Embedded Files
Elizabeth Alexander was born in Harlem, New York, but grew up in Washington, DC, the daughter of former United States Secretary of the Army and Equal Employment Opportunity Commission chairman, Clifford Alexander Jr. She holds degrees from Yale, Boston University, and the University of Pennsylvania, where she earned her PhD. She is an American poet, essayist, playwright, and the president of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation since 2018. Previously she was a professor for 15 years at Yale University, where she taught poetry and chaired the African American studies department. Alexander is a highly respected scholar, teacher, and mentor, as well as a founding member of Cave Canem, an organization dedicated to promoting African American poets and poetry....Alexander writes on a variety of subjects, most notably race and gender, politics and history, and motherhood. The poet Clarence Major has described Alexander’s 'instinct for turning her profound cultural vision into one that illuminates universal experience,' and Doris Lynch, writing for the Library Journal, commented that 'memory and race' are 'two of Alexander’s most powerful themes,' adding that 'when Alexander’s forge is hot, the reader is transported to her world.'
Live Readings
Live Readings
Marcus Garvey (17 August 1887 – 10 June 1940) was a Jamaican political activist, publisher, journalist, entrepreneur, and orator.
Poems
Poems
Smile When I see a black man smilinglike that, nodding and smilingwith both hands visible, mouthing “Yes, Officer,” across the street,I think of my father, who taught usthe words “cooperate,” “officer,” to memorize badge numbers,who has seen black men shot atfrom behind in the warm months north. And I think of the fine line –hairline, eyelash, fingernail paring –the whisper that separates obsequious from safe. Armstrong,Johnson, Robinson, Mays.A woman with a yellow head of cotton candy hair stumbles outof a bar at after-lunchtimeclutching a black man’s arm as if for her life. And the brothersmiles, and his eyes are flintas he watches all sides of the street.
-from American Sublime (2005)
-from American Sublime (2005)
The female seer will burn upon this pyre
Sylvia Plath is setting my hairon rollers made from orange-juice cans.The hairdo is shaped like a pyre.
My locks are improbably long.A pyramid of lemons somehowbalances on the rickety table
where we sit, in the rented kitchenwhich smells of singed naps and bergamot.Sylvia Plath is surprisingly adept
at rolling my unruly hair.She knows to pull it tight.Few words.Her flat, American belly,
her breasts in a twin sweater set,stack of typed poems on her desk,envelopes stamped to go by the door,
a freshly baked poppyseed cake,kitchen safety matches, black-eyed Susansin a cobalt jelly jar. She speaks a word,
“immolate,” then a single sentenceof prophecy. The hairdo done,the nursery tidy, the floor swept cleanof burnt hair and bumblebee husks.
-from Antebellum Dream Book (2001)
Recommended Titles
Recommended Titles
Page updated
Google Sites
Report abuse