Truth

                                                         
    
                                            Slave
                                            Freedman
                                            Saved 
                                            Free Soul
    
    
    
            First birth I was a twinkle
            Faithful Isabella, first
    
            Birth deep earth uneven 
            And ungrounded light
    
            Cannot fall, father was tall, called 
            Bomefree or low Dutch for tree.  
            Mother, Mau-mau Bett. Sweet. 
    
            I remember thee as shade 
            And sun,  sold as sheep
    
            Jesus.  Where were you
            When my parents cried?  
    
     
    
    
    
    
            Mau-mau showed 
            Her children a moon,  
            His light 
            Bathed their minds, 
            Their souls
            Knew possession 
    
    
    
    no one can see/ how I should be/
    the bonehouse is where I want to flee/ where no one
    can whip me/No One with your omniscient eyes/
    leave my body/ allow transcendentality
    
    
    
    
            Pipes we smoke and plant 'round pits 
            Fly into Heaven--a breath from God
            Graves scattered with shells, glass, flashes 
            For quick travel to safety, the sacred
    
    
    
    Holy Wind of Whitsuntide
     
    
    
    
    
            As a women
            She smoked
            A small clay pipe
    
            Fella say, no unclean 
            Thing can enter 
            The Kingdom of Heaven, 
            And you with that 
            Smoker's breath ain't.
    
            Says Truth, "When I go, 
            I 'spect to leave my breath behind."
    
     
    
    
    
    
    Was the faithful Bell of Hardenberg
    was a twinkle--Isabella
    
    
    Memory and orality
    Visionary literacy
    
    
    
    
    I told Jesus it'd be all right
    If He changed my name
    
    
    Mauled so badly by a mob
    Walked life with a cane
    
    
    Sojourner Truth I became
    
    
    
    
    Visionary memory
    Amanuensis or numina
    
    
    Where narrative is silent
    
     
    
    
    
    
            Her song, strong truthful tones
    
            In the cellar of her birth
            Bomefree and she 
            Exchanged
            Their last thought 
            No longer than a finger
    
            "I am colored, thank God for that; 
            I have not the curse of God upon me
     
    
    
    
            
    
            On a small island in a small stream
            Speaking loudly as her breath blew
            Willows     silver falls 
    
            Insurrection    carry off
    
            Her cries to God 
    
    
    
    
    
    
    June 1 the clarion blows
    East from Brooklyn to Long Island
    "Lord giveth me a new home.
    I must be about my Father's business."
    
    Dusts off her traveling shoes, loads up 
    Some cartes de visite; her Narrative;  
    And an album for autographs:
    The "Book of Life" 
    
    
    
            It was early in the morning,
            It was early in the morning,
            Just at the break of day,
            When He rose,  when He rose, when He rose,
            And went to Heaven on a cloud.
    
    
    
    
    And trees wave in glory
    Stones shine like laughter
    And she shouts "Praise to the Lord
    Love to all creatures!"
    
    
    
    
    
    
                    In Quaker garb
                    Stands six feet
                    Tall lean royal 
                    Sibilla Libica 
    
    
                    Chin rests on 
                    Broad hard palm
                    Eyes bespeak 
                    Power to bind 
    
    
    
    
                    
    
                            For Aunty Sojourner Truth
                                        Oct. 29, 1864 
                                           A. Lincoln
    
    
    In portraiture Sojourner reclines,
    Lincoln above.  Two mouths
    Shut.  The "Book of Life" open.
    
    Six months later, our President dead
    
    In truth, Lincoln is seated at his desk when 
    Sojourner arrives.  He stands and bows upon 
    introduction.  
    
    He says: 
        All presidents would have emancipated 
        those brought in bondage if the time had come, 
        and if those on the other side of the river 
        had not done evil, I wouldn't have had 
        the opportunity to do good.
    
    An instrument of God
    
    Both hands receiving, one his one hers 
    
    Call again Sojourner, my friend
     
    
    
    
    
    
    We are done with hoeing cotton, 
    We are done with hoeing corn;
    We are colored Yankee soldiers 
    As sure as you are born.
    When massa hears us shouting, 
    He will think 'tis Gabriel's horn,
    As we go marching on.
    
    
    
    
    Whipping posts
    Linsey-woolsey dress tied up the legs
    Melted fat drips scalding scalp
    Starvation
    Rape
    Rough sex
    Rough coffin
    Bloodhounds
    Rat eaten
    Raw
    Lashed, bound 
    Auction block
    Ears boxed
    Shackled, branded
    Babes torn from mothers' breasts
    Nipples torn from babes
    
    
    As we go marching on
    As we go marching on
    As we go marching on
    
    



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