This past fall, the University of Pittsburgh’s Center for African American Poetry and Poetics (CAAPP) hosted Wit(h)ness, a week full of literary and arts events, both remote and in-person, relating to Black intimacy.
The second event, with filmmaker Naima Ramos-Chapman and and vocalist/performance artist Helga Davis, was in person, and the crowd of students and community members that gathered under the Schenley Plaza Tent was a reminder of the intimacy we’d been unable to experience for the past two years due to COVID-19. It was strangely nostalgic to see such a large group of people collected in one space, for one purpose. Professor and Toi Derricotte Chair Dawn Lundy Martin, who directs CAAPP, took the stage to introduce Davis, while also providing some insight into the possibilities of Black intimacy. Emphasizing the importance of community, collaboration, and imagination, Martin ended with a simple statement, “Being with can be revolutionary,” before passing the mic to Davis.
What came next was unexpected. Students sat still in the crowd, pens poised over fresh notebook paper, prepared to take detailed notes for their poetry classes, while Davis began what can only be described as grunting into the microphone. I thought she could be warming up. The sounds Davis made slowly morphed into something recognizable, and it suddenly became clear that she was singing a sort of remixed version of the National Anthem. The tune was different, but the lyrics were all too familiar.
It was like we were hearing Davis sing in the shower. She stopped to interject third-person comments and jokes, repeating and emphasizing words, seemingly unaware of the audience. Her deep voice lingered on the word “free” long enough to make people in the audience glance around, attempting to gauge others' reactions.
Intimacy can make you uncomfortable, I decided.
The in-person event the following evening, featuring poet and writer Elizabeth Acevedo, was just as surprising. She started her reading with an ode about rats, then followed up with an unedited excerpt from the novel she’s currently writing. The short reading described a young girl who visits family in the Dominican Republic and whose overprotective aunt insists on checking her poop every time she uses the bathroom.
The topic, once again, created a slight feeling of discomfort amongst the crowd. But it was a refreshing discomfort, an example of the subtle intimacies that exist between family members who depend on one another to survive, even if that means a lack of privacy.
Wit(h)ness opened my eyes to the possibilities of Black intimacy in a world where we are too often drawn together over Black death and tragedy. Davis created a moment of intimacy by singing in a way that one would normally
reserve for private. Similarly, Acevedo decided to read her unfinished work, knowing it wasn’t necessarily polished for public consumption. There we all were, a group of 250 strangers, talking about freedom, family, poop, and rats.
I used to think intimacy was just the collective feeling of love or grief. But since attending Wit(h)ness, I realize it is all the experiences we share as Black individuals, the ones that too often go unspoken, that encompass intimacy. CAAPP provided a platform to discuss the complexities of Black intimacy, ranging from the racial trauma worked into our DNA to the tactics of survival passed down from Black family to Black family. Furthermore, the focus on what intimately connects Black Americans as a family allowed those from outside our community to view the meaning of Blackness outside of the legacy of racism.
—Alayna Powell
Alayna Powell is a recent graduate and poet, with majors in both Writing and Public and Professional Writing. This past fall, she was an intern with CAAPP. She intends to pursue an MFA in poetry writing.
Photography by Lissette Escariz Ferrá