A Special Gift in Observance of International Women's Day

ON WGRZ

In observance of International Women's Day, Leslie Jean created a series of images, to feature on her Instagram account, honoring women, whom she has been inspired by, taught by, loved by and loved in return, mentored by, motivated by, humbled by. 

You can view the entire album starting HERE on Facebook

#PledgeForParity
#InternationalWomansDay
#IWD2016
#March8th

Thank you Leslie! Such a beautiful, selfless, healing project and KUDOS to you for showing the rest of us how to be. 

What Happened, Miss Simone? [Book Review]

On Penguin Random House 

Written by Alan Light, this book was inspired by the Academy Award-nominated Netflix documentary What Happened, Miss Simone? about the legendary life of Nina Simone, who was first a classically trained pianist and evolved into a chart-topping civil rights activist.

I preferred the documentary to the book. While the book is good, one cannot possibly capture the magnetic presence of Miss Simone merely in pages.

The biographical film directed by Liz Garbus opened the 2015 Sundance Film Festival and showed, rather than attempted to tell, the beauty, power, the struggle, and the indefinable presence of Nina Simone. The documentary combines previously unreleased footage and interviews with Simone's daughter and friends.

The title of the film, as well as the book, is from an essay written by Maya Angelou. The quote in its entirety goes:

“Miss Simone, you are idolized, even loved, by millions now. But what happened, Miss Simone?"

Nina Simone [born Eunice Waymon] changed her name when playing nightclubs in Atlantic City. In the photo above at Carnegie Hall, Nina played 18 pieces, an eclectic set list ranging from Israeli folk tunes to a Leadbelly song.

She was the first black female soloist to appear at the legendary theater. Released in 1963, Nina Simone at Carnegie Hall was beyond triumphant and became one of her finest albums.

Nina was well aware of her stage presence and referred to that as "mass hypnosis . . . a spell you cast."

This is how I like to think Nina was most at peace, at her piano.

"I received this book from Blogging for Books for this review."

Eulogy [on Soundcloud]

On Soundcloud

The wind
howls,
magnificent and shrieking,
like some wild woman,
unabashed and naked.

Her brow wet
with brine,
upturned to the most holy sky,
arms raised
in supplication
to a dying world,
embracing,
all that is.

And she
cross-legged,
beneath Gods and Goddesses,
hair whipping wind,
eyes brazen,
brown and soft.

A touch of
madness and desire,
no human soul
comprehends.

Her howling
becomes one with the wind,
distress signals to the raiment,
the ancient raiment
that poets and sages
sat under and above
for millenniums.

Legs stretched
in front of her,
toes uncurled,
she lays back
flat -
allowing to be cleansed
by the pelting rain,
the dying Winter,
the oncoming of Spring,
a rebirth of births,
a eulogy to the past,
a welcome to the present,
an embrace to the future.

What it holds
is of no concern,
for she knows
where home is,
away from this society,
away from the busy-ness of life,
away from monotony
and dramatics,
away from this life
consumed,
with triviality.

She is here
now,
waiting for you,
to set you free
from chains
you have bound yourself with.

Whip your shoulders back,
allow them to fall.

Feel the weight,
vanish.

Grab her hand, willing
loving,
kind,
calm,
pure and desirous.

Show her
how your soul
shines,
show her
how your eyes light up,
show her how you have released
from your very soul,
all the toxicity
of existence.

She is Earth, dirt
Rocks and stones,
limbs of trees,
mighty oaks and maples,
the birch and elm.

She is the silt of fault lines
holding this globe
together.

She is the mighty maelstrom,
every season,
without apology.

She is you,
me.

Come, come and relish this moment,
even if only once.

Dine as a human starved.

Sing of the grace bestowed upon you
for you are born to be supreme,
you are born with the ability to fly,
you are born with the gift to see
with six senses,
seven.

You are powerful in your wildness,
in your pure soul self.

She is here to tell you
to scream and cry,
until there is no speech,
to the skies,
to the clouds,
to the falling rain.

Let it wash upon you
like a sweet cool dream,
and come, come my dear soul.

Do not wait.
No hesitation.
Moments are fleeting.

She is here,
now,
with you,
yet not eternal.

Hurry, hurry, dear!

She will share secrets with you,
teach you how to see
with eyes,
that have no place
in the land of humankind.

Each blade of grass,
leaves of the trees of her mane,
like a thoroughbred racing, wondrous,
eyes staring, mad. 

There is no finish line
only now, here.

This moment.

Disrobe beneath this day.

Give thanks to the Great Creator,
to Mother Nature.

To the spirits that speak to you
in your dreams.

To the souls that have guided you
to this place,
this patch of Earth,
this precious time.

Bow your head in prayer,
dear soul.

For you are in the presence
of divinity.


© Susan Marie