 Thank you so much for having me. My name is Toussaint St. Negritude, and I'm a poet and a bass clarinetist. And today I'll be presenting my poetry. And the first poem I'm gonna do is a piece called Through the Wilderness. And it's a piece that I wrote at the start of this pandemic that we're in now. And I've been writing throughout the pandemic, which has been interesting now that it's gone on for months and months now. It's been interesting just to kind of go through some of my earliest impressions of the pandemic and more recent ones. They all kind of tell of, I think, the same experience. So this is Through the Wilderness. Through the wilderness of my freedoms, through territories uncharted for corporate consumption, through cogent dreams and cosmic streams, I have climbed to find my star house, high amongst the peaks of an ever emancipating consciousness. Through these constellations strewn within my soul, here I have climbed to find my sanctuary, housing all the juju this new day can hold. Through days clouded in the valleys of popular self-deceit, through the darkest immobilities of shackling bigotries, through hours journeyed by prayer and by hand and by feet, through hell and high water indignities, dangling inequities for the hungriest to eat, through powers stronger than all the calls for my defeat, I have climbed to find my star house, high amongst the peaks of my own true belief. Through the declarations flowing from the sovereignty of peace, through the clear and present affirmation that the universe is inalienably mine to reach. Through this connectivity of all my soul to keep, I have climbed to find my star house, high amongst the peaks of a bright and fertile liberty built for use. This poem also commemorates an actual star house, a tiny house that I've been working on for the last year and that was delayed at the start of the pandemic, but now is almost finished. And this will be my first home that I will have ever owned and I'm looking so forward to living there. And so it's been great to kind of reconnect with the spiritual value that this house will bring to me, which is just as real as actually living in it. This next poem I'm gonna do is called Wings, Joys, Truths and Intermost Means. And this is my own sort of forecast, weather forecast that I kind of based it on one of my favorite, listen to VPR whenever there are the forecasts from the museum in St. John'sbury. So this is my forecast. Live from your own heart of hearts, here's today's forecast, calling for gale force harmonies, calling for showers of impromptu calming, calling for untold gusts of unauthorized affirmations, unauthorized affirmations with winds of free thinking epiphanies, reaching truth scale speeds of up to a billion renegade lifetimes per happiness, calling for elevations higher than age old fears, calling for all those with blues to breathe, to raise our wings, raise our joys, truths and innermost means and dig this gorgeous right to simply resound and gleam. Calling for all unknown scales of peace, calling for all unknown scales of peace, calling for all unknown scales of peace, to blow in at such a pace even you might just feel the breeze and believe. And believe. That is definitely my forecast for these coming months as we go into a pivotal transition for this country election and all. This next poem is called All Green Lights. And the title of this, I was kind of inspired by those moments, I don't know how many opportunities we have for these in Vermont with all of our windings, mountain roads, but when you're driving down a long stretch of streets and you just happen to be at that right timing where it's just green light after green light and you just stream on through. And so this is called All Green Lights. You can't stop a mountain from standing on your toes. You can't stop the sunrise from Manhattan or Rome. You can't stop the revolution from ringing like bells and you can't stop me from being myself. You can't stop this message from blooming in the hills. You can't stop this harvest from feeding who it will. You can't stop this feeling from going below the belt and you can't stop me from being myself. Not you, not your courts, not your hatred, not your history, not your schemes, not your deception, not your collusion, not your lies, not your lies, not your lies, not your lies, not your lies. You can't stop this mountain from seeing all your storms. You can't stop this sunrise from your gilding of thorns. You can't stop this revolution from ringing like bells and you can't stop me from being myself. All green lights moving forward. This is another poem that I wrote just at the start of the pandemic. Right as everything shut down and we suddenly had nothing to do but stay at home and enjoy our own front yards and backyards and I was really excited. This was like the best news I had heard in a long time. I finally had a legitimate reason to just