Between Our Selves by Audre Lorde

Between Our Selves

Audre Lorde

These two small volumes (Between Our Selves and If You Want To Know Me by P. Halsey, G. Morían and M. Smith ) melt together like Yin and Yang to form a natural sphere of cross-reference and transmigration, though one is by a single black American woman poet, and the other is a collection

(by three American women) of an assortment of Southern African poets.

Audre Lorde has taken those linear, those vertical divisions that separate us, and has drawn a circle around them in Between Ourselves. It is not a witch’s circle; it is an embrace. The great moments are here, the estrangements of power and of powerlessness, the universal questions, and the only possible responses.

In ‘Solstice,’ she asks:

who do you think me to be

that you are terrified of becoming

or what do you see in my face

you have not already discarded

in your own mirror

She supplies her own answer:

for most of all I am

blessed within my s elves

who are come to make our shattered faces

whole. (Italics mine)

The poet in Between Ourselves (sic) is greater than her art, bigger than her race, than her sex, than even her own priorities. ‘Once it was easy to know/who were my people,’ she reveals in the title poem. But identity is a bigger, more circular thing than this: ‘I do not believe/our wants have made all our lies/holy.’ Thus she moves softly from identity to dignity. Somehow the struggle must be as noble as its goals, or perhaps even more so. There is a constant refusal to submit to or mimic, for whatever high ends, the indignity of the captor, of the dehumanizer. She continues her circle in references to her own childhood, and to her own children. The circle is completed in ‘School Note.’ The continuing struggle meets itself full face, where ‘their playgrounds /were graveyards.’

The theme is concentrated within her when she writes in ‘Power’:

But unless I learn to use

the difference between poetry and rhetoric

my power too will run corrupt as poisonous mold

Audre Lorde speaks to the few, to the select, to everyone, as she describes the

place we all seek, and each of us more than the other:

for the embattled

there is no place

that cannot be

home

nor is.

~ Mary McAnnally-Knight, Obsidian (1975-1982), Vol. 4, No. 2 (Summer 1978)


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Details

Genre Poetry; Black Interest; Grier Rated
Publication Date 1976
Publisher Eidolon Editions
Language English
Rating Great
BookID 1093

Author: LFWBooks