The Moving Pen
Inside out Writing from The Fortune Society 1
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Inside Out Writing from The Fortune Society Fall 2009
NY Writers Coalition Press
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Copyright Š 2009 NY Writers Coalition Inc. Upon publication, copyright to individual works returns to the authors. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Editor: John Maney Layout: Deborah Clearman Cover Art: Willie Smalls Photos: Patrick Mathieu Inside Out contains writing by the members of the creative writing workshop conducted by NY Writers Coalition Inc. at The Fortune Society. NY Writers Coalition Inc. is a not-for-profit organization that provides free creative writing workshops throughout New York City for people from groups that have been historically deprived of voice in our society. For more information about NY Writers Coalition Inc.: NY Writers Coalition Inc. 80 Hanson Place #603 Brooklyn, NY 11217 (718) 398-2883 info@nywriterscoalition.org www.nywriterscoalition.org
The Fortune Society believes in a world where all who are at-risk, incarcerated or formerly incarcerated can become positive, contributing members of society. Our work supports successful re-entry of formerly incarcerated men and women and promotes alternatives to incarceration, thus strengthening the fabric of our communities. The Fortune Society 26-76 Northern Boulevard Long Island City, NY 11101 (212) 691-7554 www.fortunesociety.org
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INTRODUCTION The building at 26-76 Northern Boulevard is surrounded by dusty construction sites. By the time I arrive the workers have gone home for the evening, and the sites sit quietly, after a long day of building. Soon new things will be erected, and this part of Long Island City will be different; it will have changed. I look out the window of my classroom at the Fortune Society, and survey this transforming landscape, as it becomes embraced by the glow of sunset. It makes me think of the men and women who come to the Fortune Society, and the way they’re courageously trying to transform their lives, to survive and grow, after being released from incarceration. The room is crowded. There’re young people, and some who like me aren’t so young. We start by my giving a creative writing prompt to the workshop. The room grows quiet, like the way I’ve heard it is in the center of a hurricane. Everyone begins to write. Some stories are funny, others nostalgic. Some stories burn with anger, while others throb in pain. There is lust, and the gentle refrain of love. The stories often seem to bubble over with that truth, which only comes when things have been stripped bare, when you’re left with only your thoughts, no distractions. After writing awhile we read. We listen to each other, and comment. Sometimes we laugh together. On rare occasions we cry, though tears aren’t easily spilled in public for these men and women, who’ve so often had to toughen themselves. Before each workshop I’m nervous. Afterwards I’m inspired, and feel blessed by those who’ve opened themselves, and so generously shared their light. 6
The chapbook you are about to read is but a small reflection of that light. I would like to give a special thanks to Eric Appleton, John Kefalas, Tashima Lessey, Myisha Cherry, Jim Hattan, Rene Sing Brooks, and all the people of the Fortune Society who’ve helped make this workshop a success. I would also like to give a special thanks to Patrick Mathieu, who kept coming to the workshop, even in the lean times. Another special thanks to Rita Hickey, who has recently started working with me, but whose enthusiasm has been rejuvenating. For the folks at the New York Writers Coalition, you have all been wonderful. Without you this chapbook wouldn’t exist. A special thanks to Deborah Clearman who has worked so hard to put together this chapbook with me, and was instrumental in starting The Fortune Society Creative Writing Workshop. Of course, thanks most of all to all those brave men and women writers all, who’ve come out on Tuesday nights to share a couple of hours thinking, dreaming, writing, telling your stories with me. John Maney, Workshop Leader September 2009
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BACK HOME Victor Nanez Back in Colombia growing up there were so many things to do on a daily basis. Mornings would start out really early, with me helping out my mother chopping the cheese, and mixing it with flour for the bread my mother made, that we sold at my grandparents store. Then I would help my grandpa open the business before 6 AM, by getting the coffee ready before all the workers from the factories nearby started coming in. After that was done I would go back home, about half a block away from the store, and start getting ready for school. My mother would pack up my lunch bag, and walk me to school, which was four blocks away. After school I would a walk with a couple of friends to my grandparents to eat that delicious cooking from grandma. I would then go back home and do my homework. I wasn’t allowed to go and play outside ‘till I was done with it. I then went outside to play soccer. Depending on the season we were in we might do other things. Like in August we have kite month. So, me and my brother we made kites, and would either sell them, or go fly them. If it were Christmas 8
we would make maracas out of soda caps, and metal wire. Other times we would ride the skateboard my father had sent us. We would ride ‘till just before dark, then go home so we can wake up early again, and start the routine.
