Clara Sherley-Appel (CSA): This is Story Behind the Story. I’m your host, Clara Sherley-Appel, and my guest today is Richmond-based poet and educator Jamey Williams. Jamey has been teaching spoken word poetry workshops in K-12 schools since 2016, and in 2017 he co-founded the Rich Oak Alchemy Open Mic and the CSU East Bay Slam Poetry Club. That same year, he won the National Poetry Slam Compliment Death Match, which earned him the title of “the nicest poet in the country.” Jamey has toured internationally, published two chapbooks, and performed at the Twitter, Yelp, and Google headquarters. He is also an accomplished screen and stage actor. When he isn’t teaching, performing, or organizing, Jamey spends his time watching anime, writing music, and pursuing his master’s degree. Jamey Williams, welcome to Story Behind the Story! Jamey Williams (JW): Hello, thank you! I'm so happy to be here today. (CSA): I'm so delighted that you're here, so I wanted to start to set this up a little bit: I met you at an event hosted by Palenke Arts in Seaside, and the first thing that I notice about you is your energy. You just radiate this passion and enthusiasm, and you use your energy to really guide your audience, which I found really interesting to watch; Just the way that people responded to you in the audience, as well as the way that you're responding to them. Is that something that you've always had as part of the way that you perform, or is it something that's evolved as you have developed as a poet and a performer? (JW): It’s definitely something I feel like I've always had my whole life. I've always been performing. It started with acting when I was in elementary, and then just performing in a lot of different elements in that way as well. But, there is also a refining process. I've been a professional poet since 2016 and I've been on a lot of stages, been in a lot of rooms, so I've learned how to tailor my performance to the audience. Know what people want to hear, know how the poem should sound. So for instance, if I perform in a bookstore, the same poem that I do at Festival — it could be the same poem, but they will have two completely different energies. (CSA): Yeah, I'm really interested about that. I remember at that Palenque arts event, one of the poems that you read, I think, was about gentrification in Richmond and East East Bay, and I'm curious how you present a poem that — especially in some of the tech headquarters that you've been at where you're presenting to an audience that has really driven gentrification. (JW): In my experience, it either goes one or two ways; either it starts a lot of really interesting conversations afterwards, or people get really offended, and they stand up and they leave. I had that happen several times, and I love when that happens, too! Because I'm like, if you're so offended, the shoe fit. The gentrification shoe fit and you felt very called out. And I would have loved to have that conversation with you, but I'm glad that you at least saw that in yourself. (CSA): Yeah, you're feeling it. (JW): Yeah. Whatever they do with that on their own time, totally up to them. (CSA): When you have had conversations with people after some of your events, some of your performances, what are those conversations like? What are some of your favorite takeaways from conversations you've had about your poetry? (JW): Yeah! Again, one of two ways; There's a lot of microaggressions and backhanded compliments that I deal with, especially from wealthy older people, so I definitely have to navigate that situation a handful of times. But then on the other hand, I'll also meet a lot of cool people who's like, “I want to learn more. How can I get involved? How can I bring you somewhere else? What you said was so cool. Can you tell me more about you? Can you tell me how I can have you perform that again somewhere else?” It either goes really bad or really good in my experience a lot of the times. (He says with an exhaled chuckle) (CSA): Well, I think that's really interesting. I think when you're writing poetry, there's always an element of vulnerability and courage to it. Any art that you're doing is pouring yourself into it, and it's interesting to hear you talk about the ways that you have navigated those discussions afterward with different people. I'm curious too — cuz you are of course an actor as well as a poet: How has acting informed the way that you think about poetry, not just in the performance but in the writing itself? (JW): Oh yeah, definitely. For me, operative words. What I mean by that is, I think it was two or three years ago I did Macbeth with African American Shakespeare Company, and it was my first time doing Shakespeare. And Shakespeare is very, very language heavy, so it was hard for me. So I spent a lot of time with coaches and stuff like that, and I learned a lot about, in Shakespeare (and this translates to a lot of different writing:), Operative Words. Which words do you want to give power? Which words want to hit the audience? Which words you want to stay on? And that translated not to necessarily the way I write my poems, but the way I perform my poems. Because also I have a very long history with music. I've been writing music since I was four or five. So a lot of my poems are very lyrical. The acting side really taught me how to make the word stand up a little bit. (CSA): Yeah, like ‘Here's what you emphasize, and here are the things where you maybe want to draw back.’ (JW): Yeah, and also, when do I pause? When do I speed up? Just all the technical stuff; Making sure the words are heard more. (CSA): What is your writing process like? I noticed the poems in these two chapbooks, they all have dates attached to them. Is that a date when you decide that it's finished? Is that a date of a first draft? How do you go about writing and editing and iterating? (JW): The dates behind my poem is something I started very instinctively when I started writing poetry, and it took me years to figure out why I did it. For me, I want my poetry to be like: I was here, on this Earth. You know? And those dates are the days I finished the first draft, so it's around this time I was thinking about this. Even if I write two or three drafts later and the poem changes over the course of years, I still keep that original day because it's interesting as well. Sometimes I'll read one of my old poems and be like, ‘Oh that's so interesting. I wrote this in June when so and so happened. When this situation happened.’ So for me it's just a reminder that I was here on the Earth, and also to hopefully have that connect with my readers as well. There's a poem that's not in either of my chapbooks but I wrote it on… what day was that? On Christmas, actually! So that was the date that was attached to it. So when somebody else reads that poem, if it ever comes in a book, they can respond and be like, ‘Oh, I was doing that this day.’ (CSA): I like that. It really emphasized the conversational aspect of poetry, of both the reading and the writing of it. (JW): Yeah! (CSA): Tell me a little bit more about your work as an educator. How do you approach teaching poetry? (JW): This year I got my credential and it's my first time as a full-time teacher, but I have been a teaching artist since 2016 working with the law of non-profit orgs, and a lot of different school districts. So each org has their own pedagogy, their own way to teach poetry. So what I do in my own classroom, I take the best practices I've learned from working with all of these different programs and put it together. So typically I do a scaffolding method, where we'll talk about just the topic, the theme — something very low stakes. I will guide the students through a little quick lesson. They'll get an example of the poem, and then they have to write and perform a poem. And then a few days later we go back, and then we make a second draft once they've had some time to step away from the poem just to add on to it. (CSA): So it sounds like it's very focused toward getting them to write as well. (JW): Yeah, writing and performance. A lot of performance, too. When they write… they don't perform every poem they write to the whole class, but they will to at least one person in the class. (CSA): Do you find that… I'm interested to hear a bit about the kinds of poetry that your students write, and what sort of insights you get from working with them? (JW): Yeah definitely. So, for folks who don't know, spoken word poetry is very deeply tied to social justice, giving voice to people in groups who haven't felt they've been heard for a really long time. So a lot of the issues that we talk about are about identity; It’s about the ways that the American government has lied; It's a lot about gender identity; It's a lot about sexism and racism. But! I don't stay super heavy all the time. Sometimes you do a lot of fun writing as well, where they'll be writing about cheeseburgers, or writing about their favorite TV show, so I have a good little balance going. So it's not just: heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy! (CSA) Right. (JW): But it's in there. It's in there. (CSA): Are there particular aspects of poetry that you find your students are consistently drawn to or are they all over the map diverse in their interests? (JW): I think that that depends on the environment. It depends on the program, it depends on the school, it depends on the age — because I literally taught as young as 5 years old to parents with their kids writing together at the same time, in all capacities. That just depends on their age, their demographics, and where they're at. (CSA): I would love to see some of the stuff that comes from the parents and kids writing together. That seems like it's a really fulfilling exercise as well. (JW): Yeah, it gets very wonky. (They laugh) Very wonky. (CSA): Do your students ever surprise you? (JW): Oh yeah, all the time! We do poetry in class but I also lead after school clubs for people who really really like poetry, who want to write about topics that they don't have to; Cuz in class I always choose the topic, but in Poetry Club, you can write about whatever you want, and then you can get feedback from the club, you can write poems together. So I remember a few years ago, I was poaching a 4th and 5th grade poetry class and this one girl, she wrote a poem all about Greek mythology — and I didn't know she was into Greek mythology. But she knew more than I did! I can tell she really studied it. And then another student, she wrote a poem that was based off of... I think it's a song by Queen. “Don't Stop Me Now”? (CSA): Yeah it's a Queen song. (JW): She wrote a poem about that song and I'm like — How do you know this song? You're eight!? (CSA): (Laughing) Queen is universal. It spans all age groups. (JW): So I definitely get surprised a lot in my work. (CSA): Well I think now's a good time for us to hear some of your poetry! So I thought we might start with your poem “Drowning” from the chapbook Breathing Underwater. Can you maybe set it up a little bit for us first? (JW): I have two chapbooks. Earlier you were talking about poetry being very vulnerable; My first chapbook, To Be Black is to Love, it's mostly about my experience with romance so it was very, very personal. My second chapbook, I kind of took a step back; Like, the poems are still personal, I still relate to them. But I wanted to be a bit more general, because the idea for that book was being Black in America often feels like you're expected to breathe underwater. You're constantly drowning, but you have to just keep surviving somehow. And yeah, this was the first poem that I wrote for this book, before I even knew that the book was coming. And this poem is called “Drowning,” and I just love the concept. So that's why it's the first poem in the book. It inspired this whole thing. So this is “Drowning.” [He begins to read] My toes Taste the cold currents Before I realize That I am standing, Black and barefoot, In a wasteland of water. Looking back, I realize that the waves Carried me here without consent Yet, nevertheless, I continue to call this ocean Home. And here, I hear Barracudas biting into bones for breakfast. I see Sharks sharpening their jaws. Filing their fangs With the remains of decrepit skeletons. You see, The sea is a dangerous place. It is The bloodiest of whirlpools Where fish, who share my features, Replace their name with the word Lunch; Lawless lagoon Where the mighty sand dollar reigns supreme. But, today, The skin on my feet Dared me to go deeper into its depths; And I almost did, Only stopping after I heard the voice of death. The reaper Looks a lot like a riptide. Hatred bubbles out of his throat Before he threatens to sink me In a familiar tone That sounds a lot genocide. He says “Boy I will swallow you whole I did your ancestors, So make no mistake, The waves were a warning And I’ll drown you in a watery grave If you ever forget your place. If you ever forget That this ocean was not made for your kind.” The irony Being that the brine of this country is salty With Black blood. This country Is a ship that will trade my hope For a freight of obedience. A ship that will smash my self worth into flotsam. If only Black bodies could breathe underwater. We’d build Atlantis In the name of our ancestors. If only This ocean was kind to my kin Then Black bodies would buoy because of freedom. If only There was an oasis of acceptance In America. [He finishes reading] (CSA): Thank you for reading that. (JW): It's one of my favorites. (CSA): It's a good one. I can see why. When you were setting this up, you said this collection is about this idea that to be Black in America means you are constantly underwater and you have to find a way to breathe and to move on and to survive anyway. And this poem is called “Drowning.” That title of drowning evokes not being necessarily up to that task. But of course the poem itself is not quite there, or, not quite about… it's not a failure. That's not what it's about. So I'm curious about that interplay; Why did you want to start with drowning in this book about breathing underwater? (JW): I think that it sets the tone, because again, this book, it’s a lot less about me than my first book was. It's more just about being Black in America. So even though this [unintelligible] poem itself is about drowning, it speaks to the hardship. It speaks of the genocide. It speaks to all the enslaved African people who jumped off the ship, and they chose death, (CSA): Yeah, those images are really clear. (JW): And so it sets up the rest of the book. There's little pockets of Hope in the book. There's pockets of strength and triumph and beauty, but it's important to start with the most visceral feeling of fear and hopelessness. (CSA): And speaking of that visceral fear and hopelessness, you really get that in a lot of the imagery in this poem: “The bloodiest of whirlpools,” “The reaper who looks a lot like a riptide,” “The barracudas biting into bones for breakfast.” When you're writing, and especially when you're thinking about a poem like this that is less personal and is meant to evoke more of an experience across many people — something that's a little bit more universalized or general — how do you think about metaphor and imagery? (JW): Metaphor and imagery were very, very present in this poem, especially extended metaphor. The water imagery. I was grabbing things that reminded me of being at the bottom of the ocean, and things that are in water. So there’s ships. There's ocean. There's sharks. There's barracudas. There's sand dollars. I just really wanted to paint up. Set the book breathing underwater. (CSA): The last few stanzas of this poem are a series of conditionals: “If only Black bodies could breathe underwater we'd build Atlantis in the name of our ancestors. If only this ocean was kind to my kin then Black bodies would buoy because of freedom. If only there was an oasis of acceptance in America” — and I'm interested in that phrasing in particular, cuz it's not just, “if” but, “if only.” Can you tell me about that choice? (JW): Again, that goes back to those pockets of hope that I was talking about. There are pockets of hope in the book — Not a lot! (They laugh) But there's some.I just wanted to give the reader a little cookie; Just like, okay: What if this was here? It's not, but what if? And what if this was here, and what if this was here? So even though the poem that follows this poem is also about fear and darkness in a certain way, it still sets up that possibility for hope that eventually shines through in the book. (CSA): I really liked the choice of Atlantis, which of course makes sense cuz it is underwater, but I was doing a little bit of research on the history of the way that Atlantis has been talked about and it's so interesting because it has been described in myth and in literature as both a Utopia and a dystopia at different points in time. It really struck me that the mythologies starts with Plato, but it's really a place that gets written on by other people's imaginations over time. Written over and written over and written over. And I was curious beyond it just being under the sea, whether there was any part of that that you were thinking about in this poem. Any part of … What is the construction that you have for the Atlantis that you'd build? (JW): So there's a couple of things that I was thinking about. About Midway through the poem, I say that the reaper who looks the riptide says, ‘I will swallow you like I did your ancestors,’ because enslaved Black people would often jump off of the ships and choose death rather than slavery. And then a little bit later I say the brine of this country is salty with Black blood. Brine, being the saltiness of the water, and Black blood — not little Black blood, but blood from Black people. I was setting up this idea that there are already Black people at the bottom of the ocean, and that's why I say, ‘If only they could breathe.’ What if they jumped down, but they were still alive? So in that sense, Atlantis is a Utopia, and everybody who's ever jumped off the slave ship, anybody who's ever just had to experience that — rather than it being this sad thing, iy’s actually really happy. (CSA): It’s that Kingdom of Hope in refusal. (JW): Yeah. So I was setting up that idea of Atlantis a few stanzas before indirectly. ***AD BREAK*** (CSA): If you’re just joining me, my guest today is Richmond-based poet and educator Jamey Williams, who earned the title of “nicest poet in the country” at the 2017 National Poetry Slam. Can we read another one? Can we have you read “Momma's Chocolate Hands"? (JW): For sure. “Drowning” is the first poem in this book. “Momma's Chocolate Hands” is the second to last poem Again, because this is like that pocket of Hope starting to shine. I'm just going to hop into this poem and let it speak for itself. [He begins to read] I'm sitting down in the kitchen Four feet away from my momma Watching her prepare dinner as she swiftly moves about With a certain level of practiced precision. Do you smell that? The heat waves creeping out of the oven are always accompanied by an aroma It smells like the sweetest treats that can only be conceived in the South The ones that are only allowed to melt the pink taste buds inside your mouth on Sunday It smells like women-made miracles dashed with a tablespoon of Black girl magic. It smells like overt optimism in the face of poverty And as always, I remain seated With my wide inquisitive eyes glued to her every move Momma's chocolate hands always lift them pots and pans Momma's chocolate hands always chopping the onions Momma's chocolate hands always seasonin’ the chicken Momma's chocolate hands always opening cans of corns beans and yams Today as I watched her majestic figure move I wondered How many other little chocolate boys have watched their mommas as closely as I have mine I wondered: how many other people had adopted their mother's mannerisms? Because in my case I had inherited my mother's life for life. I was birthed with her pragmatic stubbornness I embody her ambitious tenacity I display her filial piety in the form of a smile These days I'm barely home And when I roam about in the world, I always feel something's missing The muscles in my abdomen start contracting, Asking for something I cannot give it. My stomach Starts caving in Craving A hearty helping of love that is fulfilling something Similar to my mother's. Honestly, It took me two decades to realize That the kitchen Has always been a symbol for life And I have always been watching my Momma Momma's chocolate hands always lifting up all six of her kids Momma's chocolate hands always chopping down barriers and obstacles that attempted to stymie our success Momma’s chocolate hands always making sure that we were well seasoned with knowledge and education. Momma's chocolate hands always openin massive cans of whoop-ass on any idiot foolish enough to mess with one of her babies And some days I want to drop my responsibilities and run home Just so I can give her a hug. See her moving about in the kitchen So I can finally say, Momma, do you need a hand? Matter of fact you kick right down if you want and I'll cook dinner tonight. I'll use unconditional love as the secret spice The same taste I've been feasting on for 23 years straight Will always be attached to my memories because of you Momma. It's time I bake you something beautiful. [He finishes reading] (CSA): Thank you for reading that. (JW): Definitely. (CSA): I found myself really listening to your cadence in that reading. There were a lot of things that I noticed that surprised me from reading it on the page, and that I really liked. So, you kept saying, “Momma’s,” and there was a pause before “chocolate hands.” And similarly there was a pause after, “I.” I'm curious about those choices. What are you trying to convey in the reading as you're doing that? (JW): With this piece in particular, we were talking about those operative words, because this poem is very much about my relationship with my mom. We are the main two components of this poem. I wanted to make a distinction between what I was talking about her and the things I saw her do, and when I was talking about myself and then the things I've done and things I've witnessed and the things I want to do. So those pauses help the audience hear the switches more of perspective. And also, the last poem in the book (the next poem) is called “Flower Child,” so I'm talking about this relationship between me and my mom, and then the next poem is about a child. A nameless child. Yeah, it just helps break up the ‘who's saying what/who's feeling what.’ (CSA): It was interesting to me reading this and hearing it for the first time. I've actually, somewhat coincidentally, I think I've heard or read half a dozen poems that are intergenerational mothers and children — Usually mothers and daughters, but some mothers and sons — in a kitchen. It's interesting because of course that is a site of intergenerational conversation and passing down traditions and rituals and recipes, but it also had started to me to feel like another way in which women are confined to this one domain. And what interested me about your poem is that right as I was starting to feel that way, it shifts. You have this stuff about how the kitchen is always a symbol for life, and then Momma is out of the kitchen. She's doing all of these other things that are part of life. I was curious if that was something that you were thinking of specifically, or if it's just something that arises out of my reading of it. (JW): No definitely. That was very intentional because in my own life, if it happened in the same way that the poem follows. The first time I ever really remember asking my mom to teach me something was how to cook. And my mom is so funny; Whenever I would ask her about specifics, she always used to say, ‘Would you eat it?’ (They both laugh) She was always very much like, ‘Do it on your own. I'll help you, but I'm not going to hold your hand the whole way through.’ And then as I got older, I just started realizing that, oh my mom… she's always done these things! She's always supported us, she's always looked out for us. And especially as I became an educator and saw a lot of instances with not so great households, I realize how much effort my mom had put in into teaching us all these other things that I didn't even know until I was in my late teens early twenties, because I just assumed everybody else grew up that way. In a way, the poem mirrors my own realization of how badass my mom is. (CSA): [Clara chuckles] Well, I like it a lot. You were talking a lot about watching your mom — first in the kitchen and then as she chops down barriers — and I was curious about that watching specifically. What did observing her in these different environments and observing the way that she responds to different challenges — What did that do for you? (JW): A little bit about that is that I'm the youngest out of all of my mom's six kids, so I did a lot of watching growing up; The way she would handle my older siblings when they got in trouble, or when they did something great. I just did a lot of watching growing up because I was the youngest. So yeah, I think that that's just the short answer of it. I was always very observant; Having such a large family and everybody's doing their own thing. I'm the only poet in my family; We all have our own personalities, our own things. So it's very interesting watching my brothers do this, my brother do that, my mom scold them for this, my mom praised them for that. That's just how I grew up. (CSA): There's a couple lines in here that you talk about inheriting your mother's love of life, and birthed with her pragmatic stubbornness, her ambitious tenacity. Can you tell me about how those qualities manifest for her and for you? (JW): Yeah, definitely! I’m going to go line by line. “My mothers love of life”: my mom, she loves to travel. She loves to spend time with the family. She loves to eat good. She loves to laugh. And I feel I'm very much similar, and maybe I got that from her. We just love a good time, we love to be around our loved ones, we love to go out and explore. I also say, “I was birthed with her pragmatic stubbornness.” My mom is also very stubborn and she doesn't take any BS, and I'm very much the same way. We're both very logical, even though we acknowledge our emotions, we're not controlled by them in a sense. We'll always take a step back and think things through. “Ambitious tenacity.” Yeah, my mom is just a go-getter. She got a degree — a cosmetology degree, an associate's degree, and a bachelor's degree. We moved around a lot, and no matter where we were she always made it happen for us. And then the last one, “her filial piety,” that's just about loving your family; And I have such a huge family. And my mom is very on it about us getting together. She does a yearly trip, whether it be a cruise, or go to the mountains, or do this or do that. My mom makes sure that my family spends time together. And I think that I had also got that from her as well. (CSA): Tell me a little bit about the end of the poem, what does it mean to “bake your Momma something beautiful”? (JW): That part is about going from watching your mom cook and teach you all these life skills, to realizing that she's been holding it down in all these other ways. And then that last line, it's ‘okay, it's my turn.’ Now that I'm an adult, now that I have the means, now that I'm out of my house, I want to make sure I give you everything that you gave me. I want to make sure that you're taken care of in the same way that you took care of us for all these years. And I think that that's just what every parent wants. Is their child to just come back and support them and love them and enjoy spending time with them. So that last line, that was like the call to action: Okay, I’ve realized all of these things, but now I have to do something with it. (CSA): Because you mentioned it — you mentioned that you are the only poet in your family. I'm curious where you think that love of poetry and that love of creativity comes from for you. S (JW): I'm the only poet, but there's plenty of musicians, and that's why I said I grew up with music. I was recording songs in studios when I was 7 years old. (CSA): Oh wow! (JW): Very, very young. Music runs very deep in my family. When I was acting in elementary and starting to explore that, my mom — she never stifled our creativity. She was always like, ‘Try this. Try that.’ Whether it was sports, whether it was martial arts, whether it was acting or music or whatever — as long as it was something positive and constructive. She would always encourage us to do that, and push us to do that. Eventually I found poetry when I was in high school and just fell in love with it, but I was always writing; Whether it be short stories or music or whatever. Poetry was just one of the later forms of literature that I discovered. (CSA): Well, I think we have time for at least one more. So I'd like to have you read a poem from your other collection, To Be Black Is To Love. This poem is called, “Anniversary the day after Valentines.” (JW): WHOOO! This poem! [He laughs] Yeah, so to set this poem up a little bit, like you said this is from my first chapbook, To Be Black Is To Love, and this poem specifically was just talking about anniversaries. The first anniversary of the first kiss, the anniversary of being a couple, but also the anniversary of breaking up. That's what this poem is about. It's about me and my high school sweetheart breaking up, and me 2 years later coming to terms with everything. This poem, it really helped me expel a lot of what I was feeling. So this is “Anniversary the day after Valentine's.” [He reads] Today marks the 2-year anniversary of our first kiss. Tomorrow would have been our second anniversary as a couple. Today I woke up irritable and implacable as all hell. It felt like criticizing all the pages on every damn calendar Until they felt so self-conscious that they just stopped moving all together. If I could, I would not only restrict But forcibly reverse the intangible hands of time, Just so that I could spend more months holding your hand tighter And longer. Had I known that we were destined for doom anyway, Then I would have at least tasted your soft lips sooner. I would have drilled more holes in my schedule so I can have more moments To tell you how elated I was that you were my first love. Your bright brown eyes were lighthouses Signaling me back home In you Significant as you were sacred Meant the world to me. This isn't another love poem Or a lack of love poem, But more like a pragmatic epiphany Because if I could actually go back in time, I would have spent more hours accepting the fact that your loyalty is no longer mine And spent less questioning if it ever was. In search of emotional solace I rejoice and the memories of the times when I held your heart close to mine. I locked it with commitment To keep it tight for as long as the world got old. I'm sorry you were my world Allowed me to Today I came to the conclusion, That for me Enough Is never enough Even if we dated 100 years before we broke up I would still call out to the Gods, Or whoever the hell you have to talk to after you get tired of hearing the sound of your own voice And complain that our time was too short Then, I would [unintelligible] beg for 200 more As I sit here and reminisce about the 2-year anniversary of our first kiss I can't help but think about how it happened the day after Valentine's. I can't help recall how the jovial sun played peek-a-boo behind the orange and gray clouds that were stretched in the sky above the Hercules hills I remember the sun not shining on two lip locking teens Not even as you melted and rested in my arms You became clouds Me becoming sky I can't help but think about how it's possible that you could have forgotten about that day And me. This year, I'm hesitant about honoring this holiday I hold back my urge of sending you a gift I almost sent a beautiful bouquet with two dozen ruby red roses, One for each month that I would have selfishly dedicated to you how we stayed together. I would have at least gotten you some damn chocolates for this anniversary With hopes that they’re as bittersweet as my memories I would have written a pragmatic epiphany that was really just My long-winded way of me telling you that I'm moving on. But I still miss you. Silly Me I would have signed it with together forever. Valentine's A seasonal reminder for what could have been I just hope that next year is better. [He finishes reading] (CSA): Thank you for reading that. (JW): I was so emotional! [They share a laugh] (CSA): It’s interesting, right? It's 4 years after you've written it, which then I guess is 6 years after the relationship. It still has that power. Tell me about it! (JW): Yeah, it’s very funny, too. I haven't read that poem home in a long time and I was like, damn. I really felt all that. Cuz like you said, that was 4 years ago; Me writing that, that was 2 years after the breakup… So I'm very far removed from that situation. but it's always interesting. And that's why I put the dates on things! To see that's where I was on Valentine's 4 years ago. ***AD BREAK*** (CSA): If you’re just joining me, my guest today is Richmond-based poet and educator Jamey Williams, who earned the title of “nicest poet in the country” at the 2017 National Poetry Slam. There's a lot of imagery that I really liked in this one, but I think my favorite was near the beginning where you talk about wanting to “criticize all the pages on every damn calendar until they felt so self-conscious that they just stopped moving all together.” Wow, what a mood. [They both laugh] (JW): I think for me,the lines that I really liked was the part where I talk about… Where is it? I have the poem right here: “I can't help but recall how the jovial sun played peekaboo behind the orange and grey cloud.” And later on I say, “You becoming clouds, me becoming sky,” so I just recall that. And then also: “A beautiful bouquet with two dozen ruby red roses. One for each month I would have selflessly dedicated to you had we stayed together.” I think those are the two images that I was really proud of when I wrote those. (CSA): Yeah, it's great. I mean, I think there's so much in here. And like you said, there's a lot of that carried metaphor throughout, right? The ones that you just mentioned, and then there's this other reference; You've got the calendars at the start, but then you talk about, “I would have drilled more holes in my schedule later to create more moments with you.” There's just so much in here that really, I think what it evoked to me was… that anger you wake up with, it's hiding other things, right? That anger is really about regret, and nostalgia, and looking back at this love that maybe was imperfect, but it's a first love so it's always going to be that flash bulb moment. (JW): Right, and I kind of do that a lot with this poem: say something, and then come back to it. Somewhere towards the beginning (I don't know where it was) but I say… here it is! “This isn't another love poem or a lack of love poem, but more a pragmatic Epiphany.” And then towards the end I say again, “I would have written a pragmatic Epiphany,” so for me that's a fourth wall break. (CSA): Oh yeah, absolutely! (JW): Like, this IS that thing that I would have [unintelligible]. (They chuckle) (CSA): Yeah, I really liked that a lot. That: ‘I would have done this thing that I am doing right now,’ and I think there's something … what it does is it shifts you from one context to the other. Like, ‘I would have done this and it would have meant something different even though I'm still doing it right now.’ Like, if we were still together, my writing this would have a different flavor, and it would probably be a different Epiphany, right? (JW): Right. (CSA): I also… I like that idea of that pragmatic Epiphany in part because it really evokes some of the stuff you were saying in the setup; That writing poetry can be this way of helping you process an emotion or an event. Can you talk a little bit more about how that works in your life? (JW): So for me, my first book (like I said), it was a lot about me. And then once I started selling that book across the country I was like, ‘Holy hell — A lot of strangers know a lot about me!’ (Clara laughs) And so my second book, I took a step back and was like, okay. I want to write more general; There's still going to be some things about me, and those things will be very vulnerable but I want to just make it more general. And now I'm at a place where I do both. I don't feel confined to just either it be all about me or not about me at all. So for instance, one of the latest poems that I wrote, it's about my experience and fear, actually, and how in a lot of the plays that I've done ever since taking acting seriously — It's been about Black death. Specifically the death of young Black men. And it's just me talking about my own experience with that. The first time I ever performed that poem live in front of a crowd, I got choked up. I didn't expect to because I was so used to the words; I was like, “I'm just going to read this poem.” But the feeling resurfaced — and often, that's what happens! Even when I was just reading this poem from 4 years ago — something I haven't thought about in so long — [but] the feelings are still there when you go back to it. (CSA): And that's interesting to me because your second collection, as you said, is so much about being Black in America. But there is a little bit more of that authorial distance. I'm interested, do you have that poem? Would you be willing to read that one as well? The one that you were just mentioning? (JW): Yeah, I have that one! And actually what's really cool about this poem: I was commissioned to write it through the Shotgun Players (It’s a theater Company in Berkeley) because they were having this really cool project where they were commissioning a lot of different things. Like, 30 different projects. And I was like, ‘Okay I want to do this poem about my experience in theater.’ And they were like, ‘Okay! Let's do it!’ So it's about theater, and my experience commissions it through another theater… Again, everything is quite connected. Okay, Here's this poem: [He reads] There are two red curtains Lacing their arms around each other's backs Acting like they are old lovers. Their color makes you question if these drapes have been drenched in gallons of blood Or If they were simply designed to appear that way Before you get your answer, They start slowly pulling apart Revealing a dark speech Lights up. The set is every major city in America all at once. Listen As he comes from stage left Watch as he walks to the perfect spot Where the bright lights begin to bounce so hard off his dark skin that you mistake him For the night sky And he is And he is right in front of you now, so look at him! The Black boy I say boy, because although he resembles a man He carries a curious twinkle behind his eyes which tells me The Black boy does not live long enough to understand why the bullet is always the villain. The Black boy has a feeling That escalated to the protest and the hashtags that are currently trending It’s just His young brain isn't finished mapping out all of the connections So he leaves that to the playwrights The ones who create beautiful stories honoring our ancestors, Especially the ones who inherited that title too early. I have been in several of these plays and can attest to how meaningful they are. However, it'd be a lie to say it doesn't hurt watching the Black boy die. Don't get me wrong. I know these plays aren't necessary to start conversations. However I also know how draining it is to hop on social media And see the life be snatched out of a Black body before showing up to rehearsals Four nights a week. Six hours of session Only to be seen as a ghost In 2018, when I got serious about acting, my first role was a teenager named Seddy Rexbin [sp?] Seddy loved rapping And passing out his mixtapes on Chicago trains About halfway through the play right before he dies It is revealed that Seddy has been a ghost the whole time. How ironic That even though he was already dead, the audience had to watch him die in order to get his point across In my last play, I was a South African kid named Johnny Nucoise Qwansee [sp?] Whose family was dealing with the aftermath of apartheid And when given the chance to take the life of the white man Who tortured and murdered his brother Johnny almost does, But his brother's ghost wafts in the room and talks him out of it Before disappearing for the last time. How ironic that even though he was already dead, the audience had to watch him die in order to get his point across. I