poem / The N-Word

  

The N-Word

If that word were a man

would that word stand tall?

Would that word be your equal?

Would that word sound grand?

If that word were a woman

would that word be your girlfriend?

Would that word be educated?

Would that word understand?

If that word were your king

would that word be fair?

Would that word have grace?

Would that word rule the land?

If that word were a child

would that word be joyful?

Would that word feel the sting

of the back of your hand?

And if that word were a dog

would that word come to heel?

Would that word eat off your floor

Would that word bite your hand?

And if that word is a river,

is it polluted by you?

And if that word is a clock,

did you stop time too?

And if that word is a cage,

do you have the keys?

And if that word is a forest

can you see the wood for the trees?

That word is the N-Word.

Do you use it with shame?

Do you use that name because

you don’t understand?

You spread ignorance and fear

like a million wet grains of sand.

Every time I hear the word Nigger

That word is a gun

loaded with negativity and history

blood n’ fire n’ truth run.

Sticks and stones may break my bones

but names will always hurt thee,

If that word were a flag

I’d burn it happily,

because we still have slavery

In the 21^st Century.

If that word had a soul

I would set her free

If that word had a soul 

I say set him free

If that word had a soul

I say set them free.

And if that word is the word

You’d use to describe me,

I say set me free, set me free,

Set me free.

(c) Salena Godden / 2014

Poem commissioned for BBC documentary on Radio 4's archive hour 'The History of The N-Word' 

The programme also featured this short excerpt from 'Springfield Road'

'On the walk to the public library I passed through the older part of town, the factories and the council estates. Some of those houses still had disused outdoor lavatories in the stone backyards. They were industrial boom houses, built from dark,sooty slate and brick when Desborough was a roaring leather and shoe-factory town. I usually avoided those streets, the windows festooned with St Georgeflags, the growling dogs, the child-lynching mobs I tended to attract. They’d tease me, telling me that their dogs were ex-police dogs that were trained to bite blackies, nig-nogs and golliwogs like me. They called out these names the moment they saw me. In gangs they took up chase with their dogs snarling, hounding me across the back of the new estates and muddy building sites, caterwauling, ‘Golliwog! Golliwog! Get back on your marmalade jar!''

Broadcast June 21st 2014 - Please click here to listen again

'The N-Word' published in 'Fishing In The Aftermath Poetry 1994-2014'  with Burning Eye this July.  Literary childhood memoir 'Springfield Road' is published in September with Unbound