They characterize
their lives, and I
fill up
with mine. Fill up
with what I have, with what
I see (or
need. I make
no distinction. As blind men
cannot love too quiet beauty.
These philosophers
rein up
Their boats. Bring
their gifts, weapons
to my door. As if
that, in itself,
was courage, or counting
science.
The story is a long one. Why
I am here like this. Why you
should listen, now, so late, and
weary at the night. Its
heavy rain
pushing
the grass flat
.
It is here
somewhere. It grows
here. Answers. Questions. Noise
stiff as silence. Silver quiet
beaten heavy under rains. So little
of this we remember. SO few Portions
of our lives, go on. - LeRoi Jones (now Amiri Baraka)
