You have your life
until you use it. You forfeit the only life you know
or go to your grave with the song curdled inside you. --C. D. Wright, in One with Others
I've been circling C.D. Wright for years, sensing that she might be a little too...taxing, aim a little too close to the major arteries. Now that I've read One with Others (2010, Copper Canyon Press), I see that I was right to be afraid.
This book-length poem is journalistic, but "aspires to the borrowed-tuxedo lining of fiction." It is narrative but not often chronological. "In the end," says Wright in her first stanza, "it is a welter of associations." This is too modest a claim. "One with Others" is the portrait of a woman (Wright calls her V), the place she found herself living, and the people she felt drawn to. Finally it's about the manner in which she gave her life away
In the summer of 1969, in the smallish, segregated Arkansas town Wright calls Big Tree, sixty-six percent of the population is Negro and "invisible." (Wright uses the rejected vocabulary of those years, with the exception of the "N-word," and by repetition renews its power to wound. She makes the states' defense of interposition and nullification sound like a particularly cruel means of execution.) Martin Luther King, Jr. has been dead for a year, and in this part of the country at least, as Wright so convincingly illustrates, "after they slew/ the dreamer" they "began to slay/ the dream." A teacher at the all-black junior high school is fired for writing a letter to the superintendent in which she complains that "the Negro has no voice," and black students march in protest to the white school. Law enforcement responds by arresting the children, driving them around in trucks for a day while threatening their lives, draining the whites-only pool and holding them there at gunpoint for three days. The Negros of Big Tree become suddenly visible and remain that way for some time.
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