Thursday, April 26, 2012

Echo Book/DocuFilm Backstory: A Slave Ship Named Echo

Sometimes as writers and poets we feel things before the reasons for the feelings become apparent to us. This morning I found out that there was a slave ship (from past day African American slavery) that was named Echo*. Echo. Echo. Echo. The same exact as my Play, now Book and DocuFilm. I had no idea. No idea that there was a slave ship named Echo. I am completely floored. But it gives me some awareness of why Echo lives within me so strongly as well as some awareness of the "force" of some of the poetry that has flowed from my fingers.
Please find below a poem that I wrote awhile ago. I wrote it after I felt that my voice was being oppressed by a Pastor. But what flowed out was much deeper than that. I didn't understand what I wrote. it seemed to not match the situation. Yes, I felt oppressed but what flowed out was much deeper. I understand it now. I believe that the words in this poem are ones that my ancestors would have understood. My own situation had caused me to brush up against the spirit of the oppressed and subjugated tears of my very own ancestors. And a flood of emotions broke forth. May we catch their tears in our hearts. Caress them. And blow them back with love. Selah.

(Note: You can read more about the slave ship Echo here:

as of yet
the stones were forced
to cry out for her,
because the terror unveiled out of
her mouth's mournful yell remains
unheard. even in all its intensity
it is stilled and silenced
by the tentacles
of cowardice and greed.
an unsavory combination.

she was cradled by the
rough waves which discarded her
upon these shores, spitting her out.
until stooped over stood. as best she could.
straddling the docks of "founded upon liberty"
and the "the truth of the matter" cat o nine tails
that ripped open her flesh with
the whip of degradation, the noose of rape.

she watched as her legacy was torn and shredded
from the depths of her history.
(their shame).
so, there she wait,
peering into the face of the darkest of evil,
which posed as light. but smelled of putrid.
body put on display for a
thruppence. pence.
a penny for your thoughts on it all,
her life run amok,
signed and sealed over
by inhumanity’s hand,
and the signature of subjugation
It knows her name
disposed of by all


(The poetry piece As Of Yet was featured in the San Francisco production of the Theater performance Echo: A Poetic Journey into Justice. It also appears in my third poetry book titled Nothing Cool About Ten. As Of Yet, U S Copyright 2010 Regina Y. Evans)

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