stay home and write poems and music on my horn. And so I make hats. And just to be as creative as I want it. At home, I live in a cabin in the woods right now while I've been building my star house. And so I enjoyed nice walks out in the woods and I just loved it. I kind of secretly hoped that the pandemic would never go away. I'm joking because I just loved having that space. And so this is a poem I wrote then. And I also saw this transition as I see it now. I saw the pandemic, I saw the shutdown as an opportunity for us as a country, as a planet, within all the communities that we live in and share as an opportunity for reflection on how things were before the pandemic. Things that maybe weren't working and how we can transform into a better society. And I looked at this as perhaps a great opportunity for great transformation, which as we know, this planet has needed for a long time. And so out came this poem called, I'm gonna let it shine. And this poem has several references to some of my favorite gospel songs which have given me inspiration throughout my life. I'm gonna let it shine. I stand on the banks of tomorrow. And my soul looks vast and wonders. How in the world any other vision could ever be so fine. I stand on the banks of tomorrow. And my soul looks vast and wonders. To which flowing glory shall I rise divine. I stand on the banks of tomorrow. And my soul looks vast and wonders. My feet may be bound by the shores of a current denial, but with this little light of mine, with this little light of mine, I can fly like a bird in the sky. I can fly like a bird in the sky. I can fly like a bird in the sky. I stand on the banks of tomorrow. Wondering how in the world any other vision could ever be so fine. Okay, so that's that one. Okay, and this next poem I'm gonna do. As you can tell, mountains have always played a big part in my poems. I've always been inspired by them. Since I was a little kid, I grew up in San Francisco in the East Bay, Bay Area, Northern California, where there are mountains all around. And of course, the Sierra Mountains, just a few hours to the east. And mountains have always been, you know, since I grew up with the ocean on one side, the Pacific Ocean, and you look out at the beach and all you can see is water. And so when I was a kid, it was like, well, there's nothing to be seen beyond that. And then on the other side, looking east, there are mountains. And growing up in the Bay Area, there was often this kind of sense. And I think Vermont kind of shares a similar sense that there was, there was the Bay Area, there was San Francisco. And then on the other side of those mountains was the United States. And I think Vermont has a similar perspective where we live in Vermont and just beyond those hills are the United States. And so as a kid, you know, everything was east of those mountains. Places that I'd never been, that I heard about, New York, Washington, D.C. In my mind, even though China was west, China was east of those mountains. Everything was east of those mountains. So, you know, being a curious kid, I always wanted to climb those mountains just to see what was on the other side. And when I started hiking and exploring mountains, I loved just the vistas and being up above a lot of the chaos that was in the towns. And so mountains have always been metaphors for refuge for me and sanctuary and spirituality and calm. And I also like that in the history of the west and the history of this country and throughout the Americas, probably often around the world, mountains have been places of refuge for lots of people. Here on this side of the Atlantic, there were people that were called maroons who were either Africans escaping slavery who ran up into the Appalachians or into the mountains in Haiti. And like in Haiti, it was those maroons who found safety up in the mountains who were able to come down and liberate the country from the French. So maroon people, mountain people have often been known as liberators. And I like thinking of Vermonters as liberators and our own right. So this next poem is also talking about climbing mountains and it's called Climbing a Home. And the mountains that I'm sorry for all this introduction. I'm always wanting to put like glossaries together for like any books I publish, but on the glossary would be longer than the book. But growing up, I was always bothered by, I guess typical of any kid of anyone telling me what I can't do. And often these were things that I could do but things that society said that I couldn't do. 61, so I grew up during times that were even a bit more restrictive than we have today. And so there were professions that I was told a black person couldn't do. There were towns that I was told a black person couldn't go to. Growing up in Northern California, I was warned like in high school, kids taking trips up to the mountains, Lake Tahoe, don't ever cross that border