won't you celebrate with me / what I have shaped into / a kind of life?
The poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti famously said that “poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations.” I’m taking the liberty to add to his thoughts, because I believe that good poetry not only casts shadows, but also casts light. And that is exactly what Lucille Clifton aims to do in The book of light.
More specifically, I believe Clifton is doing two things:
She is defining what it means to be human, and
She is seeking where the sublime can be found in human existence.
These two objectives she accomplishes through exploring light in its many forms. Lucille itself means “light,” and Clifton also speaks of stars, birth, candles, glistening jewels, night vision, and flame—types of light we see or experience. Apart from these physical manifestations of light, Clifton seeks to illuminate the various parts of her human experience—her own birth, discovering her calling, the death of her father, growing older, remembering her grandfather.
Clifton illuminates, too, the evils done to others—often women of the past. One of the most poignant examples is her poem to Ramona Africa, a survivor of the MOVE bombing in Philadelphia. In 1985 Philadelphia’s first Black mayor authorized the bombing of a housing unit which was home to the Afrocentric communal group called MOVE, the members of which all wore dreadlocks and had all taken the surname Africa. Eleven people, including children, were killed. Clifton’s words to Ramona are words of grief and appeal:
samson predicts from gaza the philadelphia fire for ramona africa, survivor it will be your hair ramona africa they will come for you they will bring fire they will empty your eyes of everything you love your hair will writhe and hiss on your shoulder they will order you to give it up if you do you will bring the temple down if you do not they will
Clifton’s voice is one of fury and fierceness, though it is not unhopeful. She knows what it is to be human because she understands what it is to be treated as less than one. In her poems she honors others who have experienced mistreatment. The book of light is also a book about darkness.
What’s more, I believe The book of light could effectively be called The book of lucille. By this I mean Lucille Clifton’s work is herself, and she is her work, which is the dream of any half-serious poet. Her minimization of herself is noteworthy here: Clifton lowercases nearly all of her words; most notably, i. Her self-image is thereby diminished—but why? What is she doing? She is telling hard truths in a soft, small voice. She is letting her message shine.
Through lowercasing, Clifton conveys her feelings of smallness. Indeed, the only words in the bodies of her poems that she regularly capitalizes are “God” and pronouns referring to God (You, Your). Through her scant capitalization, Clifton structurally displays her reaching toward the sublime.
The conclusion of Clifton’s focus on the sublime is in her poem in seven parts, “brothers”—a conversation between an “aged” God and Lucifer. Only Lucifer speaks, Lucifer whose name comes from the same root as “Lucille,” and means “light-bearer.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, Lucifer does what he is known to do, and accuses:
tell me, tell us why / You neither raised Your hand / nor turned away, tell us why / You watched the excommunication of / the world and You said nothing.
Lucille Clifton, however, is not silent. She carries the reader through the significance of one’s roots, the challenges and beauty of femininity, the complexities of race. Her poetry is evocative and spiritual, often drawing from Scripture. And though her words may be difficult, mournful, or angry, somehow the work as a whole is joyful, patient, and full of love—which is, after all, the brightest kind of light.
fury for mama remember this. she is standing by the furnace. the coals glisten like rubies. her hand is crying. her hand is clutching a sheaf of papers. poems. she gives them up. they burn jewels into jewels. her eyes are animals. each hank of her hair is a serpent's obedient wife. she will never recover. remember. there is nothing you will not bear for this woman's sake.