Paying homage to literary acclaim and a posthumous salute to an influential mentor that shaped my editorial expertise.
The spring of 1995 found me on the campus of the University of California at Berkeley part of a group of literary enthusiasts invited by the African American Studies department to observe, research and model a program to emulate it in Florida for a literary workshop. Not knowing what to expect, my interest out-weighed any apprehension being in a place not knowing a soul. I’d heard through the university press system at the time of this unique and innovative program, that it not only taugh students how to write poetry, but had all the other rudiments of editorial resolve. I’d also heard about the professor and essayist with a reputation as a stickler for detail and taciturn demeanor that spearheaded it. Despte it all and after receiving the invite, I knew I couldn’t pass it up! That program, Poetry for the People was a new program that taught empowerment through the artistic expression of writing, reading poetry, and how to string sentences together to write prolific essays full of clarity. It was a fully accredited 4 unit class, available, every spring at UC Berkeley, the brainchild of its mentor and curator -- and I was dying to meet her. After waiting for an undetermined long period of time she finally walked in the room, commanding it with regal bearing. In the center of the room she stood there for a good 5 minutes with all of us spellbound and full of awe, looking us over. She then blurted out, “so you want to learn how to write, do you? Well, you’re in the right place, but it won’t be easy...those of you who are committed will stick and stay, those of you who can’t cut the mustard will be gone.” That was the way she was -- straight to the point with no holds barred. I remember those words like it was yesterday! I had no choice but to stick, I’d invested too much at the time and I’m glad I did.
Yes, I remember her and she taught me a lot. The title of this essay exemplify exactly my thoughts as I remember her with good thoughts of nostalgic value because I learned so much as a student and confidante. As accomplished writers, we all should have influences and she was one of mine. We talked, she sympathized with my angst, and over the years she mentored me and edited most of my journalistic work for what good copy supposed to have been. Not only do I consider her my first editor but the editor of my life. When I first endeavored to write freelance she taught me the ropes and gave me hope. This meant, essentially, that I was given into her tutelege, and what a hard taskmaster! What she offered in the long run was vital to anyone who cared about writing, and in musical terms she had perfect pitch and good vibes. To make a long story radiate with resolence, she had no literary theories that couldn’t be exploited using her unique brand of teaching it - she had literary values. She valued clarity and transparency, with nothing against style, but it was substance that she was really after. If it didn’t extract from the voice you were trying to vociferate then you were on the write track. The material had to justify the means to which you were espousing. Her blue pencil seemed to be the only color that I would see in my sleep, and it struck with redundancy, at confusion, at authorial vanity, at the wrong and the false words, and at the unearned conclusion! Her thing was syntax, metaphor, hyperbole, and enouement. It all had to jive and come together to make sense. She loved how words danced on paper and for good writing to show up and show out. She always said that a good writer was a good reader and that they were synonymous, and that good writing did not cause the reader to trip over meaningful prose. By the time she was finished with me and my group we thought we would be ready for the literary world. I can honestly say that through the years I became a better writer and even better at editing. I knew how to to read a sentence, how to fix one, and certainly what a sentence was supposed to do. I had no problem in writing my own and employing all of the nuances and nooks that good copy is supposed to be, and the responsibility for them are my own. Poetry for the People was her signature at the time, and it gave all of us a sense of purpose...but to the teacher her work and what she wanted to instill in us has not left me. I remember her saying, “a sentence is a sentence and has a certain job to do...and without good ones paragraphs are useless.”
Recently, while editing a manuscript given to me by a client, I couldn’t help but to go back to what I was taught. I read it with her eye and ear, which is the way I now read everything. What she taught me I can’t unlearn, any more than I can unlearn how to ride a bicycle. And when I had finished reading, I had to consult the writer that at no time should one try to edit their own work. The manuscript cried out for help as I used my blue pencil unmercifully, thinking all the while how my editor would have done it. But when my manuscript writer realized what having a well-written manuscript should entail -- her sentences picked apart, her every intention and decision questioned, she rebutted my every piece of logic to justify her uneven work. The point here says a lot about what I feel standards should embody, and how she would have looked at it. Good editors are hard to find, and if you find one embrace and keep them close at hand. You must trust them to shape and hone your work and for it to work for you. It’s a pity that June Jordan is no longer around. As long as she lived, I could still think of myself having that pillar of strenght to chastise me and whip me into shape when I erred with my words! Because of June Jordan, I’m the educator that I am -- teaching grammatical fortitude, expository writing and research methodology the right way. Thank you Ms Jordan, I’m better for it, your legacy lives on and you are not forgotten.
June Jordan died of breast cancer on June 14, 2002, in Berkeley, California. Part of her Bio reads just as prolific as she was. To wit: ‘Jordan was perhaps best known for her poetry and essays. Her verse had been praised for uniquely and effectively uniting in poetic form the personal everyday struggles and political oppressions of African Americans while at the same time masterfully creating art that conveys bitterness and rage at intolerance with a fine irony. She was recognized for her expert craftsmanship, a patterning of sound, rhythm, and image that interweaves disparate emotions and voices in a poetry that is never less than political and never lessened by its politics. Her poetic vision infuses all that she wrote, and Jordan's explicitly political essays, especially those collected in Civil Wars and Technical Difficulties, advocated change through a personal, autobiographical focus and a clear uncompromising voice. She was born in New York City in 1936. Her books of poetry include Kissing God Goodbye: Poems, 1991-1997 (Anchor Books, 1997), Haruko/Love Poems (1994), Naming Our Destiny: New and Selected Poems (1989), Living Room (1985), Passion (1980), and Things That I Do in the Dark (1977). She was also the author of children's books, plays, a novel, and Poetry for the People: A Blueprint for the Revolution (1995), a guide to writing, teaching and publishing poetry. Her collections of political essays include Affirmative Acts: Political Essays (1998) and Technical Difficulties (1994). Basic Books published her memoir, Soldier: A Poet's Childhood, in 2000. Jordan had received a Rockefeller Foundation grant, the National Association of Black Journalists Award, and fellowships from the Massachusetts Council on the Arts, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. She taught at the University of California, Berkeley, where she founded Poetry for the People’.
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