into Nevada because black people have been lynched in Nevada or Idaho. And these things that people tell you can't do, I call them can't do's. And these can't do's started to add up after a while. And I've been defying every one of those can't do's throughout my life. So this is a poem about climbing can't do's. I have been climbing can't do's all my life. I have scaled every doubt this great land of the free has assailed my way and I am still here. Scaling every can't do this old world has to offer. Aina can't do thoughtful nor lawful enough to keep me from climbing to where or what or who I need to be. Aina can't do thoughtful nor lawful enough to keep me from climbing to where or what or who I need to be. I have been climbing can't do's all my life and I am still here scaling my way to yonder me. And that poem is also inspired by one of my favorite Langston Hughes poems, Mother to Son. Where a mother's talking to a son about don't be worrying about climbing the crystal stairs of life, don't give up, don't lose faith. And I definitely want to pass that message on to the rest of us. Okay, and this next poem I'm gonna do is called Brothers and Brothers. And it's dedicated to two of my favorite poets, Marlon Riggs and Essex Hempel. Who were most prominent in their careers during the 70s, 80s, and 90s and were very vocal and prominent within the queer and particularly black queer, black gay poetry scene nationally and internationally. And I had the fortune of meeting and reading with them years ago. They unfortunately both died of AIDS, but they definitely dedicated their lives to all of our voices, black gay voices. So this is called Brothers and Brothers. Brothers and Brothers Brothers and Brothers. Brothers and Brothers and Brothers and Brothers. Brothers and Brothers in arms of other brothers, brothers. Brothers and Brothers Brothers and Brothers, loving brothers in arms of other brothers, loving brothers, brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and arms, Being brothers, being lovers, being brothers, being mothers, brothers being mothers, brothers being sisters, brothers being rescuers, brothers being brothers, Brothers and brothers keeping, keeping keepers of brothers in love with other brothers. Brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and brothers and arms of other brothers, brothers and brothers, brothers and brothers loving, brothers loving, brothers loving, brothers loving, brothers, brothers of breath and thunder, holding the one love that cannot be shut asunder, brothers and brothers holding the one love, one love, one love that cannot be shut asunder, brothers of breath and thunder, brothers and brothers breathing life, brothers and brothers breathing life, brothers and brothers loving, brothers and brothers loving, brothers and brothers loving, brothers and brothers in arms of other brothers loving, brothers breathing life, breathing life. That's one of my favorite poems. That definitely speaks of a lot of my early young gay male experiences in San Francisco, Houston, Savannah, places around this country of just the beauty of filling that love between men and defying a lot of the toxic male machismo and saying how as men we can be loving to each other. And I hope there will be more of that. This next poem, so also just to add to my story as far as being a poet and and whatever genre I might fit in, I've never quite fit into many of the convenient boxes. But the one box that I do seem to be most affiliated with is the genre of Afrofuturism. And that is definitely a channel that I've been writing in since day one long before I knew there was a term for it. And I have always written and written and kind of done all of my creative art, all my artwork in worlds that kind of defied dimension. My writing has often defied tenses past, present, future tense. I will, I've always thought of myself as a very surrealist artist and kind of magic surrealist where I in the realm of poetry, there are no boundaries. Billie Holiday can have a conversation with Barack Obama or Mitch McConnell wouldn't that be interesting. And that was one of the things that so turned me on to poetry. I first discovered poetry, I think like in the fifth grade in elementary school. And while I had started to enjoy the art of writing and reading, most of the writing I had been exposed to at that age were like reports in class. And they would always come back filled with red ink, because I was always kind of doing something wrong. And a teacher introduced me to this thing called poetry. And I was told, with this, you can do anything you want. You can misspell the word license. You can take full license. And that liberated my life. So in this next poem called Rocking You, this is a poem I wrote last year, last August. And I often date all of my poems, something I started doing years ago, but it's good to be able to have some sort of reference. And