![]() ![]() Smith - they/them/theirs - celebrates unsung heroes who create safe spaces for the marginalized. Whereas lamenting poems in Don’t Call Us Dead, such as “summer, somewhere” and the viral “dear white america,” detail a black afterlife beyond this troubled planet, Homie is anchored in the homie heaven here on earth, in neighborhoods, churches, and kitchens. ![]() If Smith’s previous book Don’t Call Us Dead, winner of the Forward Prize, is a rumination on the ruination of black bodies, then Homie heralds the redemptive power of black friendship. ![]() This book is really titled my nig.” Indeed, a second title page announces: “my nig / poems / Danez Smith.” Which raises the question: how are we meant to read this charged word that Smith stylistically summons in a work deeply concerned with solidarity and survival, friendship, family, and the frailty of the body and its blood? For starters, the title unapologetically alerts us to the collection’s wider magnanimous project: who these poems are for. As the National Book Award finalist confirms point-blank in a note on the title: “this book was titled homie because I don’t want non-black people to say my nig out loud. DANEZ SMITH’S LATEST poetry collection, Homie, is actually not titled Homie at all. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |