that there is any difference between the protesters and the patriots and provokes both of them to rebel. In terms of its communitybuilding function, “the poem acts as an admonishment to the community – whether imagined nationally or ideologically” (Metres 175). 60 The poem represents two other narratives along with the bombing narrative: a personal lyric relating physical love and a historical narrative narrating the death of Crazy Horse, the 19th c. Native American war leader, and Custer’s benefits. The personal lyric describes the priority and persistence of physical love: “The bombing of Baghdad / did not obliterate the distance or the time / between my body and the breath / of my beloved” (36-39) and the fact that the American citizens were not exposed to physical war. On the other hand, the historical narrative, pervading sections III to VI, illustrates the connection between the “guts and gore of manifest white destiny” (61) of Custer and US expansion and Iraq’s bombing and expounds obvious, even treacherous, opposition. Jordan compares Crazy Horse’s singing to “the moaning of the Arab World” (43) and declares defiantly that “I am cheering for the arrows / and the braves” (68-69) whose weapons are obsolete and who are doomed. The poem explains the genocidal inequality between the US and its enemies, whether they are Native Americans or Iraqis, that manifests itself after ruin and destruction have become a status quo. In her poetry collection Living Room: New Poems 1980- 1984 (1985), Jordan conceives her inevitable role as a poet in a time where media dominates. It includes politically motivated poems that indicate her memorializing impulses. Jordan’s Living Room poems give a vivid image of the victimization of the Palestinians and the Lebanese during the Israeli invasion of Beirut in 1982. This is because, Jordan, as an Afro-American woman who witnessed the subordination of American blacks and as a geographically and culturally distant observer of the extermination of innocent civilians by American-made weapons, could shape readers’ right perception of the genocide. Through the poems on Sabra and Shatila, Jordan aspires to destabilize the oppressive regimes and through her verbal images, she wishes to “inform the totality of living” (Ali 592). The images of the two 61 camps of Sabra and Shatila represent Lebanon before and after their invasion in 1982. Before 1982, they were “the zone of hardihood, a sort of liminal space of hopeful waiting and readiness to return to the homeland,” but after their devastation, they became “the zone of the trace of last movements, a sort of eschatological and conclusive space” (611). Anxiety pervades in the tone of “The Cedar Trees of Lebanon” (“CTL”), “Apologies to All the People in Lebanon” (“AAPL”), and “Moving towards Home” (“MTH”) as a result of sympathizing with the catastrophic event of Sabra and Shatila genocide that daily newspapers headlines shock readers with. Jordan does not want the subjects of her poems to be long forgotten, which is exactly the case with the media that begin by describing the genocide in Sabra and Shatila as “abominable,” before undermining its horrific outcome (Ali 591). Her poems, in their representation of the genocide of Sabra and Shatila, would rather eternalize the massacre’s horrible consequences on the victimized Palestinians. Jordan’s Sabra and Shatila poems are concerned spatially with the spaces that have become congested with corpses, debris, and shattered objects. They structurally represent the heinous details of torture and destruction or what she calls the “phosphorus events” (“CTL”17-18). In “AAPL,” Jordan refers to the victims of US policy. Her language is the language of peace, as manifested in the offering of the hand, and the language of “negotiation.” Poet-activists Sara Miles and Kathy Engel organized an event in 1982 named after Jordan’s poem “MTH” benefiting UNICEF’s humanitarian efforts in Lebanon and supporting the worldwide efforts of mobilization. The event brought together several Arab, American and Israeli poets who talked about the harsh conditions and the suffering of the people in Lebanon as 62 well as the massacre of Palestinians in Sabra and Shatila. In this event, Jordan read “MTH” where she announced: I was born a Black woman and now I am become a Palestinian against the relentless laughter of evil there is less and less living room and where are my loved ones? It is time to make our way home. (Directed by Desire 72-78) Jordan insists on the safe return “home” of displaced people without grief or wailing and talks about the value of human lives. She believes that the only way they can return home or symbolically return to the promise of freedom, liberty and love is by talking about home in public. By talking about home, Jordan emphasizes the sense of belonging to a world of justice