it's me stepping into the future, talking back to my 25 year old self, which I thought was interesting. If I could give any advice to my 25 year old self, what would I say? What would I say, you know, get on a spaceship and get the hell out of here? Or what would I say? So this is called Rocking You. Dear 25 year old me, I'm sorry to say I've stepped into the future some 35 years from now, only to discover that dreams of precious boyfriends fade just as ghostly as affordable housing. And it turns out that America really has no interest in rocking you, like a hurricane, but actually prefers the presumed calm of fascism. And apparently, what turns out to be far worse than the presumption of liberty is the absolute absurdity of believing we had ever belonged. Dear 25 year old me, I'm sorry to say I've stepped into the future. Please do believe me, and please do disturb the peace. And for more kind of surrealist Afrofuturism work, one of the sex forms is called Ascending the Dawn Land. And I love, love, love the landscape of Vermont. I love, love, love the mountainscape of Vermont as much possibly more than the Sierra Mountains of California, where I thought I would grow up to be. But I really love this land. And I don't know if I'm the only person that senses this. I don't think I am. But when I look out on this landscape, these mountains, I really see a vast spirituality. I see an intense magic. I feel it. I know it's there, whether it's an indigenous magic. I don't know, but I definitely feel a very strong, fruitful, positive magic in these mountains. I kind of look at these mountains the way the most devout Muslims look at Mecca. I see them as very holy places. And I'm happy with the mountains as they are. I don't need to necessarily climb them. I used to work with a guy who every day he would brag about climbing camel's mountain in like 10 minutes. And the next time I saw him, oh, I climbed it in eight minutes. And I'm like, how about just enjoying it? But yeah, I really worship these mountains. And so when I moved to Vermont, and I also lived a couple years in Maine, coastal Maine, I learned that this Vermont to Maine northeast area has been referred to as the Dawn land by the Abenaki and original people of this land. And because this is where the sun first rises. You gotta love the dawn. God bless the dawn. And God blesses the day that there are no longer dawns. So I love that this land has been known as the Dawn land. I think that's a great thing. So this poem is called Ascending the Dawn Land. Down a song flowing north amid the boreal wilderness of innermost transformation appears the realm of the soul rising mountains of the moon at dawn. Obliged by the gods down a song of stars and coniferous splendor. Greens, greens, greens, the calling of reaches higher than our shadows can modernly conceive. Down a song flowing north rises the dawn land, the dawn land, the dawn land, the dawn land. Down a song flowing north, down a song flowing north rises the dawn land of illuminations. Welcome welcoming the innermost of elevations to passages of expansions duly received. Behold such noble means of galactic introspection. Behold such noble means of galactic introspection. Behold each peak surrounding each surrounding peak upon peak upon peak. Behold each bewitching reach. Behold this ascension of irrepressible peace. Behold your emancipation from all dominions otherwise for here is where your unconquerable wilderness glistens in the liberty of the Wajonaki Revolution. Welcome all alluminations to the dawn land incandescence of innermost reclamations, innermost reclamations, innermost reclamations, unshackling the sages from the ages long dead and gone. Down this song flowing north amid the boreal chicories lining the cosmos from the dawn land incandescence of innermost reclamations, unshackling the sages from the ages long dead and gone. Down this song flowing north amid the boreal chicories lining the cosmos from the astral floor appears the realm of the sole rising mountains of the moon at dawn. It is here upon the Uznea laden ridge of Shistto's discovery where your own flight of backwards enlightenment behooves your soul to rise, obliged by the gods of blossoming typographies. Behold this land your passion calls home. That one, at some point in my recognition of mountains as great repositories of spiritual energy, I also realized that as poets and I think as artists of all genres, musicians, visual artists, dancers, that as artists we are shamans, that art is a shamanic force that does changes for good, all good. I don't think there's any concept of bad change when it comes to art. Might be drawing, might be a shift in consciousness, but it's always good and so like in that last poem I kind of think of poems as spells, kind of incantations. So, let me see, this next poem I'm going to do is called Reflections of a Fugitive Human Being. And I wrote this