The first book of poetry I ever had is an anthology called Sleeping on the Wing, compiled by Kenneth Kock and Kate Farrell. It was part of my eight grade reading list. I still have it and go through it on occasion because it’s truly a great introduction to modern poetry.
Since today is Friday and it’s been a long week, I only picked out short poems to read, which is how I came across this one by Amiri Baraka. At once, it made me feel grateful that some editor out there decided to publish his works one day. Baraka’s punctuation is unpredictable, and his language so simple, his poems run the risk of being overlooked.
I for one do not want to think my way out of his poetry. I just want to hang out with it on a Friday afternoon.
Read Miami 1995