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By Michael S. Harper

Soul and race
are private dominions,   
memories and modal
songs, a tenor blossoming,
which would paint suffering   
a clear color but is not in   
this Victorian house
without oil in zero degree
weather and a forty-mile-an-hour wind;
it is all a well-knit family:   
a love supreme.
Oak leaves pile up on walkway
and steps, catholic as apples
in a special mist of clear white   
children who love my children.   
I play “Alabama”
on a warped record player
skipping the scratches
on your faces over the fibrous   
conical hairs of plastic
under the wooden floors.


Dreaming on a train from New York   
to Philly, you hand out six
notes which become an anthem
to our memories of you:
oak, birch, maple,
apple, cocoa, rubber.
For this reason Martin is dead;
for this reason Malcolm is dead;
for this reason Coltrane is dead;
in the eyes of my first son are the browns   
of these men and their music.


Michael S. Harper, “Here Where Coltrane Is” from Songlines in Michaeltree: New and Collected Poems. Copyright © 2000 by Michael S. Harper. Used with the permission of the University of Illinois Press.

Source: The Norton Anthology of African American Literature (University of Illinois Press, 1997)

  • Arts & Sciences
  • Living
  • Mythology & Folklore

Poet Bio

Michael S. Harper
Deeply influenced by the blues and jazz, Michael S. Harper draws attention in his work to the many injustices suffered by African Americans over the course of this country’s history. Then, like the musicians he so admires, out of this painful and even tragic legacy, he makes song. See More By This Poet

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