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Autogeography: Poems
Reginald Harris
In his second collection of poetry, Reginald Harris traverses real and imagined landscapes, searching for answers to the question “What are you?” From Baltimore to Havana, Atlantic City to Alabama—and from the broad memories of childhood to the very specific moment of Marvin Gaye singing at the 1983 NBA All-Star Game shortly before his death—this is a travel diary of internal and external journeys exploring issues of race and sexuality. The poet traveler falls into and out of love and lust, sometimes coupled, sometimes alone. Autogeography tracks how who you are changes depending on where you are; how where you are and where you’ve been determine who you are and where you might be headed.
First published April 30, 2013
Souce:Goodreads
We cannot deny each other, who we are: this face slowly coming to the surface of my face, a watermark, a mask, is his face, this tangled web of “Good Hair,” His, graying at the sides, just like Him, just as I’d dreamed, touching my temples when I was young. His this growing paunch, this slowing step, the surface calm, the silence, the easily engorged, restless dick, never satisfied, always searching for a home. Mon semblance, Mon pere, Mi espada, mirror, shadow Corazon – Cut us and we bleed music, sea salt, sperm, and discontent, twin wary avatars of loneliness, silent and distrustful. Infidel Me and Him, just as easy with a smile and smooth seduction, just as quick to close a door, shut down, turn off. Walk away. Him, it’s Him, this is Him, I think. I know—This is me.
Reginald Harris, Self-Portrait as My Father’s Son (via Baltimore Review)
Apostolic Beat down Chicken box Down low E-dealer Five-O car Gosepl hip-hop Ice cream jones
From "Eastside Alphabetics," a poem in Reginald Harris's Autogeography (winner of the Cave Canem Northwestern University Press Poetry Prize), reviewed at The Rumpus by Sean Singer.
Accept the gift of every head turning in your direction. Tell them, regally, what you want, what you will and what you won’t. Toss the door wide open. And let them have it.
Reginald Harris, excerpt from Prelude to a Saturday Night