ß
íå ìîæó
ïðîäàòè
òîá³
öþ
êàðòèíó.
 âèðàç³ ¿¿ îáëè÷÷ÿ ÿ áà÷ó ÷îðíèõ ìàòåð³â, ÿêèõ îñë³ïëþº
³ ðîáèòü áåçïîðàäíèìè öÿ ëþòü ïðîòè ¿õí³õ ä³òåé.
Êîëè ÿ íåçâîðóøíî ïðîáèðàâñÿ ÷åðåç ÷åðãîâèé öèêë
íàñèëüñòâà íàä ÷îðíîøê³ðèìè,
ß ìàëþâàâ ×îðíó ìàò³ð...
çàïëþùåí³ î÷³,
çìîðùåíèé ëîá
îêðåñëþþòü êîíòóð ¿¿ âòðàòè.
Øî öå îçíà÷ຠäëÿ íàñ?
×è º ÷îðíèé ³ âòðàòè
îäíàêîâèìè êîëüîðàìè â Àìåðèö³?
ßêùî Ìàëêîëüì íå çì³ã öå âèïðàâèòè,
ÿêùî Ìàðò³í íå çì³ã öå âèïðàâèòè,
ÿêùî Ìàéêëà,
Ñàíäðó,
Òðåéâîíà,
Òàì³ðà,
Áðåîíà ³
çàðàç Äæîðäæà Ôëîéäà…
ìîæíà âáèòè
³ í³÷îãî íå çì³íèòüñÿ...
áóëî á íåðîçóìíèì ò³øèòèñÿ íà䳺þ?
ß ïîâèíåí ïðèéíÿòè, ùî öå òå, ùî îçíà÷ຠáóòè ×îðíèì
â Àìåðèö³?
Íå
êàæ³òü
ìåí³
íå
âòðà÷àòè
íàä³þ.
ß â³äìîâèâñÿ â³ä ñïðîáè îïèñàòè ïî÷óòòÿ â³ä òîãî, ùî çíàþ,
ùî íå ìîæó áóòè â áåçïåö³ â êðà¿í³ ñâîãî íàðîäæåííÿ...
ßê ÿ ïîÿñíþ ñâî¿ì ä³òÿì, ùî ñàìà ñèñòåìà, ñòâîðåíà
äëÿ çàõèñòó ³íøèõ, ìîæå çàãðîæóâàòè íàøîìó ³ñíóâàííþ?
ßê ÿ óáåðåæó ¿õ â³ä ïñèõîëîã³÷íîãî òèñêó, çíàþ÷è, ùî âñå æèòòÿ ìè,
ìàáóòü, áóäåìî ñïðèéìàòèñÿ ÿê çàãðîçà,
² òîìó
ìè ìîæåìî ïîìåðòè?
Ìàêàðòóð íå çàõèñòèòü âàñ.
ªëüñüêèé ñòóï³íü íå çàõèñòèòü âàñ.
Âàø³ ãàðíî ñôîðìóëüîâàí³ áëàãàííÿ íå çì³íÿòü ñîòí³ ðîê³â ³íñòèòóö³îíàë³çîâàíî¿ íåíàâèñò³.
Âè í³êîëè íå áóäåòå íàñò³ëüêè êðàñíîìîâíèìè, ÿê Áîëäó³í,
Âè í³êîëè íå áóäåòå íàñò³ëüêè äîáðèìè, ÿê ʳíã...
Òàê,
õ³áà íå ðîçóìíî â³ðèòè, ùî öå íå áóäå
øâèäêî
çì³íåíå?
² öå íàñò³ëüêè áåçíàä³éíî...
Îáï³êàº.
Öÿ ×îðíà ìàòè çíຠâîãîíü.
×îðí³ ìàòåð³
çíàþòü â³ä÷àé.
ß íå ìîæó çì³íèòè Ͳ×ÎÃÎ â öüîìó ñâ³ò³,
Ò³ëüêè ôàðáè,
ß ìîæó öå óñâ³äîìèòè…
Öå ïðèíîñèòü ìåí³ ðîçðàäó ...
íå íàä³þ,
àëå ðîçðàäó.
Âîíà ïðîõîäèòü êð³çü ìåíå ïîëóì'ÿì ÿðîñò³.
Ìîÿ ×îðíà ìàòè çíîâó ðÿòóº ìåíå.
ß õî÷ó áóòè âïåâíåíèì, ùî ¿¿ áà÷àòü.
