Next in our lineup of extraordinary artists is DeafBlind poet John Lee Clark. When our blog first began, John contributed his essay, “Tactile Art,” which is linked below. He offers three prose poems, which appeared in Poetry, Shenandoah, and American Poetry Review respectively.
A DeafBlind Poet
A DeafBlind poet doesn’t like to read sitting up. A DeafBlind poet likes to read Braille magazines on the john. A DeafBlind poet is in the habit of composing nineteenth-century letters and pressing Alt+S. A DeafBlind poet is a terrible student. A DeafBlind poet does a lot of groundbreaking research. A DeafBlind poet is always in demand. A DeafBlind poet has yet to be gainfully employed. A DeafBlind poet shares all his trade secrets with his children. A DeafBlind poet will not stop if police order him to. A DeafBlind poet used to like dogs but now prefers cats. A DeafBlind poet listens to his wife. A DeafBlind poet knits beautiful soft things for his dear friends. A DeafBlind poet doesn’t believe in “contributing to society.”
Oralism
Samuel Gridley Howe started with the ribbons. He tied them around our heads to cover what he called our malignant eyes. Next he made us forget our words. He made us write letters we could not feel. He made us read tiny raised squiggles. He slapped our hands away. We tried to slap his hands away. He made us do needlework with our tongues in front of smelly crowds. He made us make vibrations in our throats. We made bigger and bigger vibrations. He tried to stop us. He said it was repulsive. He said it was repugnant. He said it was revolting. He swore that we would never cease making this awful racket.
Treasure
Our treasure is to be together. We used to be filthy rich. We had it as good as a ball of worms. We squirmed happily together in caves. We had it so good. We had our old curved nails tearing into pommelos. It was almost too much. One day a cluster wandered off and found something in the forest. It was too much. It splintered their souls into a million toothpicks. Some of them tried to come back. They stabbed us. They tried again and again until it was too many toothpicks to hold together against. We have never forgotten. Every time we snuggle against a wall we feel it. Every time we dig into a pommelo we feel it. Every time we wrap our legs around each other to talk we feel it. Our lost wealth. We want it back. We want it all back. The best way to get rid of a million toothpicks is by fire.
Meet the Poet
In lieu of a photo, which has limited appeal to blind and DeafBlind authors, we asked John to provide a sensory compilation. So here is what he submits as his author photo:
Short hair of incredible softness, stubbled square chin, hands too slender for his build, a scent of patchouli.
John Lee Clark
John Lee Clark is the author of the essay collection Where I Stand. His essay “Tactile Art” is a finalist for the 2020 National Magazine Award in criticism and is the recipient of the 2019 Frederick Bock Prize from Poetry magazine. He teaches Protactile and DeafBlind Studies through Western Oregon University and his private school. He makes his home in Hopkins, Minnesota, with the artist Adrean Clark, their three sons, and an angel of a Deaf cat.
More to Read
- “I am almost completely locked out of contemporary American poetry,” an interview with John Lee Clark
- Deaf American Poetry, edited by John Lee Clark
The Blind Academy 