Gwendolyn Brooks and Form

“Our selection” refers to chosen passages from A Street in Bronzeville, published in 1945.

In our selection, the first named ballad is “the ballad of chocolate Mabbie” but several of the other poems have balladic rhyme or structure. The ballad can be used to express love, like with the one about Mabbie, but it can also be used to intensely describe a character and invoke emotion (like with Blues ballads). Nonetheless, I’m really curious as to how Brooks uses the ballad to problematize these notions of the form and unsettle or give commentary to other social issues within the form.

As to this second point, I’m really interested–and perhaps this is a question more than an observation–in what the form affords the content: how does the form impact Brooks’ taking up of interracial love or white supremacy/preference for whiter complexion in “the ballad of chocolate Mabbie,” about Willie Boone’s choosing a white “lynx” over Mabbie’s chocolate complexion? How does the form of the ballad help to emphasize the differences drawn out between Sadie and Maud in the poem of the same name?

How does the balladic structure almost make tragic the story of De Witt Williams in “of De Witt Williams on his way to Lincoln Cemetery”? Is it just the imagery in “The Last Quatrain of The Ballad of Emmett Till” that makes it so aptly tragic (here I’m thinking specifically of “tint of pulled taffy” “she is sorry” and “chaos in windy grays”) or is it this imagery in combination with the balladic form which makes the repetition of that rhyme (taffy, coffee, sorry, prairie) almost a recircling of grief?

As a poet, I’m always thinking about why one may use form–what possibilities does form open up? It is a common misconception, in my belief, that forms somehow create rigidity (a lot of times people call forms “rigid”). On the one hand, the structure provides an outline. On the other–and this is more interesting to me–there is a historical use of the form and the affordances/the affect of the form’s structure. For example, with the ballad structure, one must ask “What effect does the repetition of the rhyme create?” With the song, “How does the performative nature of this form relate to 1) its overall content and 2) its lyrical imagery?”

At every word, the poet makes a decision. I’m curious what we can discover together about Brooks’ decisions.

Faulkner’s Stream of Consciousness

Here, I am pulling a passage from “Pantaloon in Black” from Faulkner’s Go Down, Moses (1942). The lower paragraph is more an experimental flash-fiction piece than a response, though I encourage you to read it both ways.

 

“…the hearth and stove and bed, were all a part of the memory of somebody else, so that he stopped in the half-open gate and said aloud, as though, he had gone to sleep in one place and then waked suddenly to find himself in another: “Whut’s Ah doin hyar?” before he went on. Then he saw the dog. He had forgotten it. He remembered neither seeing nor hearing it since it began to howl just before dawn yesterday–a big dog, a hound with a strain of mastiff from somewhere (he told Mannie a month after they married: “Ah needs a big dawg. You’s de onliest least thing whut ever kep up wid me one day, leff alone fo weeks.”) coming out from beneath the gallery and approaching, not running but seeming rather to drift across the dusk until it stood lightly against his eg, its head raised until the tips of his fingers just touched it, facing the house and making no sound; whereupon, as if the animal controlled it, had lain guardian before it during his absence and only this instant relinquished, the shell of planks and shingles facing him solidified, filled, and for the moment he believed that he could not possibly enter it. “But Ah needs to eat,” he said. “Us bofe needs to eat,” he said, moving on though the dog did not follow until he turned and cursed it. “Come on hyar!” he said. “Whut you skeered of? She lacked you too, same as me,” and they mounted the steps and crossed the porch and entered the house–the dusk-filled single room where all those six months were now crammed and crowded into one instant of time until there was no place left for air to breathe, crammed and crowded about the hearth where the fire which was to have lasted to the end of them, before which in the days before he was able to buy the stove he would enter after his four-mile walk from the mill and find her, the shape of her narrow back and haunches squatting, one narrow spread hand shielding her face from the blaze over which the other hand held the skillet, had already fallen to a dry, light soilure of dead ashes when the sun rose yesterday–and himself standing there while the last of light died about the strong and indomitable beating of his heart and the dep steady arch and collapse of his chest which walking fast over the rough going of woods and fields had not increased and standing still in the quiet and fading room had not slowed down. Then the dog left him.”

 

I’m writing this post on anti-histimines, which is perhaps only the rightest way one may write on Faulkner’s prose. I’m so aware of the taxation of thought that with every blink, not only does (as the cliché goes) each of my eyelids get heavier and heavier, but so too does it seem I am closer to acquiescing to the epic treachery and volatility — not malicious treachery or volatility, just to be clear — that my mind has become on this drug, something that feels closer to sleep than un-sleep, something which is by its very nature sirenic (that is, calling to me to give in or release or blink longer until blinks are longer and longer are blinks so that instead of blipping by the blinks and blight of sleep, slipping down sanctuary). The ceilings in the library, have you ever noticed?, they are each so prismatically shaped. Triangular prisms, some with ventilation vents, some without (and those without still have lights, are as dusty, if not dustier, than those with ventilation vents). And I wonder, too, perhaps you have also wondered this, whether the change in carpet design is intentional to keep one awake (though, I must also add, not only is one not always looking at the floor–or even if he were, he is not always noticing the patterns of the carpet, unless subconsciously–were one to be looking at the floor and becoming drowsy, it may not prevent–perhaps it even may encourage–sleep). The magazines in the contemporary section are all labeled with neon green stickers, which is intriguing, yet what I remember most about the magazines is Camille (the librarian) telling my class last semester in the classroom on the second floor with computers that were the library not to have something we want, we need only tell her to buy it and she will. Why I connect this to the magazines is odd, though, because Camille was not alluding to magazines; she was alluding to books on scholarship. I just realized, after looking down at my watch–it is a nice watch I bought for myself (from Amazon) that was very cheap, yet has lasted much longer than other, cheaper watches I bought–that I have over and hour and a half before my class today and I don’t think, unless I either take a nap or have some breakfast, that I will make it. I am, as it were, a zombie.