Sometimes We Become So Sophisticated

My Father Was Very Intense, Passionate And Over-the-top. He Was My Hero And My Tyrant.

As A Poet And Writer, I Deeply Love And I Deeply Hate Words. I Love The Infinite Evidence And Change And Requirements And Possibilities Of Language; Every Human Use Of Words That Is Joyful, Or Honest Or New, Because Experience Is New... But As A Black Poet And Writer, I Hate Words That Cancel My Name And My History And The Freedom Of My Future: I Hate The Words That Condemn And Refuse The Language Of My People In America.

As I Think About Anyone Or Anything -- Whether History Or Literature Or My Father Or Political Organizations Or A Poem Or A Film -- As I Seek To Evaluate The Potentiality, The Life-supportive Commitment And Possibilities Of Anyone Or Any Thing, The Decisive Question Is Always Where Is The Love?

But, Based On My Friendship With Evie As Young Mothers, I Started Going On Freedom Rides In 1966.

There Is A Man Who Exists As One Of The Most Popular Objects Of Leadership, Legislation, And Quasi-literature In The History Of All Men. . . . This Man, That Object Of Attention, Attack, And Vast Activity, Cannot Make Himself Be Heard, Let Alone Understood. He Has Never Been Listened To. . . . That Man Is Black And Alive In White America Where The Media Of Communication Do Not Allow The Delivery Of His Own Voice, His Own Desires, His Own Rage.