not asking for freedom—but free: Ericka Huggins' poems from prison
October 15th marks the 50th anniversary of the 1966 founding of the Black Panther Party. In observance of the occasion, we present below a selection of poems written by Ericka Huggins, a prominent member of the Party first in Los Angeles and then in New Haven, during her two-year imprisonment awaiting trial in New Haven, alongside Bobby Seale and others.
These poems are collected in If They Come in the Morning...: Voices of Resistance, edited by Angela Davis.
Oil pastel drawing and watercolor painting of Ericka Huggins on the witness stand, by Robert Templeton. via Wikimedia Commons.
***
tall
skinny
plain
tall
skinny
plain i am
ericka, 22,
fuzzy hair
droopy eyes
long feet
i love people
love nature
love love
i am a revolutionary
nothing special
one soul
one life willing
to give it
ready to die ...
***
noises
sounds
unspoken words
feelings repressed because
the prison walls are also
soul walls
barriers
if only all barriers could be removed
and we could walk/ talk/ sing
be ...
free of all psychological, spiritual
political, economic
boundaries
all of us all the freedom lovers of
the world but especially
right now—prisoners.
***
7 p.m. niantic
for paula:
(who ran from the camp
and was eventually caught)
hopes that render me speechless
fly through my soul
the reality of now is
too much to accept the
racism, fascism and oppression
we suffer / have suffered is
numbing my soul
if it is true that they
have stifled your attempt
to breathe air and see
life and be a part of the
chaos that is the streets
then i cry inside
because no one will
understand outside tears
for you—or those like you—
strange it is for you for i only
know your face and soul personalities
sometimes
don't matter ...
but that's good enough you are a
part of me sister-love the part of me
that has been and will one day be ...
every door is not locked
***
after 9 p.m.
love spelled the same but meaning
spiritually much more
meaning that we realize the creative
forces to be energy and that we as a
part of that must
come together
come
together
wow—there are tears in my laughter
***
niantic prison*
reflections on Sunday:
sounds that come from the soul are always
the same
free
open sounds
giving
the kind that reach out and touch—
that's what our sisters did / minimum
touching maximum / showing oppression
and the wish for its
removal ...
feeling those sounds
seeing them felt on others
watching faces smile
really smile for the first time in months—
getting high—on the natural power of the
people to resist/to smile/to laugh/to sing/
shout/love/give/
even here!!
wild hair, funky guitar
long hair funky voice (someone said
bessie smith came to mind)
hair—all lengths, legs, arms, smiles, music—
SISTERS—and us ...
raggedy peacots, cotton dressed, rocking,
swaying
screaming
enjoying it—
crying too—even if not too many
let the tears fall free
... us—black/brown/white/poor—SISTERS
and it was all a total exchange
of energy
communication
even if we did not share words
we all knew their soul-sounds were
saying
we understand
we know
we can see what amerika is doing
to you—mother/daughter/child/woman
of oppression—
we can see, they sang
and our voices answered their guitars,
horns flute-voice-cowbell-tambourine de-
mand for freedom with an unspoken right on
... a feeling there that one day—soon—
all people will be free ... and
we left
stronger
able to smile (for a moment) ...
til we returned to
rules that degrade
schedules that destroy sanity
racism that they cannot see
sexism that rapes us of our womanhood ...
and the locks, keys, windows, walls, doors,
threats
warnings
bribes that harden our hearts and
chain our souls ...
the time
must be
seized
venceremos!
* On Sunday, the 13th of December, the New Haven Women's Liberation Rock Band played a concert at Niantic State Prison.
***
the oldness of new things
fascinate me like a new
feeling about love about people
snow, highways that
sparkle at night, talk,
laughter ...
that old longing for freedom
that this place constantly
renews—it all makes
me know that humankind
has longed to be free ever forever
since its break from the
whole
maybe the longing for
freedom wil soon make
others homesick for our
natural state in / with
earth, air, fire, water
but living
not dead
not asking for freedom—
but free—
***
for connie, a rollingstone
if there is cosmic beauty
then your face holds it
if there is human understanding
then your soul is capable of it
if a mind ever thought of freedom
yours has flown to where freedom
lives and has drifted back
here to tell your body about it
and you long for it
i can see it in your eyes
aquarius sister-love
i can see it ... you
must know that one
day we will all
be
FREE
***
whiz, whir, spin
flow melt fly
float
blend
become
be ... but not until
the people are free
not until there is time
to take time to be free
if that makes sense
free to exchange energy
communicate
productively create.
i must not forget that i can
not love everyone now, that putting
the real truth into practice now will only
disillusion those who take it for its verbal value
i must wait to really smile inside and pass it on
i must reject the silly feeling to jump, scream, enjoy the
cosmos
disoriented as it is now—not until we have all evolved more
not until there are no more incarnations of hitler unevolved
not until the racism/ oppression that has raped our souls
has been destroyed then we can all whiz, whir, spin
flow, melt, fly
float
blend
become
be ...
***
for sam a brother* / friend of the people
i remember now that sam used to call me sweet sister
and his voice had a ring to it like music / sort of a
soft-fast-hardworking voice (always a smile to it tho)
that's how his soul was—soft yet strong
fast, yet not by bypassing the
needs of the people / the FREE-dom of the people /
hardworking—yes he was
the sweat engraved in the issues of our
paper—in good times / in hard, bitter, bad times
he is not/ nor will be forgotten—he was
too symbolic of all we stand for dedication,
love for the people self less ness
seems as tho he was taken away so unnecessarily
seems as tho we've got a lot to learn in this struggle of
ours
seems as tho this country, amerikkka, wants to wipe out
all the samuel napiers
jonathan jacksons
bobby seales of the world
seems as tho we have a WHOLE LOT of work to do
love to give
freedom to give. Good brother
... i cannot be there/ bobby cannot so—on that, I place
a kiss on your forehead and a dandelion in your hand
(a dandelion because they grow wild/free/rebellious over
the earth)
(like the people—poor people/ oppressed people.)
... this may be said many times, but it is sincere—
... you will not be forgotten, we love you, sweet brother
we love you/
...ericka
*Sam Napier was murdered by police agents in New York City, April 17, 1971. He was a member of the Black Panther Party, and circulation manager for the Party's Intercommunal News Service. He leaves a wife, Pauline Napier, and two children, Stag and Huey.