As someone who worked with her, closely read her work and carried her poem “won’t you celebrate with me” among others in my heart to sustain me on difficult days, and saw someone I could call a mentor. I participated in a workshop with Ms. Clifton in 1999, when I was trying to explore my voice more clearly on paper than behind a microphone. I just wrote about her for Delirious Hem. Some of my friends are still finding it difficult to talk about losing her. I know I find it hard.
Part of me writing about it, in spite of feeling pained by the loss, stems from the reality that led me to her workshop so many years ago. I was reading about Ida B. Wells and discovered that Wells was a meticulous in documenting her life and work. She also made arrangements to be photographed and published often. Ms. Clifton encouraged me to write about her and find my own stories locked up inside me.
As a woman who writes, one of my greatest fears is that people will fail to document our work, recognize it, celebrate it or remember it. Some people forgo marriage, children, and financial comfort to be writers. Lucille Clifton was well-loved by many, and thankfully will be secure in the world of letters as a singular voice. Ultimately, it is the job of scholars, readers, and other writers to keep such work alive.
However, I find myself wondering if us who follow her will do the work on the same level. Will we start to connect these relationships that tell us so much about writers, women and otherwise? If there is a woman that you want to write about, blog about, teach, share with others, do it. Lucille Clifton should be one of them.
I am thankful for people like Remica L. Bingham, Evie Shockley, Honoree Jeffers, Akasha Hull, Mary Jane Lupton, Crystal Williams, and Hilary Holladay for writing about Ms. Clifton. There should be much more to come to elucidate the power of Clifton’s wit, precision, her teaching her wisdom, and her spirit. We miss you already, Ms. Clifton.