and imagines a “Beloved Community” where people can enjoy safety, comfort and free will and where violence no longer exists. “MTH” illustrates three psychic states: in the first 52 lines, the persona offers an all-encompassing visual net including various acts of atrocities. In this state, the overwhelmed poetic mind strives to assimilate the shock and indignation to bear such barbarities. Jordan says: …the nightlong screams that reached the observation posts where soldiers lounged about …the nurse again and again raped before they murdered her on the hospital floor (Directed by Desire 4-6, 21-22). In the second state (53-71), Jordan emphasizes the “need to speak about living room” (54). In the last state (72-78), Jordan represents the reconceived self that sensed the suffering endured by the Sabra and Shatila victims. Jordan’s deep sadness towards the massacre of Sabra and Shatila is powerfully reflected in the syntactic parallelism she 63 employs in “MTH.” This is clearly seen in the phrase “nor do I wish to speak,” which comes before every example of a brutal act to indicate genocidal barbarism. In the second state, she uses the phrase “I need to speak,” merely to portray simple aspects of a moral world as in “the land is not bullied and beaten into / a tombstone” and “children will grow without horror” (55-56, 60). Consequently, the persona’s feelings reach the climax as the reader approaches the finale of the poem: the wish of an ardent moral soul to “make our [all of suffering humanity] way home” (78). By this, Jordan attempts to represent the actual truth through the speaker’s righteous anger towards the Israeli practices and brutalities that are unopposed by its allies. In “MTH,” the poetic voice speaks in the plural to illuminate the scope of “proliferation of absences” (Ali 614) unlike the paradigmatic female victim who speaks in the singular: “who will bring me my loved one?” When the poetic persona thoughtfully looks at the spacious, peaceful living room, she assumes, “where I can sit without grief without wailing aloud / for my loved ones,” and “where the men / of my family between ages of six and sixty-five / are not / marched into a roundup that leads to the grave”; and at the poem’s closure, she asks “and where are my loved ones?” (66-67, 61-64, 77). However, human absences are just one aspect of the oppressive series of absences the paradigmatic victim encounters such as her home or her living room, her homeland, and her political entity. In “MTH,” the name “Abu Fadi” assumes semantic significance since “Abu” means “father,” indicating a unique Arabic naming system known as “Kunyah,” then the name of his firstborn boy is added so that it can be used instead of his actual name. Jordan may have used the etymology of the name to relate it to moral desire. Fadi is a name that can be both a Muslim and a Christian name, meaning a “redeemer,” one of Christ’s attributes. Hence, the name Fadi also signifies a revered symbol to all 64 humanity, namely Christ. This can be understood by the lines: “those [the people who refuse to be purified] are the ones from whom we must redeem / the words of our beginning” (51-52). These lines are a biblical allusion to the opening of the Gospel of John: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (1:1). The “Word,” referring to Christ, indicates that the moral world and its truths have been communicated to mankind. Jordan’s combination of “photography, sound/radio, journalistic text, and dissonant discourse in a dynamic interplay” confers upon her poems a “filmlike audiovisual capacity” that serves as a perfect representation of the complex socio-political reality of her time (Ali 615). For instance, in “MTH,” Jordan’s images are successively ordered in a “chain of [steadfast] kinetic sequential climatic scenes” that resembles the making of a film of violence (615). This is clearly reflected in the following lines: the father whose sons were shot through the head while they slit his own throat before the eyes of his wife (10-14) The same sequence of images is also reflected in the lines: “the pounding on the / doors and / the breaking of windows and the hauling of families into / the world of the dead” (27-30) and “the bulldozer and the / red dirt / not quite covering all the arms and legs” (31-33). Thus, it becomes clear that Jordan takes the kinetics of images technique from films so as to give the reader a spectatorial experience. Thus, it becomes clearer that through her war-resistance poetry, Jordan seeks to build the “Beloved Community” where there are no differences between the people of the world. She antagonizes war makers and imperial racism that justify the brutal acts and atrocities endured by innocent civilians everywhere. Jordan unifies all humanity in one public identity 65 that suffers the repercussions of war, genocide, etc. and provokes the oppressed to rebel. 