Audre Lorde
"black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet"
Audre Lorde was an incredible queer woman of color born in 1934 and still considered a tremendously important voice in modern feminism.
She was an activist and a writer, as well as a survivor: she battled the breast cancer that would eventually take her life for 12 years. Openly queer, she challenged the feminist movement's rejection of queer women and women of color. One of her most famous works is a challenge to the mainstream white feminism of the day, "The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House."
There's so much to be said about Audre Lorde that I think it almost cheapens it for me to try and put her down in a blog post. Instead, here's a poem:
"black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet"
Audre Lorde was an incredible queer woman of color born in 1934 and still considered a tremendously important voice in modern feminism.She was an activist and a writer, as well as a survivor: she battled the breast cancer that would eventually take her life for 12 years. Openly queer, she challenged the feminist movement's rejection of queer women and women of color. One of her most famous works is a challenge to the mainstream white feminism of the day, "The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House."
There's so much to be said about Audre Lorde that I think it almost cheapens it for me to try and put her down in a blog post. Instead, here's a poem:
"Who Said It Was Simple" by Audre Lorde
There are so many roots to the tree of anger
that sometimes the branches shatter
before they bear.
Sitting in Nedicks
the women rally before they march
discussing the problematic girls
they hire to make them free.
An almost white counterman passes
a waiting brother to serve them first
and the ladies neither notice nor reject
the slighter pleasures of their slavery.
But I who am bound by my mirror
as well as my bed
see causes in color
as well as sex
and sit here wondering
which me will survive
all these liberations.
There are so many roots to the tree of anger
that sometimes the branches shatter
before they bear.
Sitting in Nedicks
the women rally before they march
discussing the problematic girls
they hire to make them free.
An almost white counterman passes
a waiting brother to serve them first
and the ladies neither notice nor reject
the slighter pleasures of their slavery.
But I who am bound by my mirror
as well as my bed
see causes in color
as well as sex
and sit here wondering
which me will survive
all these liberations.
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