(for Jefferson Nicholson)
Backwards: how to walk it
is the question. It involves paper, microfilm, and
old stories. Names are Gospel,
passed from lips to ears. Footprints stay put when
written down.
Blood. How to divine it,
borrow Joseph’s Egyptian cup to find you. Walk backwards
through a chain of men: Dad, Grandpa, Great-grandpa Thomas,
and back to you: Jefferson, the first of our line
in this land. Named for a president that you shared no blood, tongue, or
coasts with. The Book of Nicholson, chapter one, verse one,
with a hole in the parchment where ink should be. I want to
walk through my veins to find you.
I know that somewhere, there is
a mountain range of ash. It is made out of
piles of powder from spent joss sticks. They are
lying in testament to your absent picture: maybe it
broke apart somewhere in North Carolina, and I will find
bits of its celluloid scattered in the dirt of Warren County. I don’t know
where your old plantation is. Maybe I should find it,
sneak past a guardian fence, and ask the trees. Maybe I should
find the tree that holds your breath in its trunk, those
buried anthologies in its rings. The bark can hold you,
but it cannot hide you for long. It will give you up to me,
decadent and green,
wearing someone else’s last name,
the child of ship and chains.
And somewhere within your renamed chest, there is
a drumbeat heart. I can hear it. It is like my own. It is
borrowed Congo, reassembled Gold and Ivory Coasts. It has
a name. But I cannot yet divine it. Not past
slavery, not past foreign tongues and forgotten names. But I will
learn how to walk backwards,
through paper and film,
through blood the color of diasporas, stolen land,
and one-drop rules. To find you, I will learn how to walk backwards
through myself.
Written 3/19/10
© 2010 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
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This poem was written for Read Write Poem Prompt #119: Let’s Get It On. I decided to go a little less sensual and a bit more literal…and backwards.
Some background notes: Jefferson Nicholson is the earliest of my father’s ancestors that we’ve found in the Americas. To our knowledge, he was one of many slaves owned by the Nicholson family on a large plantation in Warren County, North Carolina. We don’t know if he came over on a boat or was born here; what we do know is that he was born around 1794 and died around 1898. So I went backwards to him for this prompt.
An aside: from what I know of the last name itself, Nicholson is a derivative of the Scottish surname, MacNieceal, which means (no surprise here) “son of Nichol/Nicholas”. I’ve seen quite a few Irish families with this name too.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the poem (and if you’re family, feel free to comment here too).
-Nicole
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I really enjoyed every bit of this…I love where this prompt took you. The line, ” Walk through my veins to find you” was perfect! It is very fascinating to find out where you came from, isn’t it?
Nicole, I always enjoy reading your work, and this poem is no exception. I love how this poem has such an expansiveness, yet it’s so personal as well. It’s beautiful how this poems connects the journey of the speaker with so much gone before…generations, land, turmoil, an even an old tree. I’m so impressed with how always manage to pack so much into a poem, and yet they are never convoluted or over-written. Thanks for sharing!
Hi Nicole,
I seem to be following these two ladies around! I enjoyed this too and the angle from which you followed the prompt. I hope you’re able to discover more of Jefferson. His history is woven through the land.
You’ve brought every facet of the past to bear in this. Magnificent.
Nicole,
What an excellent piece of work you have done here. Terrific read!
Pamela
There is a driven longing in your poem I like. I love the details such as “spent joss sticks” and “celluloid scattered in the dirt”. You have a rich story here and your passion for it is full.
Great poem. I love genealogy, so I especially like it.
Nicole -
This was remarkable, among the best I’ve read of your work — powerful, poignant, and honest… Wow!!
…rob
Image & Verse
Nicole – This is a wonderful encapsulation of your life genealogy. The truth of our past gives rise to so many challenges that the adventure of discovery is many times the heartbreak of knowledge. Just from your words I imagine a rich tabloid that has painted the person you are today. A gift you can treasure and pass on to others. I truly loved the way you looked at the roots of your ancestors. Genealogy is a passion for me particularly the DNA search. I’d like to share the site with you at http://www.harbourcom.com. Great piece of work. I enjoyed it immensely.
Regards,
DH
This is a marvelous journey, and I’m glad to have taken it with you. So much of this is powerful, but I loved these lines:
And somewhere within your renamed chest, there is
a drumbeat heart. I can hear it. It is like my own. It is
borrowed Congo, reassembled Gold and Ivory Coasts.
I think these and the last few lines are outstanding.
I agree that this is a really strong poem. I love all the concrete images, the details — parchment, mountain range of ash, specific proper names, drumbeat heart. It reminds me of the wonderful Henry Louis Gates, Jr., television special about genealogies and DNA mappings. In this poem, Nicole, you remind all your readers that we all share common ancestors.
I too love your geneaology poem Nicole. “The Book of Nicholson, chapter one, verse one,
with a hole in the parchment where ink should be. I want to
walk through my veins to find you. ” I think it’s such a flowing tribute, personal and historical.
Nicole, this is a beautiful journey backwards, picking a thing here another there, tarrying to experience the breath caught in the tree. . . Truly a great poem.