2.4 Political Rights and Fake Democratic Existence Jordan strongly believes that poetry plays a significant role in building the self, the community and a democratic state where there is mutual trust between citizens of the same country. The US politics has shaped Jordan’s idea of leadership as she is totally convinced that the failed attempts of mobilization in underserved communities are directly linked to the American Republicans’ and Conservatives’ political agenda, particularly under the leadership of President Ronald Reagan. Jordan is shocked at Reagan’s controversial stance with regard to the people victimized by either greed, oppression, or imperialism in light of the legacy he creates for himself – that is called, the “Reagan Revolution.” Jordan wants the leader to stop imposing new taxes for the sake of people’s prosperity and she is amazed at leaders, pretending to call for a world where there is no war, violence, or brutality, while they are stockpiling nuclear weapons. In her poem, “Easter Comes to the East Coast: 1981,” Jordan addresses President Reagan and speaks about a world where diversity and egalitarianism are present: Don’ you worry about a thing Mr. President and you too Mr. Secretary of the State: Relax! We not studying you guys: NO NO NO NO NO! This ain’ real Ain’ nobody standing around We not side by side This ain’ no major league rally We not holding hands again We not some thousand varieties of one fist! This ain’ no coalition This ain’ no spirit no muscle no body to stop the bullets We not serious (Directed by Desire 1-14) 66 The message Jordan delivers to the President and his cabinet members reflects her stance towards the civil movements during the 1980s as well as the labour movements that give advantage to certain groups over others. Jordan negates aspects of history, as she believes that nobody is watching, paying attention, or joining hands, when, actually, people are watching and organizing, since there is need to worry about the long-term implications of US politics. The poem goes on: NO NO NO NO NO! And I ain’ never heard about El Salvador; I ain’ never seen the children sliced and slaughtered at the Sumpul Riverside And I ain’ never heard about Atlanta; I ain’ never seen the children strangled in the woods … NO NO NO NO NO! This is just a fantasy. We just kidding around You watch! (15-31) Jordan wishes for a new world of diversity and egalitarianism. She believes that the Americans are behind the increased violence, not only on the national level, but also on the world level, thanks to Reagan’s regime that insists on using nuclear power and producing more fatal bombs. Reagan assumed power in 1980 and remained in office till 1988. He was opposing the Soviet Union over issues of communism. The Soviet Union was supporting Cuba in the 1980s, while the US government refused to support the Cuban liberation. Further, the threat of nuclear war was still in the air and Jordan was well aware of it. Jordan writes in her poem “A Reagan Era Poem in Memory of Scarlet O’Hara, who said, in Gone With the Wind, something like this:” “As God is my witness, so help me God: I’m going to live through this And when it’s over If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, I’ll never go hungry again.” 67 The poem says: “Amen!” (Directed by Desire 1-7) In another poem, “Where Are We and Whose Country Is This, Anyway?” (1986), Jordan exclaims that America needs a new president and opposition. She wants the new president to care for Nicaragua’s Sandinistas (members of National Liberation Front), all African peoples, and the American citizens. Therefore, she wishes for a new political agenda for the democratic country that does not accept ethnic cleansing or genocide. The same notion is further highlighted in “INTIFADA INCANTATION: POEM #8 FOR b.b.L” (1997), where she writes: I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED GENOCIDE TO STOP I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED AFFIRMATIVE ACTION AND REACTION I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED MUSIC OUT THE WINDOWS I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED NOBODY THIRST AND NOBODY NOBODY COLD (Directed by Desire 1-9) In this chant-like poem, Jordan engages in an uprising or “Intifada,” a word that was coined after the Palestinian uprising against the Israeli military rule in 1987. What Jordan antagonizes is not only military oppression, but also all inhumane conditions including “genocide,” “thirst,” and “cold” that jeopardize people’s life worldwide. She calls for “action,” “reaction,” “music,” and “love” instead. She wants to demolish all the boundaries that foster human inequality, suffering, fear, and oppression. This strengthens the idea of a “Beloved Community” where there are no borders and where human rights prevail. She adds: I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED I WANTED JUSTICE UNDER MY NOSE I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED BOUNDARIES TO DISAPPEAR … I WANTED 68 NOBODY FREEZE ALL THE PEOPLE ON THEIR KNEES! (10-20) The poem reflects a “politics of rejection,” where all attempts against the practices of oppression by the state are overlooked (Kinloch 90). Throughout her life, Jordan aspires for freedom and liberation. She does not wish to remain “inside the big and messy and combustible haystack of these United States, and the forecast is not good” (Technical Difficulties 93). In another poem, “To Free Nelson Mandela,” from Naming Our Destiny (1989), Jordan declares: Have they killed the twelve-year-old-girl? Have they hung the poet? Have they shot down the students? Have they splashed the clinic the house and the faces of the children with blood? (Directed by Desire 7-12) This poem builds on the theme of being “wrong,” since the poet employs repetition to attack dominant beliefs about the undesirability and unworthiness of “the twelve year-old,” “the poet,” “the students,” and “the children.” This notion goes in line with the apartheid, Mandela’s imprisonment and the longawaited freedom, his strong wife and the community that refused to succumb to the brutalities and atrocities of the ruling government: “Every night Winnie Mandela / Every night the waters of the world / turn to the softly burning / light of the moon” (13-16). The poem continues to show that injustices can lead to communities that reject silence and dehumanization. Jordan concludes by having “the carpenters,” “the midwives,” “the miners,” “street sweepers, “the diggers of the ditch,” (36-40) and other community members memorialize the murder of South African activists in the township of Lingelihle. Kinloch believes that documenting this act of remembrance “speaks volumes to Jordan’s attack on institutional silence through a politics of inclusion that values and validates the multiple experiences of people” (71). 69 Jordan becomes totally immersed in the experience of disenfranchised people. The murders carried out by the police in South Africa and the resultant violence around the world. For instance, the murder of Victoria Mxenge in “To Free Nelson Mandela” and the violence in “Namibia,” “Angola,” or “Zimbabwe” in “Poem About My Rights” were events that Jordan was desperately keen on writing about and share with others to provoke political activism and encourage people to take action. Both “To Free Nelson Mandela” and “Poem About My Rights” reveal that people’s lives depend on the actions taken by responsible, dedicated leaders. Both poems “combine lyricism with narrative and free verse in a journalistic story form” (Kinloch 71) and they capture the intensity of lives destroyed by racism, violence, and classism. They reflect Jordan’s racial solidarity and keenness on protecting human life. Consequently, it becomes evident that Jordan calls for freedom and liberation and that her poetry plays a major role in building the self, the community and the democratic state where human rights prevail. She severely antagonizes political leaders who victimize people by greed, oppression or imperialism and only care about compiling lethal weapons. Jordan dreams of demolishing all the boundaries that foster human inequality, suffering, oppression and fear. 3. Conclusion In conclusion, Jordan approaches the African-American causes in a way that best serves the African-American community that is diverse, yet can be united in opposing the inequalities of power resulting from race politics. She does not limit herself to the model of a spokesperson and makes the Black Arts utopian vision more attainable and pragmatic. Jordan obviously opposes racism, sexism and oppression, as she fosters the notion that individual creativity and honest discourse can lead to political change and 70 social renewal. Her poems remarkably manifest the AfricanAmerican experience and advocate self-determination and political activism for the betterment of the community and the oppressed all over the world. She is sincerely dedicated to human rights on a global scale and political manifesto. Jordan, in this respect, “employ[s] democratic and uncensored language in order to convey,…, truths about race, gender, sexuality, violence, war, and human rights” (Kinloch 1). She describes the difficulty of living in America as a raced and gendered person facing injustices and depicts the atrocities inflicted upon people in different countries. Thus, she dedicates her life to fight for freedom and justice for all humanity. Her writings are “politically savvy and unconventional in its brutal honesty” (2) since she deems it inevitable to fight for both equality and freedom. Jordan’s political and activist efforts show the brilliance of such an