Gwendolyn Brooks - 1917-2000 - African American poet eulogized - Brief Article - Obituary - Poem

Black Issues in Higher Education, Dec 21, 2000 by Haki R. Madhubuti

An ocean closed in on us Sunday, December 3, 2000, at exactly 2:30 p.m. Chicago time. Gwendolyn Brooks who could not swim, but loved the water, made her transition holding the hands of her beloved daughter and loved ones in her home over-looking Lake Michigan. For most writers and readers who turned to her work, she was the melody in our music. Ms. Brooks was a poet who embraced language as if she owned it. In her small and delicate hands, she expanded language to where it included the Black side of life. When she published her first book, A Street in Bronzeville (1945), Africans in America ceased being an after-thought or a question mark in the poetry of America.

Sixty years of active writing, publishing and doing the good work of serious poetry is, indeed a life to celebrate. At 83, Ms. Brooks lived a life that most people and one-hundred percent of the poets dream about: Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1950 for Annie Allen, the first Black and the youngest poet to be so honored; Poet Laureate of Illinois (1969-2000); twenty-ninth consultant to the Library of Congress (1985-86); Jefferson Lecturer for Distinguished Intellectual Achievement in the Humanities (1994); National Medal of Arts (1995); Lincoln Laureate Award (1997); International Literary Hall of Fame for Writers of African Decent (1998); the 65th Fellow of the American Academy of Poets (2000); over 75 honorary doctorates from every major college or university in the United States; and there are literally hundreds of more awards and citations.

Gwendolyn Brooks authored over 20 books of poetry, fiction, children's books, autobiographies and nonfiction. Most notably, other than those mentioned are The Bean Eaters (1960), Selected Poems (1963), In the Mecca (1968), Riot (1969), The Tiger Who Wore White Gloves (1970), Blacks (1987), Report From Part One (1972), Children Coming Home (1992), Maud Martha (1953), Report From Part Two (1996) and the soon to be published In Montgomery (2001).

Gwendolyn Brooks' legacy will be that of poet, teacher, advocate for children and "little people" and a person who lived a life promoting kindness and quality. She had influenced over three generations of poets all over this vast nation. When the eulogy is heard and the tributes are given, none of us will have to search for words, bite our tongues or lie. We can all tell the truth, she loved us and we loved her.

This poet, this genuine visionary, this carrier of the human spirit, this chronicler of the Black side of life, this kind and gentle person is the reason we lend our eyes, mind and spirit to her poetry. That other poets have championed good writing and literature, have exposed evil in the world, have contributed mightily of personal revenues to the young, to the would-be-writers, to students and to the institutions of common good is without a doubt. However, the only poet who has made it her mission to incorporate all of this and more into a wonderful and dedicated lifestyle is Gwendolyn Brooks. The great work of this quiet poet has touched this city, this state, our nation and the world. Her poetry, her children's books, her essays and her autobiographies have given us an insight into the complexities of the Black human condition. She has approached 332 seasons on her own terms, taken the alphabet and poetically structured a new language.

Eighty-Three is a Wise Number

   The weather does not age, it
   changes
   bringing peach and hurricanes,
   water
   and sun for planting, walking
   and smiles
   extending people to long life,
   maybe.

   I've grown up in your magic,
   shadows and words,
   I've seen you manage pens,
   paper, poor eyesight and gift
   giving.
   I've measured the recent dip in
   your walk,
   noting the way the wind leans
   you into its current
   and I worry.

   What if I'm not there to catch
   your arm
   to gently steer you away from a
   fall, missed step
   or away from harm's way

   but you've always been your
   own clock
   and as the seasons disappear
   and rise
   you know exactly what time it
   is,
   beating the beat in storms not
   of your making.

By Haki R. Madhubuti, poet, professor and director emeritus Gwendolyn Brooks Center, Chicago State University, publisher, Third World Press