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DEAR POET (Academy of American Poets
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Written by Tanya Terry
Two forms of arts were merged-visual arts and literary arts-in order for fifth and sixth grade students from Freeman Elementary to create beautiful collaborative pieces, which they recently shared with the community.
“Pairing the study of visual arts with poetry writing through Poetry Paints was an inspirational idea conceived by Flint’s Poet Laureate Semaj Brown,” said Anna Johnson, principal of Freeman.
The Poets Laureate Fellows by the Academy of American Poets fellowship, through which Semaj Brown, Flint’s inaugural poet laureate, was named one of 23 poetry fellows, will soon come to an end. The fellowship was made possible with funds from The Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.
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A Freeman Poet recites the students’ poem written in response to the artwork “Patron Saint
of Middle Passengers”
on a Zoom presentation held this month. Technical support for the Zoom presentation was provided by Librarian Rebbeca Robertson.
DEAR POET 2022 (Academy of American Poets)
Every National Poetry Month the Academy of American Poets present DEAR POET, a multimedia education project that invites young people in grades five through twelve to write letters in response to poems written and read by award-winning poets, including poets who serve on the Academy of American Poets Board of Chancellors and who have received our Academy of American Poets Laureate Fellowships.
SEMAJ BROWN READS, “BLACK DANDELION” LINK TO SEMAJ’S PERSONAL YOUTUBE LINK TO ACADEMY YOUTUBE
Students from Across the United States write to Poet Laureate Semaj Brown. You can find Semaj’s response to these letters at Poets.org
Age four— Witnessed my first mow down Twinkling ground stars, cut by a murderous lawn mower Feeling the blade, I fell, curled like a snail in grief
12 full moons folded into Spring — Perennial promises prevailed Bees celebrated return of dandelions in a skirt of twirling, yellow bliss Flowering bouffant mirrored my spiky little afro Jagged edged “lion’s tooth” leaves paid tribute to my snag-a-tooth smile Me and my freedom fighting flowers frolicked to survive the scissoring, up-digging, poisoning Warning Signs hovered like low hanging clouds: No Blooming Allowed; Blossoms Will be Prosecuted These brave plants grew just for me Grew in spite of a society that favored a monochromatic landscape
1965— Mr. Brother Malcolm X was assassinated, big word for a pre-kindergartner. I was convinced he must have been a dandelion, Reverend King too, and the Johnson boy who lived one turn down the street, that way. The Johnson boy was shot by the police for growing in a monochromatic landscape.
Training Wheels Off—Bike riding across insecure cement, I peddled the bumpy path waving solidarity to each surviving, sunburst noggin, each fulfilling the promise to ornament lawns and flourish souls with lemon drop hope
Dandelions bare art of endurance and escape transforming into pearl puffs floating with ephemeral intention carrying the spirit of the weed.
13 Full moons faded into July — “I am a proud weed!”
Yes, I declared that shocking proclamation standing in the pulpit on Youth Sunday Vernon Chapel A.M.E. Church I added to my speech on David and Goliath my impromptu improvisation of Dandelion Dogma:
“We are Black Dandelions who will NEVER be destroyed. We grow the power of goodness for generations into the future!”
I yet remember the hat framed faces of the pious, amused and mortified.
Semaj Brown, First Poet Laureate of Flint, Michigan © 2020 From the book, Bleeding Fire! Tap the Eternal Spring of Regenerative Light
Dear Ms. Semaj Brown,
My name is Beckett, and I am currently a high school freshman from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I am writing to you because I read your poem, “Black Dandelion”, and was really moved. I love the way you used events from throughout your life and weaved them into your beautiful poem. I also love how you use plants and subsequently use Dandelions and weeds as a metaphor.