poem last year right after my 60th birthday after I am recognizing my, try not to say any swear words, but recognizing my grown, my grown-ass state. I kind of made a grand gesture of my life and quit my god-awful day job and I'll be kind enough to not mention the name of that day job and announce that finally between now and the end of my life, which I hope to be a long time from now, I'm just going to be me and I'm going to do me and remarkably right as soon as I made that decision I started getting gigs and like so going to know I'm paying my rent from gigs and we're, I have a band called Jaguar Stereo and we were starting to arrange gigs outside of Vermont and boom, it's happening, it's working, and then COVID hit. So, but I'm still free and I'm still preaching all the liberation I can. So this poem was written right after I emancipated myself. It's called Reflections of a Fugitive Human Being. Water-Freeed Breeze and you and few and far between. Great blue herons approve this life, bemused of stars and dreams, skinny dipped in powers of dawn and trees. Moons arise from journey's home and long believed. Loons confide in howls of glee. Nothing defies one's liberty, bound by the powers of the water-freeed breeze. Okay, all right and do an okay on time. Okay, okay, all right and so perfect timing. This next poem I did, it's in two parts and it was written shortly after that last one and follows on the same theme of emancipation. When I wrote that last one to kind of celebrate my emancipation, I do believe it. I only kind of shake my head because it's such a jarring thing to do, but I spent the weekend at a friend's camp up on Crystal Lake and it was an absolutely beautiful weekend and it was absolutely beautiful. The loons, full moon, everything was telling me I made the right decision. So this next poem is called All These Dreams and Rivers Away. The first part is called Meditations One. Waking up free me and the ancient me. Waking up free me and the ancient me who first broke free of slavery in 1619. Me who followed the Powhatan River to the Appalachian peaks. Me and the future me who just broke free of slavery in the year 2019. Me who followed the path of my own born liberty. Waking up free. Waking up free. Waking up free. Me. Me. East of where Diwabadi Wajo speaks. Waking up free by the waters of Lake Willoughby. Me astrospectively seeing freedoms where freedoms ought to be. Infinity. Waking. Infinity. Waking. Infinity. Waking up free. Free. Waking up free. Waking up free. All these dreams and rivers away from 400 years of slavery. Me and the present me who will always be free of boundary. Boundary. All these dreams and rivers away from 400 years of slavery. Free. Meditations Two. Waking up free. In the brook green forest opening of my own truth green focused wilderness. My own truth green focused wilderness. Spruce taught evidence of an ebullient consciousness. Here for the luminescence. Here for the luminescence. Here in the fugitive mountainry of letting go of everything. Of letting go of everything. Of letting go of everything but the blessings of a high ridge transcendence. Feeling the inner passage of an astral vastness. Waking up free. Far beyond the madness. Far beyond the madness. Far beyond the sovereignty of ashes. And the democracy of deceit. Waking up free from the chattel bondage of compliance. And somebody else's greed. Waking up free. Self. Freed. Self. Freed and released from the mordant hounds of those so determined to cease all peace. I'm here. I am here. I am here for the belief and the illuminating liberties of all the stars we seek. Feeling beyond the periphery into worlds not even the most titled of eyes can see. Waking up free. Waking up free. Waking up free all these dreams and rivers away from slavery. Taking the leap. Feeling the means. Taking the leap. Feeling the means. Taking the leap. Take it. Waking up free to be seen by me. Waking up free to be seen by me. Free as jazz and the air I breathe. Okay. All right. Okay. I'm gonna do just one one short poem and I think that will be it. This has been absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much for watching and see it. Okay. Trying to decide which poem to do last. Okay. This last poem I think will be good food for thought for these days to come. This poem is called The Trouble with Other People's Situations. What dogs me, dogs you too. What dogs me, dogs you too. This house of humanity is burning like a motherfucker. Last full out gets to die. Well actually all of our survivals well actually all of our survivals good bad ugly or sweet are all collectively dependent on each other's burning feet. All of our survivals good bad ugly or sweet are all collectively dependent on each other's burning feet. It's all out or all in. Those are the choices in that burning house. It's all out or all in. Those are the choices. No one gets out for free. Okay. All right.