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THE VIEW Issoufou Abdoulaye Africa, home of any black human. These days a lot of us are still ignorant about this continent. This is so bad, especially for a black man. It’s funny when somebody asks me if there are cars in Africa, or if people still walk around naked? Some people don’t even know that Africa is a continent with a lot of countries like Senegal, Nigeria, Ivory Coast, Egypt, or my country, Niger. Some people only know that Africa is the continent of the blood diamond. It’s true that some people still live traditionally, but not in the capitals or big cities. The African continent is very rich in resources, especially diamonds and gold, but we don’t make the machines to take these out. Some African countries still live without democracy. When it comes to government, some places there is a lot of corruption, and human rights is low compared to America. In some places there are a lot of health problems, because of need of medicine, but it’s really getting better nowadays. Also, in some places there are food problems when it don’t really rain enough for rice, beans, and other crops to grow. People who live in the suburbs or far from the city are 10
most affected. This is also getting better nowadays.
Issoufou, the writer of this piece, is from Niger. He speaks four languages, with English being the last one he acquired.
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WHERE I’M FROM John Cortes I’m from the prairies, the open acres of land I’m from the birth of sheep, rabbits, dogs and planting of crops I’m from the uterus of cows and goats, milked many! I’m from the butcher of deer and livestock I’m from the dog-groomer, to keep groomed I’m from the pond, where the salamander were plenty I’m from where life began and ended in many a-days I’m from the country where life is different from the life which I live now
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TAPS Hassani Phillip Tap, Tap, Tap I’m just trying to get some food to eat. Some run when they see me Others chase me back into a hole. I’m safe in my little hole, for now. Then when it’s safe outside, or at least I think it is —oh no, no garbage for dinner now tonight. What am I to do, go down to the 2nd floor looking for something to chew? A voice screams out, “Not my Jimmy Choo boots!” I got scared running back to my hole— Ahhh. I’m Stuck. How can this be? So scared I ran to the wrong hole, where the sticky traps are. Now ya’ll know what happened to me.
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I GAVE MY SOUL Jamel Rasey I gave my soul to the devil but my Lord made him give it back In return I give my guidance that will lead you to the road of success I even gave my heart to a woman in exchange for the broken one she possessed I gave my loyalty to a friend I even gave him a weapon to protect himself Little did I know that weapon would be used against me I’ve given money to the poor hoping to help with their life problems I gave life to a child and in return I get disrespected When I look at him in his eyes I see the pain and grief I gave my parents 14
FORGIVE P. Harris aka Forty If you forgive me then why are you arguing with me? I told you that I’m sorry over a million times and you still arguing. What you want me to do I bring roses I take you to dinner I said I’m sorry and you still arguing. What do you want me to do bitch!
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I DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE Jamel Rasey I didn’t have a choice but to get married, especially when I got my girlfriend pregnant. Okay yeah, especially from that time her father put his shiny 357 to my head and said, “Welcome to the family.” But, I did have the choice to use a condom. I had started to act like I was allergic to them. Now look where it got me, in a situation where a father wanted to have a man to man talk, and gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse—my life or his daughter. That’s fucked up, just because I like the extra sensitivity no magnum can provide. Now look at me, I can’t go to club hopping, and if I do I gotta take off my wedding ring. Shit, that’s another story, let me come home from the Titty Bar with no ring. It’s gonna be trouble.