guess the death of Black boys likes to repeat itself in theater. So tonight In this play the Black boy does not die. Destiny doesn't choreograph a dance with death that will leave you breathless In this show, nobody ends up in a cast, Which is to say that no one broke their legs for your amusement And I know America isn't used to these kinds of stories. We are trained to see Black boys as raindrops Filling up the river of purgatory if we even see them at all So tonight If only for the next 90 minutes, I beg you to stare at the Black boy on stage. I say ‘boy’ because I don't know his age, or his name, But I know he is alive And tonight that is all that matters. Please pay attention to the lines running out of his mouth As if they were the last words that he will ever say. But the magic is that they aren't And by the time the red curtains reunite with the kiss, the Black boy will be backstage Wrapped so tight in his mother's embrace That the whole scene will make the grim reaper jealous. [He finishes reading] (CSA): Thank you so much. I think you did read that at Palenke as well. I think it was how you finished out the night, maybe. And it's really good. Since I don't have that one in front of me, I tried just to take a couple notes while we were going. The lines that stood out to me, the first one was this line about ancestors, followed by “the ones who inherited that title too early.” I think that's something — (I mean, we've been talking about it, but,) — it's something that we see throughout your poetry, and that I think is becoming more and more salient the longer that you're writing; This sort of…ah, what is it called… anaphora! Referencing back to this thing in a way that does I think feel almost musical a lot of the time. (JW): Yeah, definitely. (CSA): Do you find that that is something that you are just developing in general? Is it something that feels like it belongs more in these poems that are more personal to you, or is it… yeah. Walk me through that a little bit. (JW): Something that I always tell my students is that I can show you how I write poetry. I can show you how other people write and perform poetry. But your job as the artist is to find your voice. For me, I grew up writing music. I still write music till this day, and perform music. So all of my poems have a very lyrical element. So I use rhyme. I use alliteration, I use anaphora, I use assonance — I use all these literary devices that are about how things sound, and I do that very purposely because that's what’s comfortable to me, Because I just like to do it. I like the way that things sound. Whenever I perform a poem, I want there to be some form of musical element, unless! And this sometimes happens — unless that is not what that poem requires. For instance, a lot of the poems that I write are free verse, but I've been experimenting with a lot more form. Like contrapuntals in sonnets, and yadda yadda, yadda yadda. For most things I probably can’t do that. But whenever I write free verse, I just think that my musical background really shines through a lot. (CSA): This next one that I wrote down is definitely about the content, and you repeat it, but I just think it's such an evocative and such a powerful line: “How ironic that even though he was already dead, the audience had to watch him die to get his point across.” And I think part of why that struck me is because, conceptually that's something that you hear in a more general conversation about what it means to be Black in America, and particularly the way that we the way that white people approach Black death when we talk about it and when we look at it. And this is, at the same time, you really feel how personal it is; You're talking about irony, but there is no ironic attachment there. (JW): Yeah. Earlier in the poem I also say that being an actor, you go to rehearsals four weeks [sic] a night, 6 hours a session, and then I'm putting in all this work and I go on stage… just to be a ghost. Just to die, in and of itself, again and again and again. For me, the repetition is very purposeful because this story gets repeated: young Black man dying on the news; The video — that gets repeated. These kind of plays, although I only go into detail about two of those plays, I have been in and have been part of readings of a lot more of those plays. So it's just about the repetition of young Black death. And I was like, what better way to do that than to repeat that stanza? (CSA): It’s very effective. And I think it also makes it all the more effective when you get further on, “and tonight, in this play, the Black boy does not die. I don't know his age or his name, but I know that he's alive and tonight that's all that matters. The magic is that they aren't the last words he will ever say.” That repetition of that early point, it leads you to really feel that as magic, to feel the importance of this particular play where a Black boy doesn't die. (JW): And I would love to see that play. But yeah, more times than not, I am the dead Black boy. (CSA): Well I think maybe you have to write that one. (JW): It's in the works! (He laughs) (CSA): Good! Jamey Williams, thank you so much for joining me today. (JW): Thank you for inviting me. This was lovely. (CW): To learn more about Jamey and his poetry, visit jameywilliams.com or follow him on Instagram @jamey_thepoet. (JW): For clarification, that's J-A-M-E-Y underscore the poet... A lot of people are going to put J-A-M-I-E. (CW): It's going to be on a blog post (JW): Oh, perfect! (They both laugh) Catch Story Behind the Story the first Friday of every month from 5 to 6 p.m. on KSQD 90.7 FM. To share your thoughts on this or other shows, drop me a line at Clara@KSQD.org. The Story Behind the Story is produced for KSQD 90.7 FM by me, Clara Sherley-Appel. Our sound engineer is Lanier Sammons; He also wrote our theme.