SHE CREATED THE MYTH

You tell me you get something
very black off my blues.
You see something very black
when I am talkin’ about bein’ blue,
the strong woman of that culture,
not the woman who is the victim.
Now isn’t this a pretty piece
of irony – what do you think
the blues is a reaction to,
standin’ up that hard
is only ’cause somebody
has been pushin’ you back.

When it first started to come
with a little too much sass,
it was one more thing
I couldn’t hold back,
this much pain from
a hard life without love,
has got to be put
to some constructive use,
and you can’t hardly beat the blues
for putting misery to good use,
worrying about a white woman’s right,
I didn’t want to take what wasn’t mine,
but here comes the blues
makin’ me feel more at home
than I have ever been.

You tell me you get something
very black off my blues,
your voice reminding me of
an old Southern saxophone player
who sent me a check from out of town
to take care of the damages.
What do you think the blues
is a reaction to, but strength
which comes from survival.
Sometimes you remind me of him
in your voice and your eyes,
but I don’t hold you accountable
for this genetic error which I was not
about to pass on just because
he played music on weekends.

(no stanza break) So he sent me a check to cover
the damages, and what sweet baby
do you think the blues is a reaction to?
When I put on black velvet
to mourn the passing,
he replied, “shades of Janis,”
and what do you think it is
makes a woman know the blues
that way but holdin’ out
for her biological right
to bleed and feel pain,
from wanting love and needing
what some man is keepin’
her from gettin’ to.
I have always resisted
these connections
to Janis and the blues.

And other connections too,
fearing genes and culture,
resisting sociological implications
and everything else men have
thought up to deny natural life.
You tell me you get something
very black off my blues,
I get this sassy strength
from my friend Lou Bertha,
who taught me to stand up
and fight back, talk tough
and mean it if you have to.
I learned a sharp tongue from her,
how to have spunk and sass back.
From my mother I learned only silence –
and tenacity, a straight tongue
wasn’t an option for a white woman.
I learned from both of them
to survive the white man’s world
and its sociological implications.

The language is the same,
and the language of the blues
is mine more right than any.
I grew up learning half of
what I needed from one woman
who happened to be black,
and half of what I needed from
another who happened to be white.
The only problem is tryin’ to get
these women in myself together
that the white man has pitted
against each other in some
sort of socially-right,
unnatural conflict.
(stanza break) What do you think the blues
is a reaction to, but a woman
left lonely too long,
not just for love
but the right kind of it,
unloved women who live hard
’cause there’s so much inside
that’s got to go somewhere,
women who burn so bright
that nobody knows how to
love right that they
just plain burn out.
Don’t you know what the blues –
what that kind of strength
is a reaction to?

Scared I can’t keep it
just warm and sweet,
I have always resisted
connections to Janis
and the blues,
hearing her mother talk
from Port Arthur, sayin’
clear and straight,
“she created the myth
and she became it,”
in wild feather plumes
on bright velvet Victorian
settees burning bright red,
taking comfort from the bottle,
I know Janis was intentional,
but it was an intention
in reaction to something.
She created the myth
and she became it.
I know every step you take
starts to move you in that direction,
I get scared to move,
being careful of my mythology,
resisting connections to Janis
and the blues.

You tell me you get something
very black off my blues,
this part of myself
you say I only show
in seven second intervals.
Baby, don’t you know
the implications of the blues,
tough just out of necessity
and once you show you can be
somebody’s gonna expect

(no stanza break) you always will.
Remember he told me
my face wasn’t hard enough
to sing the blues,
I know a hard face
never did a woman any good,
no good’s ever come to a woman
with a hard face,
scared of the myth,
scared I can’t be tender
if anybody finds out
I can be tough.

You tell me you get something
very black off my blues,
but you don’t seem to know
what the blues is a reaction to,
talkin’ to me tonight about genetics,
that black and white
will never give you gray.
I just let it pass,
inside sayin’, “Merry Christmas,”
this is about the most
you’ve ever given me,
but I keep my rap to myself
about the fear of gray
and its implications,
keep my fear to myself
of connections to Janis
and the blues.
You tell me you get something
very black off my blues,
baby, can’t you feel
what the blues is
a reaction to?