#tara betts

[asolacion]

"Untitled for a Reason"

-- Tara Betts

[lunchboxpoems]

THINK, THINK

Think about the air invisible as it uncurls a wave of toxins. Think about how its fingertips trace the skin as a baton falls on the flesh merely seconds later. Think about how heavy metals brown the water and we are told to drink. Think about how many of us wonder when the roofs over our heads will be tongues evicted from the languages of  home. Think about how every person needs a doctor, but everyone doesn’t get one. Think about how savings mean nothing to the crazy fine print circumscribed like obsolete glyphs. Think how law books fall open and hopscotch for anyone who keeps writing checks. Think, think, think like Aretha Franklin belting what you tryna to do to me? Think how the law keeps shuffling the numbers to fit some constant where acknowledging who is human is posited in some philosophy or some mathematical equation that pretends that logic is its function, when blood needs to find something superior, something that denies how human is defined by a much wider net cast by some divine fisherman, or perhaps an African goddess in a gown laced with sea foam, but place markers for faith are constantly moved toward a crucifix. A human can find more than one path, I hope. Think about how, every day, someone is hoping for some simple thing like fresh bread lightly toasted, the ability to walk without pain, a chance to shower, a moment free of fist and jeer, a moment singing victorious as if we could level the wrongs and leave the world upright, like a gospel-drenched woman singing freedom, freedom after forgiveness, after you change your mind, ’cause you need to think (and act) to be free.

TARA BETTS

[publiccollectors]

Public Collectors Courtroom Artist Residency #6: Tara Betts I began this morning by picking up poet Tara Betts from her apartment on the south side and from there we proceeded to criminal court for this morning's residency. Tara and I were introduced online through my wife Jen Blair and quickly became social media pals, but this was our first time meeting in person. Attending criminal court is an unusual way to hang out with another person for the first time but we had the car ride and the walk to court to chat a little before we had to concentrate on observing and listening. I scheduled today's residency around a hearing for police torture survivor Gerald Reed, whose case was the focus of the last Courtroom Artist Residency as well as another one before that. After Tara and I cleared security at the court, I spotted Reed's mother Armada and stopped to say hello. She was with Mark Clements, another survivor of police torture under Detective Jon Burge. Clements was eventually freed and has been fighting to free others who—like himself— were tortured until they confessed to crimes they didn't commit. There were at least twenty people in the court in support of Gerald Reed. The last judge in Reed's case, Judge Gainer, retired at the end of 2018 so today Judge Thomas J. Hennelly was handling Reed's case. We sat in his courtroom for some time, watched a number of other defendants see the judge in quick succession, and then were left hanging when the judge was called to another courtroom for some other business. We had no idea how long this would take but I figured we had at least twenty minutes to leave and do something else. I proposed that Tara and I should visit another courtroom so we shifted over to Judge Vincent Gaughan's court: room 500. Judge Gaughan was the judge in the trial of convicted murderer cop Jason Van Dyke. We arrived in his nearly empty court just in time to hear the closing remarks by the prosecutor in a jury trial for a man who was charged with possession with intent to distribute 45 small bags of cocaine. Or, as it was explained, 44 identically measured bags were for sale and one was a different bag with more coke and that was set aside for personal use. After a short closing statement, Judge Gaughan read the jury their instructions. He then called on the two alternate jurors who were invited to claim their possessions from the jury room. They were given the option to stick around if they were interested in seeing what was decided or they could go home. The jurors decided to go home and Judge Gaughan told them, with regard to their payment for the day, "You've got that $17.00. Go crazy." With this, Tara and I returned to room 604 and finally, over two hours after court began, Gerald Reed's case was called. Gerald Reed was brought out from custody in a wheelchair and there was a short meeting between the judge, Reed's lawyers and the state prosecutors. Within minutes Judge Hennelly told everyone, "All I know about this case is what I read in the papers so it's probably inaccurate. I'll see you on the 30th." And with that, the case has been postponed again for three more weeks. He waited over two hours to tell half a room full of people that he wasn't going to do anything. Tara Betts and I observed a third courtroom and then had a filling lunch at Taqueria El Milagro. We discussed what we saw and talked about her work, which includes teaching poetry at Statesville Penitentiary. You'll be able to read a transcript of that conversation later when I publish the second collection of Courtroom Residency reports in a couple months. The next Courtroom Artist Residency is coming up fast and I'll be back in criminal court again in less than two weeks. More on that, as well as my time with Tara later... You can pick up the first collection of my Courtroom Artist Residency reports and conversations here. Please message me if you’d like copies for your store or classroom and I’d be happy to work with you.

[lifeinpoetry]

People / play themselves like a tape, over and over,

Tara Betts, from “High Fidelity,” published in Glass: A Journal of Poetry

[robocup-press]

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[poemswhileyouwait]

“How to Be a Bad Ass Woman” by Tara Betts -- Mother’s Day Dose Market, 5.14.17

poem topic: bad ass woman

[therumpus]

When a boy named Trayvon is shot, Emmett’s history is not distant, removed story. A mother fails to reverberate hollow in chests.  A woman is stoic, vigilant, when she should be proud, doting—a parent with lullabies for children to come, pretty-faced affirming nods to the future, dollops of hope, not thing nor animal unless in front of a gun that dims, dulls the dusk across a boy’s cheeks, matching the tint of his untainted eyes that whistle falsetto, the song of bittersweet.  Loss has yet to be mined, but it is pulled from his clockwork heart sped by fear, snatched like taffy in shoplifter’s greedy pocket.  When the mother is left, she becomes banshee in a soundproof bandshell. A wailing sits at the top of a range of fury.  The sharp piercing within sparks the dead boy’s face. There is nothing but a sea of heads shrouded in hoodies. There should be red still pulsing in him, as he chews candy, sips tea with room left for dinner. Instead, there is a mother alone, drinking water. She cannot eat. She replenishes conviction, a coffee that keeps her purpose clear. She knows exactly what she must do. If she cannot open the casket, she testifies, kisses the memories of many sons gone, not just the flicker of her days extinguished, found waterlogged or unidentified, killed despite his screams that ignored a spark who was called son.

Many Sons, Many Mothers, after Gwendolyn Brooks’“The Last Quatrain of the Ballad of Emmett Till” by Tara Betts for THE RUMPUS SUNDAY POETRY: Celebrating Gwendolyn Brooks’ Centennial

[bostonpoetryslam]

Writing is rooted in our roles and identities. How does it change your voice and your subject matter and how you approach things? Who do you choose to talk about and why? And how do you talk about them? What points in time do you select to create a story or an image?

Tara Betts, interviewed by Deesha Philyaw for The Rumpus