I heard Etheridge read his poetry for the last time at Butler University
on November 14, 1990, about seven months after the jazz poetry sympo-
sium. He was joined that evening by Carolyn Forché, and it happened to
be his birthday. I hadn't seen him since the symposium, and although he
looked almost the same, it was clear that the cancer had gotten worse and
that this might be his last birthday celebration.

He gave a stunning reading, filled with humor, political statements, in-
fectious rhythms, and stylistic ease. When Forché came to the podium
after his reading, she felt obliged to recognize what he had done. "Eth-
eridge," she said smiling, "you sure know how to warm up a room." He
recited most of his poems by heart, enacting his conviction that the power
of poetry is, by nature, oral. (In my copy of The Essential Etheridge Knight,
he inscribed, "Be / making / sounds / Words / be / beautiful.") Hearing
the poems again was like reviewing an autobiography in verse, from "Re-
habilitation & Treatment in the Prisons of America" to "Circling the
Daughter." When he read "Ilu, the Talking Drum," his bass voice reso-
nated in the refrain. And soon he was rocking to the rhythm of his poetry,
shifting his weight left and right, until the pulse of the poem became the
pulse of the audience, sounds that we all still hear:

and the day opened to the sound
kah doom / kah doom-doom / kah doom / kah doom-doom-doom
and our feet moved to the sound of life
kah doom / kah doom-doom / kah doom / kah doom-doom-doom
and we rode the rhythms as one
from Nigeria to Mississippi
and back
kah doom kah doom-doom / kah doom / kah doom-doom-doom

( Essential, 55-56)

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