The Roads Taken. Gwendolyn Brooks is with me every day by Haki Madhubuti

It was a Saturday morning in the summer of 1967 when i --other and several poets from the Organization of Black American Culture (OBAC) Writers' Workshop ventured into Chicago's Woodlawn neighborhood to encounter and embrace the space of Gwendolyn Brooks. Brooks, responding to a request from the great entertainer, songwriter, and producer, Oscar Brown Jr., weekly poetry workshop Taught with members of the Black Stone Rangers (a neighborhood youth group, also Referred to as a gang). About twelve young girls and boys, ages ranging from about sixteen to twenty-one years old, sat quietly as Brooks, using books and blackboard overworked year (Those remember?), Em transported into a universe of unknown words and worlds. I Had first read Gwendolyn Brooks's Earlier work about eight years, at the impressionable age of seventeen. On the mean streets of Detroit and Chicago Where I Grew up, reading and writing poetry Was not a priority, and my introduction to this marvelous poet About About About About About About did not Occur in advanced year high. Gold school race by studying the books We had in school I found her work in an anthology That I purchased this this this this this this from bookstore HAS used for the great price of forty cents: The Poetry of the Negro 1746-1949 . edited by the master poets, Langston Hughes and Arna Bontemps The Bontemps anthology Hughes-opened me up to the wonderful world of Black poetry in the Diaspora. Of the seven Brooks poems published there, "building kitchenette" and "of De Witt Williams on His Way to Lincoln Cemetery" Were my favorites. of DeWitt Williams "and today can recall the first two stanzas I Memorized" 

He Was born in Alabama. He Was bred in Illinois. He Was Nothing goal Plain black boy. Swing low sweet swing low sweet chariot. Nothing but a plain black boy.

When I met Brooks That day in 1967, She Had Recently turned fifty-old enough to be the hardest by respecté of Black Youth and young enough to return Their respect. I Was twenty-five, HAD published one book of poetry, Black Think (1966), with a second book, Black Pride , coming early the next year from Broadside Press of Detroit. I Was not sure about what I Was searching for, purpose When I found her That sun-filled morning on Chicago's South Side in a community HAD others neglected and forgotten, I found an answer. The poetry workshop Eventually Moved to her South Evans Avenue home Where It continued to meet weekly. Her criticism of my poetry as well as others Was firm, non-patronizing, always Encouraging us not to reinvent a poem goal to Improve upon it. I remember how she wanted us to be conscious of language and form. I remember her telling us as excessive use of profanity That Was lazy writing. I do not know if I toned down After That, more goal I Was Aware of When and how I used Those expletives. As the cam workshop to year end, the two of us continued to meet weekly. She Would take me with her ​​on her readings and Encouraged me to read my poetry there. Our familyhood Lasted for over thirty-three years, and in fact she is still with me every day. Her smile, her voice, her example, and her words continue to encourage, nurture, and keep me grounded and Committed to the work-poetry, editing, teaching, and publishing-that she Encouraged me to do. Finally, her greatest lesson to us all is that serving one's community as an artist means much more than just creating art.