Sweetest Taboo
Debut collection sounds the rhythm of physical Blues
Joe Okonkwo is a poet of distinct percussion and considerable repercussion, who addresses his subject matter with invigorating urgency. His book Milk Chocolate/Naked Moon, is an arresting mosaic of finely tuned shouts and polished whispers. Okonkwo lays bare his soul when he deems to reflect on the most primal levels: "I need my daddy's kiss and/a reason not to cut/my wrists on Father's Day."
Often his new collection radiates the exuberant celebratory tone of a proud black lover/warrior in love with his life. In other words, his words contain a boldly hoisted middle finger at the times (past and present), taboos and stunted emotions that separate us. "You have not learned to love your own heat, or cherish your own gifts/or give all of yourself/without disintegrating," he writes.
Okonkwo does not cloak his voice in a tricky catch-me-if-you-can syntax. While metaphor is skillfully applied throughout, he does not hide beneath its veneer to get his poetic point across. Milk Chocolate/Naked Moon is somewhat like a stew. At times, it's hard to believe one man, one cook created this potent, expressive brew of words and varying emotions, where poetry cooks and simmers with melancholy, eroticism, and dashes of good news.
Okonkwo also understands the Blues of those who came before him. In two poems for Billie Holiday, he becomes her confidante, riding shotgun on Jim Crow busses, sitting first row center in smoky nightclubs to witness her exhilaration, frustrations, and nuances. As a writer, he gets his subjects. His "Tragic Moor," and ode to Paul Robeson, is a pursuasive history lesson of the "struggle" to "free himself from white gods who/ did not value him, love him or care to hear his voice/ unless it echoed the voices of Uncle Tom, Uncle Remus, Uncle Minstrel."
But make no mistake: Milk Chocolate/Naked Moon is not a book chock-full of angry political rhetoric and righteous hollers from the Black Nationalist tip. Far from it. The poet often muses on themes of love, gay love (including interracial gay love), and the baggage that attends it. In such instances, Okonkwo assumes the lover's voices, their critics, the believers in the, uh, Big Black Dick hype, and the racially suspicious. His dueling poems: "2 Black Men," and "2 White Men," are both astonishing at driving the point home. From "2 White Men," he writes:
He has a collection of black men
accumulates them like African sculpture
He wants the Congo
Dressed in Armani or Spandex...
While in "2 Black Men," he counters this very idea by voicing how: "Black men need to stick with their own." The trick is, Okonkwo finds clever ways to strip down this statement, proving himself equally adept at displaying voices of racial pride and examined prejudice. There is a purposeful schizophrenia working in these and several other works. Dispensing differing doctrines, he offers contrasting peeves and preferences much like a proficient playwright. While such opinions might be seen as controversial, the result is quite the opposite. This clash of ideologies lends gravity to the pieces and the inherent conflict within them. Once you read the two poems you'll soon realize the other voices, these differing tones belong to the world, and Joe Okonkwo hears and renders them clearly.
The poet is also fearless when addressing the sweetest taboo, well—beyond the gay and black thing:
My Eddie, olive skin covered with silky down,
chest and back coated with thick
sleek fur that warms me wen we cuddle up
after dripping moist pearls on his sheets...
For purists, some pieces may qualify more as poetic prose. But even then, Joe Okonkwo's is a voice worth heeding. And so is this book. Milk Chocolate/Naked Moon is a passionate and poignant exploration into the things that separate us and bring us together.—LMR
Debut collection sounds the rhythm of physical Blues
Joe Okonkwo is a poet of distinct percussion and considerable repercussion, who addresses his subject matter with invigorating urgency. His book Milk Chocolate/Naked Moon, is an arresting mosaic of finely tuned shouts and polished whispers. Okonkwo lays bare his soul when he deems to reflect on the most primal levels: "I need my daddy's kiss and/a reason not to cut/my wrists on Father's Day."
Okonkwo does not cloak his voice in a tricky catch-me-if-you-can syntax. While metaphor is skillfully applied throughout, he does not hide beneath its veneer to get his poetic point across. Milk Chocolate/Naked Moon is somewhat like a stew. At times, it's hard to believe one man, one cook created this potent, expressive brew of words and varying emotions, where poetry cooks and simmers with melancholy, eroticism, and dashes of good news.
Okonkwo also understands the Blues of those who came before him. In two poems for Billie Holiday, he becomes her confidante, riding shotgun on Jim Crow busses, sitting first row center in smoky nightclubs to witness her exhilaration, frustrations, and nuances. As a writer, he gets his subjects. His "Tragic Moor," and ode to Paul Robeson, is a pursuasive history lesson of the "struggle" to "free himself from white gods who/ did not value him, love him or care to hear his voice/ unless it echoed the voices of Uncle Tom, Uncle Remus, Uncle Minstrel."
But make no mistake: Milk Chocolate/Naked Moon is not a book chock-full of angry political rhetoric and righteous hollers from the Black Nationalist tip. Far from it. The poet often muses on themes of love, gay love (including interracial gay love), and the baggage that attends it. In such instances, Okonkwo assumes the lover's voices, their critics, the believers in the, uh, Big Black Dick hype, and the racially suspicious. His dueling poems: "2 Black Men," and "2 White Men," are both astonishing at driving the point home. From "2 White Men," he writes:
He has a collection of black men
accumulates them like African sculpture
He wants the Congo
Dressed in Armani or Spandex...
While in "2 Black Men," he counters this very idea by voicing how: "Black men need to stick with their own." The trick is, Okonkwo finds clever ways to strip down this statement, proving himself equally adept at displaying voices of racial pride and examined prejudice. There is a purposeful schizophrenia working in these and several other works. Dispensing differing doctrines, he offers contrasting peeves and preferences much like a proficient playwright. While such opinions might be seen as controversial, the result is quite the opposite. This clash of ideologies lends gravity to the pieces and the inherent conflict within them. Once you read the two poems you'll soon realize the other voices, these differing tones belong to the world, and Joe Okonkwo hears and renders them clearly.
The poet is also fearless when addressing the sweetest taboo, well—beyond the gay and black thing:
My Eddie, olive skin covered with silky down,
chest and back coated with thick
sleek fur that warms me wen we cuddle up
after dripping moist pearls on his sheets...
For purists, some pieces may qualify more as poetic prose. But even then, Joe Okonkwo's is a voice worth heeding. And so is this book. Milk Chocolate/Naked Moon is a passionate and poignant exploration into the things that separate us and bring us together.—LMR