Poetic Presence

Yesterday evening, April 15th, I had the pleasure to participate in a poetry reading with some very talented friends... both poets and musicians. The event was called “Spontaneous Poetry and Music”, and it was arranged by a good friend, and accomplished poet, to take place at the school where he teaches. He had excitedly told me about it for days, and in hindsight his enthusiasm would certainly be the harbinger for things to come. I had been looking forward to the occasion for weeks and I knew that it would be a perfect opportunity for me to share my words and expressions with a group of people, but I had no idea just how wonderful it would be.

I must say that the vibes were on the highest level from the very beginning. There is nothing like a whole lot of love and welcoming to set things straight. Any nervousness that I may have felt quickly disappeared as I was in the presence of great people who were ready to share their hearts and minds, just like myself. After greeting my fellow artists, old friends and new friends alike, I took my place on a stool, one of four arranged in a slight semi-circle. This was where I and the other poets sat. In the middle of the circle, splitting us into pairs, were the musicians... percussion, drums, and guitar. Behind us were beautiful paintings, one of Bob Marley, and the draped red, gold, and green colors of the Ethiopian banner shone against the background of black curtains. Everything was set-up to perfection on an intimate stage, lights gently dimmed, chairs of the crowd before us, video cameras ready to tape, reggae music playing as guests took their seats. I could see some of my friends in the audience, and I was in the company of my colleagues making their own final arrangements.

Then in what almost seemed as a mirage, I saw my parents walk in. It was an absolute surprise because I did not expect them to make it. I had invited them to the event and last weekend I showed them the flyer advertising the evening, but in the back of my mind I considered it as just a formality and an update as to what I was doing. My Mom had called me a few hours before to wish me luck and mentioned that they probably would not be able to come because it was a busy time. So, needless to say, when I did see my Mom and Dad standing there, I had no words... none of the poems that I selected to bring with me and read could convey how I felt in their presence. My parents had never seen me in my element, with my music or poetry, at least not since my teenage years with school events and such. I didn’t know what they would think of my works, I didn’t know what to expect... but I was happy that they had come. After making introductions, I sat back on my stool flipping through some of my poems, thinking on which ones to read, how to deliver them, and being aware of my parents sitting in the crowd.

What followed was truly magical. We didn’t know exactly how things would proceed... because as billed, it was spontaneous. I timidly volunteered to begin with a poem of my own, one that I had decided to make my first reading. But our beloved host and fellow poet had forgotten to allow the honored percussionist to open the evening. And so, the elder of 70-odd years, with massive dreadlocks tied back, his beard long and dreaded as well, greeted us all and gave thanks and praises to the Creator while venerating our ancestors and elders, those present and in spirit. It was the perfect beginning, the vibes were in order, and I felt at ease. After our opening ritual, I looked down at my poems resting before me on a music stand. Before the beautiful blessing had begun I was about to read my chosen poem, the one honoring my ancestors. I could barely believe it, but I knew it was more than mere coincidence... it was purposeful. It was a natural mystic, ordaining me to continue properly. So I read. This first one was for my family... for my Mom and Dad, for my grandparents, for all those who came before me, it was my tribute to them, my thanks to them. I could see my parents listening intently, smiles on their faces as I shaped my words, and then came the applause of the crowd at the end. I was now in another place. The rest of the evening was a fantastic collage of art... the other poets and I traded back and forth, different voices, different rhythms, woven together with beautiful tunes from the guitar and the different drums, the interactions with the audience, the presence and the smiles of my parents. Time didn’t seem to matter at all, but when we did conclude our evening it felt like we still could have continued for hours more, both performers and audience alike.

After the show, guests came up to me, expressing their admiration and appreciation, all of which was wonderful. Then, up came my parents... smiling, embracing me, and congratulating me. All I could think about was how incredible I felt, how thankful I was for my Mom and Dad being able to see me do what I love, how grateful I was that they really did appreciate it, and how I was so glad that I had invited them to come see me in the first place. I couldn’t remember a time I was happier, not any time recently. Something amazing happened, all the fears or discomforts that I had when it came to my parents accepting me, real or imagined, seemed to wash away. All the barriers broke down when I saw them before me, proud of me, happy for me, impressed by me... understanding of me. Me: the poet, me: the dreadlock, me: the Rasta, me: the son, me: the friend, me: the individual. I could not stop glowing... and I am still glowing as I write this.

I mark this occasion as a milestone in my life, a time that I will never forget, and a moment that meant so much to me. There is nothing compared to the love, support and approval of those that mean the most to you, such as my parents. I felt like a proud child, reverberating a moment in time... from a performance in a school play, a display of artwork, an excited hug on the reception of good news. Everything channeled and spun together to the present, in their presence. I can imagine myself feeling the same way no matter the time, no matter my age or their age. I give thanks and praise to JAH, the Almighty, for the blessing and for my accomplishment. I give thanks to my parents, and all of my family for their love. I give thanks for my friends for their support and love. For everyone’s presence that night, I do give thanks. It was a poem in itself, with every word, every line, in its proper place. A Poetic presence...

More Love & More Life,
JAHsh