American writer, not only as a black woman, but also as a poet who cares for the humanitarian rights of peoples throughout the world and who clearly has a defined purpose. She utilizes both the written and spoken word to encourage return to the basic elements of human rights including, “civil liberties, fair treatment, education and literacy, and access to the political process” and she endeavours to demolish political systems that “challenge democratic order and perpetuate global injustice” (Kinloch 92). In this context, Jordan proves to be a serious artist and a revolutionary activist whose embracing of human rights are truly reflected in her poetry and dedication to political and activist work. Her poetry projects her total awareness of identity politics where her personal involvement with the world experiences found a real platform through the poems she writes on the misery of the disenfranchised worldwide. 71 Jordan’s figurative images, powerful words, and democratic language, which speak for many marginalized voices, convey hope of liberation. Her language enables her to know her selfidentity as a revolutionary artist. She made political statements in all the countries she travelled to; in all the rallies and demonstrations she took part in; and in all the efforts to put an end to the underrepresentation of black women, the unjust treatment of black people, and the atrocities inflicted upon the Lebanese and the Palestinians; and politicians’ imperialistic agendas. Indeed, as a revolutionary writer, Jordan does not tolerate violence and inequality and protests against the systems she opposes on both the political and the personal levels. 72 Works Cited Ali, Zahra A. Hussein. “Aesthetics of Memorialization: The Sabra and Shatila Genocide in the Work of Sami Mohamad, Jean Genet, and June Jordan.” Criticism, Fall 2009, vol. 51, no. 4, pp. 589-621. ISSN: 0011-1589. Cornell, Drucilla. “Gender Hierarchy, Equality and the Possibility of Democracy.” Feminism and the New Democracy: Re-Siting the Political, edited by Jodi Dean, Sage, 1997, pp. 210-221. Elshtain, Jean Bethke. Women and War. U of Chicago P, 1995. Finn, Paula. “June Jordan’s Legacy: Will Labor Accept the Gift?” New Labor Forum, vol. 12, no. 1, Spring 2003, pp. 123-127. Accessed: 22-12-2016 16:22 UTC. Frank, Jason. “Aesthetic Democracy: Walt Whitman and the Poetry of the People.” The Review of Politics, vol. 69, 2007, pp. 402–430. DOI: 10.1017/S0034670507000745 Fraser, Kathleen. “The Tradition of Marginality.” Translating the Unspeakable: Poetry and the Innovative Necessity. Alabama UP, 2001, pp. 25-38. Jordan, June. “Nobody Mean More to Me than You and the Future Life of Willie Jordan.” Reading Culture: Contexts for Critical Readings and Writing, edited by Diane George and John Trimbur, Pearson/Longman, 2007, pp. 160-169. ---. Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan, edited by Jan Heller Levi and Sara Miles, Copper Canyon Press, 2005. ---. Some of Us Did Not Die: New and Selected Essays, Civitas Books, 2002. ---. Civil Wars: Observations from the Front Lines of America, Touchstone Books, 1995. ---. Technical Difficulties,Trafalgar Square, 1993. ---. Who Look at Me, Thomas Y. Cromwell Company, 1969. “June Jordan.” The Concise Oxford Companion to African American Literature, edited by William L. Andrews, Frances Smith, and Foster Trudier Harris, Oxford UP, 2001. Hirschkop, Ken. Bakhtin: An Aesthetic for Democracy, Oxford UP, 1999. 73 Kinloch, Valerie. June Jordan: Her Life and Letters, Praeger, 2006. Kinloch, Valerie, and Margret Grebowicz. Still Seeking an Attitude: Critical Reflections on the Work of June Jordan, Lexington, 2004. MacPhail, Scott. “June Jordan and the New Black Intellectuals.” African American Review, vol. 33, no. 1, Spring, 1999, pp. 57-71. . Accessed: 22-12-2016 16:23 UTC. Marsh, Nicky. Democracy in Contemporary U.S. Women’s Poetry, American Literature Readings in the 21st Century, Ser. Ed. Linda Wagner-Martin, Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Metres, Philip. “June Jordan’s War Against War.” Peace Review, vol.15, no.2, 2003, pp. 171-177. DOI: 10.1080/1040265032000102068 Nelson, Jill. “A Conversation with June Jordan.” Quarterly Black Review of Books, vol.1, no. 4, May 1994, p. 50. Ostriker, Alicia. Stealing the Language: The Emergence of Women’s Poetry in America, Beacon Press, 1986. Pe´rez, Roy. “June Jordan (1936–2002).” Encyclopedia of African American Women Writers, vol. 1, edited by Yolanda Williams Page, Greenwood Press, 2007. Phillips, Gwen. “June Jordan: Poet Details 1936–2002.” . Accessed: 16/12/2016. Ransby, Barbara. “June Jordan: A Life of Poetry, Politics and Passion.” June 25, 2002. . Accessed: 22/12/2016. Walrond, Michael Jr. “Religion and Spirituality.” The New York Amsterdam News, 25 Feb-2 March, 2016, p. 30. 74
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