Don't Call Us Dead Poems
Reviews
“we dance until guilt turns to sweat we sweat until we flood & drown don’t fret we don’t die they can’t kill the boy on your shirt again”
Thoroughly enjoyed every word, even when I didn't want to connect(disconnect) I did. I could feel and have felt every word. The grief, sorrow, heartbreak, wish for a better world. It was beautiful. The author did a FANTASTIC job of portraying every single thought.
Starting off the new year right. A new favorite poet. My new favorite collection.
“I ride my bike to a boy, when I get there / what we make will not be beautiful / or love at all, but it will be deserved.”
Some of the parts that gave me freaking chills: “i want to dig you up, let it rain twice before our next good-bye.” “dear badge number what did i do wrong? be born? be black? meet you?” // & all of dear white america. Chills chills chills.
I am not worthy of reviewing poetry. There are some beautiful juxtaposition of words in this small book. I just could not love it. Others do. Please go by their reviews and ratings when you decide if you want to buy and read the book.
reread hits different. 'please, dont call us dead; call us alive some place better'
Another Noname Bookclub read. Danez Smith writes a collection of poems on experiences as a black man, a gay man, and a black gay man. It was highly insightful to a life and thoughts beyond my own. Like most collections its hard to rate as a whole because some moments stand out more than others.
do i think someone created AIDS? maybe. i don't doubt that anything is possible in a place where you can burn a body with less outrage than a flag the entirety of bare is one of the most beautiful things i've ever read and now i want to read everything that danez smith has ever written
There are verses in this collection that shook me so deeply that it felt like the words were carved into my skin, and that I would wear them like a tattoo for life as a reminder of just how beautifully violent and poignantly visceral Smith’s words can be. This is poetry that we need, today; this is poetry that can’t, and definitely shouldn’t, be ignored. This is poetry that captures our contemporary existence and forces us to wear it like carvings on our body, always there to be touched and felt and lived.
Not a easy book of poetry but it is actual and full of meanings about being black today
Highlights
what a strange gift to need, the good news that the boy you like is dying too
dying on the news, dying to forget the news,
blood & its endless screaming
or singing
or whatever people do when their village burns
the prettiest fish are
poisonous
& same is true for men
next time a man comes
over, i’ll cut the veins
out my arms, arrange them
like cooked linguine
on the kitchen table
in the shape of a boy’s face
& say here’s what happened
if love is a room
of broken glass, leave me to dance
until my feet are memory.
because there are no amber alerts for amber-skinned girls!
i reach for black folks & touch only air. your master magic trick, America. now he’s breathing, now he don’t. abra-cadaver. white bread voodoo. sorcery you claim not to practice, hand my cousin a pistol to do your work.
take your God back. though his songs are beautiful, his miracles are inconsistent.
dear badge number
what did i do wrong?
be born? be black? meet you?
i spent my life arguing how i mattered
until it didn’t matter.
who knew my haven
would be my coffin?
dead is the safest i’ve ever been.
i’ve never been so alive.
how old am i? today, i’m today.
i’m as old as whatever light touches me.
some nights i’m new as the fire at my feet
some nights i’m a star, glamorous, ancient
& already extinguished.
whose arms hold you now
after my paradise grew from chaos?
i leave revenge
hopelessly to God.
i’ll plant a garden on top
where your hurt stopped.
does it matter how he got here if we’re all here
to dance?
O, the imagination of a new reborn boy
but most of us settle on alive.
please, don’t call
us dead, call us alive someplace better.
history is what it is. it knows what it did.