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IN RESPONSE TO JAMEL’S “I DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE” Jeaneen Demorcy If only I didn’t let him put his pepe in me I could’ve had a ball. The only reason my father put the thing-thing to his head was because he didn’t want to get busy talk about a magnum. He thought by using one, his thing would grow. I sent him to the strip club so he can feel pleased. He came home crying ‘cause that Buffy chick stole his only dollar. Yeah I lied and said I was pregnant, just so he could feel like he worked it. But, as I learned—protection is a must.
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Drawing by James Padilla 18
I NEVER REALLY KNEW HIM Jeaneen Democry I never really knew who he was, just really only heard of him. I never knew what he even looked like, just knew we kind of looked alike. I never understood why he couldn’t be around. Just knew he was out doing him. We met when I was born. I’m pretty sure he held me, and promised me things, promises I’m a let ya’ll know he didn’t keep. We meet through letters and phone calls. I was 19. He had just come home. We spent a whole year together, and out of my 20 years this was the loneliest one I’d come to meet. I don’t understand how my father chooses jail over me.
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BEAUTY: IT’S WHAT LIES BENEATH Jeaneen Democry I look around, everyone has beauty. Knowing you have a personality in you You’d be a fool to say it’s not you. Is it your heart? Is it your soul? Is it your smile? Is it your touch? Is it your sense? Everyone has beauty to me deep down inside. I don’t think you truly find beauty on the out side. Beauty is one’s personality Honesty Confidence Ambition Willingness It’s what makes you stand out the most. Beauty is not make-up. Beauty is not fake. Beauty is not phony. It’s just what’s in you.
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WHAT MY WORDS WILL DO TO ME Rita Hickey If you forget me I’ll haunt your dreams travel in your head at night. If you forget me I’ll listen for your step and breathe in your ear. While you wile away hours I will be hard at work under your fingers. Pushing up lightly each knuckle as it moves with the groove of the pencil. Your thoughts will float like paper airplanes onto the pages set out for it. Living
Loving
Embracing
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If you forget me where will I live? Whose memories will I swim? If you do not let me stay with you who will carry me in their hearts? Whose beats will I ride like waves to the shore? Where do words live? Not on the breath or the page but in the fingertips of the heart. If you forget me I will show you misery under your eyelids as you awaken. I will trip you blindly in the middle of the day make you doubt yourself. I will tie your thoughts together so they live perpetually in the vacuum.
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RESPONSIBILITY Leslie James Where I’m from all you see is cops riding around the neighborhood looking for gangs, boys arguing over dice games girls trying to be grown Where I’m from I can’t walk without seeing someone smoking weed or drinking liquor old people on the bench listening to Barry White Where I’m from girls pushing strollers boys becoming fathers they can’t even support they-self but they still have to take responsibility
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IMAGE MEANS EVERYTHING Darren Roberts Where I’m from image means having to do the best you can to mask pain, struggle, or despair by dressing up the outside. Some people spend years trying to define their images, by any means necessary. No one wants to be associated with being poor, or from the ghetto. Some peoples’ lot in life has allowed them to be fortunate, where they’re not left with having to formulate schemes or plots to supply them their means. How does one person develop this distorted sense of self, where they elevate their sense of worth based on what they have or can accumulate? You can’t take any of it with you when you’re dead and gone. Meaningless trivial pursuits—how does one define their sense of exclusiveness by property, or prestige, or entitlement? Hasn’t it been once said, “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, but lose his soul?” I guess that may explain why people are so shallow.
