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TMF Poetry & Music for Black History Month

Here are music from our LiberArte project and poems from our anthology, Liberation. Scroll down to read:
"The Song About the Child," by Salman Masalha
"Trayvon-Redux," by Rita Dove
"Free, Free, Free," by Mary Kimani



Picture© Michael J. Lutch
You are listening to "The Song About the Child," performed by the Boston Community Gospel Choir under the direction of Brother Dennis Slaughter. TMF commissioned this piece from composer Stephen Feigenbaum. It is a setting of our LiberArte poem by Salman Masalha:

THE SONG ABOUT THE CHILD
Salman Masalha

It is the song about the child
Who was oppressed before he was born.

It is the song about the child
Who was pressed from the womb and robbed.

It is the song about the child
Who gleaned the sadness, and roamed.

It is the song about the child
Who was seized to the dark that came down.

It is the song about the child
Who by the sword was slashed, was slain.

It is the song about the child
Who was burned, who perished in fire.

It is the song about the child
Who swaddled in ashes, expired.

It is the song about the child
Who passed right by us, in fright.

It is the song about the child
Who quavered beside us, betrayed.

It is the song about the child
Who was embraced to our breast, who survived.

It is the song about the child
Who saves us
From ourselves
     Lest we die.

Translated from the Hebrew by Vivian Eden.

TRAYVON-REDUX
Rita Dove

It is difficult / to get the news from poems / yet men die miserably every day / for lack / of what is found there. / Hear me out / for I too am concerned / and every man / who wants to die at peace in his bed / besides.
— William Carlos Williams, "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower"

Move along, you don't belong here.
This is what you're thinking. Thinking
drives you nuts these days, all that
talk about rights and law abidance when
you can't even walk in your own neighborhood
in peace and quiet, get your black ass gone.
You're thinking again. Then what?
Matlock's on TV and here you are,
vigilant, weary, exposed to the elements
on a wet winter's evening in Florida
when all's not right but no one sees it.
Where are they — the law, the enforcers
blind as a bunch of lazy bats can be,
holsters dangling from coat hooks above their desks
as they jaw the news between donuts?

Hey! It tastes good, shoving your voice
down a throat thinking only of sweetness.
Go on, choke on that. Did you say something?
Are you thinking again? Stop! — and
get your ass gone, your blackness,
that casual little red riding hood
I'm just on my way home attitude
as if this street was his to walk on.
Did you hear me talking to you? Boy.
How dare he smile, jiggling his goodies
in that tiny shiny bag, his black paw crinkling it,
how dare he tinkle their laughter at you.

Here's a fine basket of riddles:
If a mouth shoots off and no one's around
to hear it, who can say which came first —
push or shove, bang or whimper?
Which is news fit to write home about?

Rita Dove has served as U.S. Poet Laureate. Among her many honors is the National Medal of the Arts bestowed by President Barack Obama.

FREE, FREE, FREE
Mary Kimani

Pain can't touch me no more,
It can't wound me
Can't cripple me,
Can't tear me apart as it once did.

Pain can't touch me no more.
It can't take away my hopes
Can't take away my dreams,
Can't steal away my future.

Pain can't touch me like it once did,
Can't touch me deep and cruel
Can't be torn or broken
Leave me numb and
Uncomprehending,
Leave me wounded and hurting,
Pain can't touch me no more,
For I am free, I am free, I am free.


I have left behind the bonds with which pain tied me
Left behind the memories that held me captive
Pain can't hold me no more
Can't tell me when to laugh and when to cry
Pain can't hold me captive no more,
I am free, I am free, I am free.

Our city still has its forest of graves
Still has spaces left gaping by lost ones
Still echo with haunting stillness
The loss and sadness still hang heavy in the air,
But it can't hold us captive no more,
For we have rebuilt our torn places
We have nursed our hurt and wounded
We have honored the many that are gone.
We have learned to live again
Re-learned how to laugh,
Learned even to love and trust again.

Death and pain can't hurt us no more
They done their worst but we have remained.
We are free, we are free, we are free. 

For we have prevailed
We have overcome,
We have lived on.

Pain can't touch us no more, not like it once did,
We are free, we are free, we are free.

Mary Kimani is a Kenyan poet and journalist.
LIBERARTE is a project of the Terezin Music Foundation and is created and produced by TMF Executive Director Mark Ludwig. 
TMF is a non-profit organization inspired by the artists imprisoned at Terezin and dedicated to honoring their creative spirit with commissions, concert events, and programs in Holocaust education. 
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