9TH ANNUAL NAPOMO 30/30/30 :: Day 25 :: STARR DAVIS on NATE MARSHALL
Nate Marshall is amongst the many poet gems that breed in Chicago, IL. I discovered his work at an AWP Conference, where I purchased his second poetry book Wild Hundreds. I read this book of poems from start to finish the way I would listen to a hip-hop album, which makes it feel purposeful and timeless. His background as a beat poet is evoked in verse and freeform, pulling you inside the rhythm and alleys of his heart’s discography and adolescent pain, but that is undeniably the nuance of Nate’s brilliance. I feel as if I am on the porch, talking to a boy who has watched me grow into a woman, as I read Nate’s work.
His poems, “Palindrome” and “darla: i don’t know when-April 7, 2016", have become bible to my everyday studies as I aim to master breaks of line and heart and time. Small lines, like small ad-libs to a song you replay at least once a week, call to me as I sit down to write.
Listen —
“the name she calls you / when she loves you casually. / hun.” (“pronounce,” Wild Hundreds)
And —
“its not that i didn’t like you / its more that you were never / very smart. the type of woman / to have to think about the question / when asked her own name.” (“darla: i don’t know when-April 7, 2016,” The Rumpus)
These poems, so buried in a world that is often overlooked by a society that wishes the Black experience to be an ‘everyone experience,’ are archival to the concrete I have grown from as a Black woman poet from the Midwest. His words hit me the way my mother does in her kitchen during a family gather, but they also yell at me from across the street the way only a brother would who doesn’t give a damn about formality. These are poems of experience in narrative and form that relentlessly work for themselves to find dry ground.
I found myself drowning in Nate’s most recent poem, “Finna,” that was published in The Adroit Journal. Aside from the power of slang and what it means in the Black mouths of a people who were forced not to read or write, this poem resurfaces a different memory for me. Once in college I took a Black Language and Literature class that reviewed stories of Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, and many others from the Black Renaissance era. My professor, a Greek-American man who was fascinated with ‘Black talk’ or what he often referred to as ‘Ebonics’ was captured by the way I spoke and commented on the text. He went on to announce to the class, “Starr speaks excellent Ebonics!” The class erupted in laughter while I sat there in a state of confusion. To speak slang or broken English, or to speak like me, or Nate, or like the people in urban communities throughout this country, is to speak the language of your people.
With tears in my eyes, these lines became daily sermon to my writing routine:
“but i remember a million finnas / i avoided to get here. like the day / them dudes jumped me off the bus & i was finna / get stomped out like a loose square. or the day / they got to shooting at the park & i was finna / catch one like an alley oop. or the day / my grandma died & my grades dropped & i was finna / not finish high school except i had a praying mama / & good teachers & poems to write. i’m thankful for all these finnas”
I was healed by this defiance, as I contemplate the number of times the red squiggly line appears when I write my stories down in my language, and how Spellcheck tells me my tongues don’t exist. Lucky for me, this was just a taste of a larger meal, his next book — FINNA, which is set to be published this year. Nate’s poetry makes me wonder: how many times have I deleted myself in a poem to make other’s comfortable? Nate makes the Black experience a real place, a real world in his poetry. His language invites you inside the mind of a survivor. Nate is a storyteller. In his hands, a poem is whatever he wants it to be, as long or as short, as brave or as subtle. Everyone in the poetry community should know Nate Marshall for the lyrical priest that he is.
Starr Davis is a poet, essayist, and professional writer whose work has been featured in multiple literary magazines such as The Rumpus, Cosmonauts Avenue, and Transition Magazine. Her essays, poetry, and short stories have awarded her literary fellowships such as The Brooklyn Poets Fellowship, Slice Literary Conference Fellowship, and The Eckerd College Scholarship. A Writing Mentor for nonprofit organizations such as Writopia and Seeds of Fortune and previous MFA Graduate from the City College of New York, Davis actively serves within the writing community to tutor marginalized groups of young writers. She currently lives in The Bronx, where she is awaiting the publication of her debut short story collection. Find her at https://www.starrdavis.com/