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DIRT FROM THE EARTH Patrick Mathieu There were many beds to walk by before I could get to the shower. It was early morning, the sun had not yet risen, and the men were snoring as I made my way through the center aisle towards the only door to the dormitory. This time in the morning is good to shower. All alone, I turn them all on, and immerse myself in the sound of running water, letting fear, frustration, and anxiety drain from me. Soon I will be on the bus. The blue-colored bus with wire meshed barred windows that will take me, handcuffed to a stranger, to the Manhattan courts. I feel the water splashing against my back as I prepare myself for the horrors of the bull pen—the cages where they keep those detained pending court appearance. The cages where it seems everyone but a few are ferocious beasts who will strike over the slightest slight. Climbing the steps of that blue-colored bus, handcuffed to a stranger, I am amazed how the sunshine and chirping birds still elicit joy. The ride on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway on a clear autumn morning is exhilarating, even though the hard plastic 28
seat continuously reminds me that I am no longer at liberty—especially when the driver hits a pothole and we are sent soaring, head two inches from the ceiling, only to instantly plummet back to the unyielding plastic seat. In the bull pen, a fight began over a word voiced with the wrong tone. A youngster was being forced to relinquish his cigarettes. And sitting in the middle of the cage, an obviously disturbed young man who had been murmuring to himself all along, suddenly looked up and beseeched the fighters, “Look! Dirt from the Earth!” Sitting in the cage, absorbing this surrealistic tableau in motion, the words of Voltaire crept to mind: “If centuries of slavery, oppression, and injustice produced open, generous, enquiring, and tolerant spirits, you would have to consider that there is something to be said for slavery, oppression, and injustice.”
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PRAYING MANTIS Patrick Mathieu It was twilight at the end of a scorching humid day In the middle of the yard encircled by fence with razor wire I stood looking up at the almost full moon A basketball hitting the pavement mingled with directions from the players The thumping 30
of a softball in a catcher’s mitt mingled with derisive jokes hurled in espaùol at the opposing team were the external sounds I heard as I gazed at the almost full moon Internally it occurred to me we are all sentenced to life, from birth to death on this spinning blue green globe hurling through space in time courting a thermonuclear fusion explosion the size of which the best imagination cannot visualize 31
Myopically aware at vertiginous speed we are carried along a cosmic dance of which we are neither chorographer nor dancer Leaving Earth in an electronic tin can changes nothing It’s like visiting Attica across the street I went from prison to prison still sentenced to life Clearly then, the difference between most at liberty, and me: I have time to contemplate that reality 32
Surfacing from this flow of consciousness so engulfing sounds of basketball softball and people receded to silence Something flew between my gaze and the moon There amidst the grass moist with dew I almost missed it A praying mantis
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6 Train Home John Maney Unclasped silver necklace sliding between ample breasts of the Bronx we have left midnight tunnels and come into midnight air elevated above jostling honk and clamor up to where small red lights flicker flight warnings on tops of buildings street lamps compete with stars an airliner jets across crescent moon while sparrows nest in wait of first light electrons busy our night and I envy softly snoring squirrels.
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Photography Patrick Mathieu has worked as a dancer with the Saeko Ichinohe Dance Company, the Anna Sokolow Players Project, and Sally Silvers and Dancers. He was among the first western dancers to dance with the Kyōgen Japanese Noh Theatre at Lincoln Center’s Summer Outdoor Performances. He has choreographed many theatre and dance works for the City College Theatre Department. His off-Broadway debut as dancer/actor was in George C. Wolfe’s production of Caucasian Chalk Circle at the Public Theatre. In 1996 after two trials due to misidentification, he spent ten years in the New York State prison system. Since his release in August 2006, he has worked as a paralegal for Abate & Preuss, volunteered at the Fortune Society’s computer lab, and been certified as a Queens Public Access Television Producer, where he produces his half hour program, “Unknown Artists.” He is a member of the NY Writers Coalition creative writing workshop at the Fortune Society. He contributed the photographs that appear within and on the back cover of Inside Out. The photos were originally in color. Back Cover: Gregory Singer serenades Fortune Society founder David Rothenberg at The Fortune Society’s Castle.
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Contributors: Issoufou Abdoulaye John Cortes Jeaneen Demorcy P. Harris Rita Hickey Lesley James John Maney Patrick Mathieu Victor Nanez James Padilla Hassani Phillip Jamel Rasey Darren Roberts Willie Smalls
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