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Writer’s Quote Wednesday – Zora
Welcome back everyone, to another Writer’s Quote Wednesday segment, as hosted by Colleen of Silver Threading. Today, I draw inspiration from Zora Neale Hurston, a name I’ve been hearing a lot this week:
I’ve been reading this quote all week. Not because I’m a Hurston fan to that extent, but I have been studying her history pretty close (for a project I am not telling you about yet, don’t you just love secrets? lol hee hee )and this quote in particular keeps sticking out to me. There is so much here that I cannot begin to verbalize it all. In short, I’m at a place in my life where focus is priority. I feel really free right now with who I am. I would not say that I am content because to be content is to lose focus. Focus is loss when we think that we are where we are supposed to be and we stop striving. That said, I am not there yet; I would not say that I have reached my limit, I have a long way to go. But I do feel my faith is growing. Could be something in the air, a sense of urgency, or an alarm clock on my skin. In the meantime, I’ll just pull in the horizon like a fish net, and drape it around my shoulders.
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Ann Lane Petry
I’ve actually ordered her book, which should be here pretty soon.
African American writer Ann Lane Petry is said to showcase the range of the black and white experience in her novels, short stories, and other works. The Street, her most famous novel (the one I’m anticipating to show up with the mail man on my doorstep) is said to be a social commentary on the despair of black urban life in the 1940s. Published in 1946, the novel sold 1.5 million copies and brought Petry to national attention as the first black woman writer to sell a million copies of her book.
Francis Johnson Webb
Francis Johnson Webb, newspaper editor, is the second published African American novelist. He was born free on March 21, 1828, in Philadelphia to Louisa Burr and Francis Webb. His father, Francis Webb, served as founding member of the Philadelphia distribution agent for Freedom’s Journal*, the first black newspaper in the nation.
Freedom’s Journal was the first African-American owned and operated newspaper published in the United States. Founded by Rev. Peter Williams, Jr. and other free black men in New York City, it was published weekly starting with the March 16 1827 issue.
Phillis Wheatley
Alrighty then, let’s get started. Of course, those who know me, even slightly, know that I’m a “365 day a year black history frantic”, but I love black history month because its the time of year where black people’s minds are the most open and willing to be in tuned with back history and that, despite how small it may seem, is worth investing in. Yes, I am saying that you (black people) should invest in your people’s minds. If ever you can capture a moment where they are most in tuned, you should do so. Yayy.
So, without further ado, let’s get started.
First up is Phillis Wheatley, first (recognized) black writer. AND (yes and) she was a poet. So, I don’t know, that’s like extra credit or something write? ( I can spell right, I just didn’t on purpose…duh). OK, my humor is not funny, which is why I’m not a comedian…on to Wheatley…
The First African American Writer
The first African American Writer is a statement I say lightly. I say it lightly because we do not know if she was the first. She is only recorded as the first because her work was published and that makes it legitimate in this society. So, as the first recorded black woman writer, Phillis was the first to make a name for herself while still under the bondage of slavery. Brought from Africa as a child and sold to a Boston merchant, Wheatley spoke no English initially (as didn’t many of her people) but by the time she was sixteen, under the tutorship of her owners, had mastered the language. Her interest in literature led her to write and publish Poems on Various Subjects in 1773.
This Type Mood
Saw this quote in the photography prompt and had to re-post. My peace is definitely on this today.
“Let me, O’ let me bathe my soul in colors; let me swallow the sunset and drink the rainbow.” – Khalil Green
I’ll Carry It With Me
From the bowels of the deep south
To the place of the rising sun
She’ll stretch her roots to the ends of the Earth
And her scent to the universe edge
From the Nile
To the Euphrates
Her soul is Langston
And has grown deep like the rivers
On her bark
Are the names whipped out of her ancestors skin
Pocketbook scriptures ripped out from underneath their tongues
And she stands there
Towering over the people who pass her by
Singing their song in the wind
She remembers the scratchy fiber
It was course and woolly
Like Nyongo’s hair
When they tied her arms
Around the Magnolia
She was there when Moses died
They buried his bones under the shadow of her roof
Tied bright yellow ribbons to her branches like shackles on her arms
So that Tubman can tell that she was a slave
And carry her falling leaves to freedom
She sings her song
From the bowels of the deep south
And the deep North
clean across the Atlantic
And on up to Spain
Where the ships of Tarshish came first
But you will never know of it
Not when you see her standing there
All tall
And full of pride
her petals are soft and delicate
and burning passion like the sun
But I won’t forget
I’ll bottle her scent and carry it with me
The history of her children
The memory of the hanging tree
The PBS Blog 