Ten years ago a hummingbird flew into and out of the prison building I worked in and changed the trajectory of my life. In the brilliant bird's journey, I found the perfect metaphor for the practice of art in prison — and a poem.
Hummingbird In Underworld
While the prison band sings I Shall Be Released,
a hummingbird hovers near the barred window
sucking through its needle-beak nectar from
the fuchsia's red mouth. The sax player
makes his instrument cry, a sound sadder
than the kid weeping in Receiving & Release.
Anyone can fashion a shank from a toothbrush,
use a piece of wire or tin to terrorize his fellow man.
It's easier to give in to ennui, to believe you've got
nothing coming, nothing to give, than to pick up
Empty Cell
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brush or horn or pen and begin. Some people
will journey only with a cross-hatched map,
unlike the hummingbird, who travels flower
by flower, heart beating twenty times a second,
flying sideways, backwards, straight ahead.
A prison poet reads his eulogy for the young man
lost in Viet Nam, voice breaking
forty years of bondage. Men can't live without
war, just as the hummingbird can't live
without flowers. There's a compass
in its head, magnetic particles pulling it back
to its sweet home. In one legend, the god
of music and poetry became a hummingbird and
flew to the underworld, where he learned
the secrets of transformation. A prison artist
paints Jesus in yellow, halo askew, one hand
clutching his robe, the other cupping a red petal
of blood. The artist loves Jesus and the blood
flowering in his palm, and the paint
that makes him creator. When Aztecs see
a hummingbird, they see a quick-hearted warrior
who beats back the darkness with iridescent wings.
Hummingbird sucks the evil out of men, leaves them
with a thirst for beauty and the trick of flying
while appearing to stay perfectly still.
Art is a profoundly powerful catalyst for personal and community transformation, as I witnessed in the prison theatre program I facilitated. But what about the people who are released? I wanted to refer paroling inmates to a creative community where they could continue the work they'd begun inside.
That's how Poetic Justice Project began, with the vision of unlocking hearts and minds with bold, original theatre. Now, almost four years later, we've produced five plays on the Central Coast, as well as traveling on a 10-city Prison Town Tour, to the International Steinbeck Festival in Salinas, and to Alcatraz Island. All of Poetic Justice Project's actors are formerly incarcerated people. Fewer than 2% of the more than 70 participants have returned to custody.
Poetic Justice Project's journey is a journey shared with those in the recovery, restorative justice and faith communities on the Central Coast. In this monthly column, I will explore the practice of poetic justice, a justice that incorporates heart, soul and spirit--with a bird's eye view.
Poetic Justice Project will present The Exonerated on Friday, October 26 at 7 p.m. and Saturday, October 27 at 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. at the United Church of Christ (Congregational), 11245 Los Osos Valley Road in San Luis Obispo. Written by Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen, the play tells the true stories of five men and one woman who were sent to Death Row for crimes they did not commit. Each performance will be followed by an audience talkback. Tickets are available online at Brown Paper Tickets or at the door.