ß õî÷ó áóòè âïåâíåíèì, ùî ¿¿ ³ñòîð³ÿ ðîçêàçàíà.
² òàê,
öüîãî ðàçó
Àìåðèêà ïîâèííà ïî÷óòè ¿¿ ãîëîñ.
Öüîãî ðàçó
Àìåðèêà ïîâèííà ¿é ïîâ³ðèòè.
Titus Kaphar ANALOGOUS COLORS, 2020,Oil on canvas.
Ò³òóñ Êàôàð ÀÍÀËÎò×Ͳ ÊÎËÜÎÐÈ, 2020, ïîëîòíî, îë³ÿ.
[i]Íà îáêëàäèíö³ òèæíåâîãî âèïóñêó æóðíàëó TIME, ÿêèé ì³ñòèòü ñïåö³àëüíèé çâ³ò, ïðèñâÿ÷åíèé ïðîòåñòàì, ùî âèáóõíóëè ïî âñ³é êðà¿í³ ï³ñëÿ âáèâñòâà ïîë³ö³ºþ 25 òðàâíÿ 2020 ðîêó Äæîðäæà Ôëîéäà â øòàò³ ̳ííåàïîë³ñ, ðîçì³ùåíî çîáðàæåííÿ Ò³òóñà Êàôàðà "×îðíà ìàòè" (2014), ÿêà òðèìຠñèëóåò äèòèíè. ϳä ÷àñ çàòðèìàííÿ Ôëîéä êëèêàâ ñâîþ ìàò³ð, êîëè éîãî ïðèòèñêàâ äî çåìë³ ³ äóøèâ ïîë³öåéñüêèé Äåðåê Øîâ³í. Çíàêîâà ÷åðâîíà ñìóãà íàâêîëî îáêëàäèíêè ì³ñòèòü ³ìåíà 35 ÷îðíîøê³ðèõ ÷îëîâ³ê³â ³ æ³íîê, ÿê³ áóëè âáèò³ ïîë³ö³ºþ àáî â ³íøèõ ðàñèñòñüêèõ àêö³ÿõ, âêëþ÷àþ÷è Ôëîéäà, Òðåéâîíà Ìàðò³íà òà Áðåîííó Òåéëîð. Ï³ä ³ëþñòðàö³ºþ áóâ ðîçì³ùåíèé öåé éîãî â³ðø
[/i]
[b]Titus Kaphar I CAN NOT SELL YOU THIS PAINTING[/b]
I
can not
sell
you
this
painting.
In her expression, I see the Black mothers who are unseen, and rendered helpless in this fury against their babies.
As I listlessly wade through another cycle of violence against Black people,
I paint a Black mother…
eyes closed,
furrowed brow,
holding the contour of her loss.
Is this what it means for us?
Are black and loss
analogous colors in America?
If Malcolm could not fix it,
if Martin could not fix it,
if Michael,
Sandra,
Trayvon,
Tamir,
Breonna and
Now George Floyd…
can be murdered
and nothing changes…
wouldn’t it be foolish to remain hopeful?
Must I accept that this is what it means to be Black
in America?
Do
not
ask
me
to be
hopeful.
I have given up trying to describe the feeling of knowing that I can not be safe in the country of my birth…
How do I explain to my children that the very system set up to protect others could be a threat to our existence?
How do I shield them from the psychological impact of knowing that for the rest of our lives we will likely be seen as a threat,
and for that
We may die?
A MacArthur won’t protect you .
A Yale degree won’t protect you .
Your well-spoken plea will not change hundreds of years of institutionalized hate.
You will never be as eloquent as Baldwin,
you will never be as kind as King…
So,
isn’t it only reasonable to believe that there will be no
change
soon?
And so those without hope…
Burn.
This Black mother understands the fire.
Black mothers
understand despair.
I can change NOTHING in this world,
but in paint,
I can realize her….
This brings me solace…
not hope,
but solace.
She walks me through the flames of rage.
My Black mother rescues me yet again.
I want to be sure that she is seen.
I want to be certain that her story is told.
And so,
this time
America must hear her voice.
This time
America must believe her.
àäðåñà: https://www.poetryclub.com.ua/getpoem.php?id=947877
Ðóáðèêà: ˳ðèêà êîõàííÿ
äàòà íàäõîäæåííÿ 16.05.2022
àâòîð: Çîÿ Á³äèëî