I opened Facebook one day to see a suggested event for me. I remembered the name Camille T. Dungy but couldn't put a face to it. I realized, I never actually knew what she looked like, but I knew she did poetry because I had read one of her poems once. I never clicked interested so fast in my life.
I opened my computer to search in my finder for Camille and three things came up:
The NY Times 1619 Project Publication
A class syllabi for Black Feminism and Environmentalism and
A class syllabi for Childhood and American Poetry
I looked through each to see what they contained for Dungy and I got three different works:
In the 1619 publication, there was a poem written by Dungy in honor of the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in 1963.
In the class syllabi for Black Feminism and Environmentalism, we were to read Dungy's “Tales from a Black Girl on Fire, or White I Hate to Walk Outside and See Things Burning” from her Colors of Nature: Culture, Identity, and the Natural World book as an introduction to the topic.
And in the class syllabi for Childhood and American Poetry, we read her poem, "Conspiracy" in order to write our own poetry in which we positioned ourselves as a child or as adults thinking about childhood.
So I reflected upon her and what she has provided me in my learning and I sought to know more about her. So I searched her name and I came across an article she did in which she asks: Is All Writing Environmental Writing? This question gave me life. It made me feel like my journey through Division III was on the right track. This article made very important points that ultimately concluded:
"What we decide matters in literature is connected to what we decide will matter for our history, for our pedagogy, for our culture. What we do and do not value in our art reveals what we do and do not value in our times. What we leave off the page often speaks as loudly as what we include."
So I prepared to miss one of my classes to go to this event, which Ultimately was worth it since we were reading one of her works in class. I arrived at a building on Smith College's campus and I walked down the stairs to be faced with people at tables. One of the tables were selling poetry books including Dungy's and the other was giving out paper copies of some of Dungy's poem. I also happen to see two fellow classmates from a class I took prior in the Spring of 2019. We chatted and as I was talking to them, Camille just walks up and says hello. I am shooketh, again at the humbleness of these people I idealize (one day I'll have to explore this idealization but not today).
Anyways, I gave her a hug and she was so excited to meet me and thanked me for coming and began to head into the auditorium where she'd be reading. I don't think I got much sleep that night because I felt like my energy was slumping so I quickly ran over to one of Smith's food places and brought some candy. I ran back super fast to make sure I didn't miss the beginning of the event, which I did not. I even came back to more people I knew from the same class as the other folks, including the teacher of that class, Nathan McClain.
I did't really take that many notes at this event nor pictures. Listening to her speak, I was sorta mesmerized and trying to allow myself to be immersed in the poetry. She told us stories, she read us poems, one of the entitled "Notes on What Is Always with Us" and "Frequently Asked Questions 1+2". She revealed secrets to us about her experience with motherhood and her growing obsession with nature and environmental writing.
I wrote down what was always with us according to her: grief and celebration as well as the tempting comforts of suppression. She shared with us information about a publication called The Orion that's always accepting submissions for work.
During one of her poems, I accidentally heard the word "bullet" instead of "boy" and I was as concerned as I was intrigued.
After the reading, she said she would be at the table near where I was sitting signing autographs and stuff. I checked the bus schedule because I knew they begin to run scarce later towards the night. I hurried over and asked for a quick autograph and picture. One of my poetry friends hopped in too.
Thank you Camille T. Dungy!!!
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