Download A Poem Traveled Down My Arm: Poems and Drawings by Alice Walker PDF

By Alice Walker

During this illuminating booklet, Pulitzer Prize–winning novelist and acclaimed poet Alice Walker finds her impressive philosophy of lifestyles. apparently, this exertions of affection begun with the author’s signature: confronted with the daunting activity of offering autographs for a number of copies of 1 of her poetry collections, Absolute belief within the Goodness of the Earth, Walker grew to become an act of repetition into an act of notion.

For every one autograph turned whatever greater than a reputation: a considerate mirrored image, an impromptu comic strip, a heartfelt poem. the result's this spontaneous burst of the unforeseen. A Poem Traveled Down My Arm is a beautiful selection of insights and drawings—by turns captivating and funny, provocative and profound—that symbolize the knowledge of 1 of today’s such a lot liked writers.

The essence of Walker’s self sustaining spirit emanates from phrases and photographs which are basic yet deep in that means. An empowering method of life...the notion to dwell thoroughly within the moment...the likelihood to nurture one’s creativity and peace of mind—all those attractive parts spring to mind through this strange and unique book.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Page 57 The Migrant . . Women become The cities, children become the fields And men in waves become the sea. Wallace Stevens I. First time I saw another brown face: Aunt Janie's farm. She rents it and the workers come up from the South, slow moving sun in the limbs, to pick the landlord's fields, pick the landlord's tomatoes while all their children stare, wondering why, why this girl like them dirty at the knees and ashy nappy headed sits in the yard and they lay their bellies in a row snaked outside the fence, a row of soybean, row of corn watching me swing.

Her music is a portal, a dance, two black hands beat the air, the bold body shadow changes stance.  Through the window the long procession of hired hands, all women saddled with the faces of dark men who became the faces of their own children calling them as they move through the field, move as if they wade water, high waves that cripple them into this movement, legs lifted knee high with each step. The quarters open up to them, white boxes with chimney stacks.  A portal of dance, two black hands beat air.

The birds watched us from the tops of puzzled trees, screeching mulatta, mulatta, thinking, perhaps, that I was a mule who should carry the monkey and the elephant instead.  As I dove into the river, I heard behind me the blue macaws calling, mulatta, mulatta, as if before me they knew my name. Page 7 Sisters We barely speak but deep sleep brings you to me sometimes, sister, your bare wrists hovering to cover some fright in your face, so pale, so white it yearns for grief. I would bear the scar on your cheek, the slash-rip from glass that marks your third summer, the drive on the Jersey Turnpike: some huge rig wielding tons of speed at us.

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