Your poem was just beautiful and so powerful to me. I loved how you used Dandelions in your poem. I thought it was a great way of signifying something that is so beautiful and vibrant, yet is punished for simply existing. The line “Dandelions bare art of endurance and escape transforming into pearl puffs floating with ephemeral intention carrying the spirit of the weed,” resonated with me particularly because I’ve always found it very interesting that a “weed” can grow almost anywhere, even when there’s a huge concrete slab slapped on top of its natural habitat. It’s almost like even though there’s a huge attempt to block or sound out weeds, they always persevere and end up on top in the end. I think this is why I have always kind of admired them in the back of my head. This is much like society, throughout history many groups of people have attempted to silence and suppress them.
Your poem, though about the struggles African-Americans face, really reminded me of my maternal great-grandfather's story. He was born in Armenia in the early 1900s, and not even before reaching adolescence, was put through a genocide. His father was taken away by Turkish forces and killed, and he and the rest of his family were forced to flee. The Turkish forces tried to exterminate, in their eyes, the Armenians, who are the dandelions in this story. They were stripped of everything, their nationality, belongings, friends, family, and almost even their lives. He arrived in America dirt poor and had to start anew in the city of Boston. He worked hard enough to give his children and grandchildren a good life and was always a thoughtful and caring person, despite all that he had been put through in his life. It is still such a recent and ongoing set of events, with the United States only recognizing the Armenian Genocide last year. And, Turkey, the perpetrator of this evil still hasn’t even recognized it and there’s a movement saying that Armenians are lying about the genocide. This really angered me because my own country made me feel like a “weed” and a “dandelion” and people don’t even believe it which is infuriating.
Some questions that I have for you are how did you come up with the metaphor of the Dandelion? Was it a thought that came to you while writing? Or was it even a feeling in the very back of your head that you’ve had for a while? Also, do you still feel like a dandelion?
I have always liked poetry. I know that’s not a particularly popular statement from someone of my age, but it is true. I love the simplicity yet depth in thought and meaning that poetry can take on. Your poem made me see poetry in a new light. Your poem was a brilliant combination of metaphors, events, story, and meaning. This is what made your poem so powerful to me.
Sincerely, Beckett
Dear Semaj Brown,
My name is Kenedy, I study Literary Arts at The Appomattox Regional Governor's School for the Arts and Technology. I read your poem “Black Dandelion”, and I absolutely loved it. I find your imagery gut-wrenchingly beautiful. I appreciate how you portrayed the gruesome aspects of our reality. I always value imagery in my writing. I often get compliments on my ability to execute it. I think imagery in general is necessary to bring a good poem to life and personify the words.
The line, “These brave plants grew just for me”, stuck with me. It gives the feeling of cherishing the ones that paved the path before you. I know I Appreciate my elders and the work they’ve done to give me the life I live now. So it’s refreshing to see you make the same connection. My grandmother will tell stories about how she was the first black person in her town to integrate schools. People often forget how close in history segregation was.
The first-person experiences of these situations help to put the trauma we face into perspective. I am led to wonder if the first-hand accounts of your revolutionary acts are dramatized. Speaking from experience I often over-exaggerate things to be more poetic. People can not tell if certain things did not happen unless, of course, they know you personally. If these situations aren’t exaggerated I applaud you for your bravery. If they are, I applaud you for your creativity!
In the line “12 full moons folded into Spring,” your way of portraying time wooed me. Personally, I find it difficult to explain time jumps in poetry. It's easier in fiction because all you have to say is “1 year later” or “the next week”. When creating poetry we have to make it pretty and allusive. I would love to know if you have any tips or tricks in gaining the skill of portraying time?
Your poem stood out to me due to the mutual understanding of our struggle. Being black in America means constantly seeing your people “mowed down” (as you put it) by our society. Your comparison of us to plants allows the image of our growth to shine. It shows that no matter how much they try to cut us down and pull us up by the roots, we will always persevere. Thank you for giving the world this poem, it will forever be in my heart.
I’ve never thought to be a flower, but I will forever refer to myself as a Black Dandelion.
Sincerely, Kenedy
