Well, I’ve added another notch to the professional belt of my life, by joining Geipci James Robinson on his very inspiring, informative and entertaining podcast: Continue the Conversation, Season 3: Badasses!
Listen on Apple, Spotify, Google, or wherever you get your podcasts. We chat about why you shouldn’t care what your family thinks about your art (hint: Pat Conroy said so), there is a gorgeous reading by Mr. Robinson of my poem Lemonade, a few revelations, escape mechanisms, and what I’m up to next.
Some notes about my latest inspirations:
Jack.
Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass. This is a must read. It is gift to yourself, and to the planet, both who deserve to be seen more than ever.
Sitting on my night table, close to my heart, and keeping me honest, raw and learning leagues of depths about myself, the world, and the Black experience in America are: Bone by Yrsa Daley-Ward, I Can’t Talk About the Trees Without The Blood by Tiana Clark, and One Drop by Yaba Blay.
James Baldwin should be read and reread. His stories, sadly, have not aged. They are as true today as they were in the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s and our time to reckon with that is past due.
We need to continue the conversation. Why not start with the Continue the Conversation podcast?
Let me know what you think of it, and what has been inspiring you lately!
Do not go gentle into that good night
by Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.