State Theatre presents 2010 Artist-in-Residence
Glenis Redmond, performance poet
May 11-28, 2010
About the Residency

During the month of May 2010, I had the privilege to be the Poet-in-Residence at the State Theatre in New Brunswick, NJ. This residency sponsored by a grant sponsored by Horizon Blue Cross Blue Shield. During my tenure at the Theatre I worked in various diverse venues. I worked predominantly at the following schools: New Brunswick High, Emily Fisher Charter School and Queen City Charter School, where the students worked on creating Praise Poems, Daybreak Poems (response poems to Langston Hughes’ “Daybreak in Alabama”) and Recipe for a Better World. I also did writing workshops for the women of Anderson House. We had many fruitful poetic conversations. I also performed at Horizon Blue Cross Blue Shield, Highland Park High School, New Brunswick Senior Citizen Home, Damon House, The Crawford House, and The Princeton Library. This was my second residency at the State Theatre and I can honestly say that through the residency, I was able to build true community. I would like to thank all the staff at the State Theatre that made this residency a success. I performed at the Crossroads Theatre. It was the last day of the residency. They took the mic after me. I was proud and honor to hear and watch all the students take the stage. It was a powerful night of performance. Below find the poem that I dedicated to workshop participants before they read that night.
Glenis Redmond
Word Weaver
By Glenis Redmond
I’m word weaver, a born believer
scripted from large Gaelic scrawl.
My sharecropper Carolina-born parents
sensed the wailing of Wales in me
that’s why they named me, Glenis Gale,
a valley wind blowing temperamentally,
a highly sensitive poetic seed able to perceive
the delightful yellow power of sunflower possibilities.
My life-line is rooted to a row of Word Women:
Angelou, Clifton, Walker, Giovanni and Morrison.
Those hardy brown faces saluting the sun.
is where I find sweet womanist grit.
I siphon literary good sense,
to straightened my backbone bent.
Their green stalk strength
saved me. I am a red clay casualty,
but don’t let hate bind me. People talkin’
‘bout a post racist society. Say what?
I come from an America where Sojourner’s
words still ring true and I scream, Ain’t I a woman?
Zora had it right,
the world be mulin’ me.
Yet, I catch a ripple from that dark pond called, mother,
reverberating from her even darker hued mother.
We failed the paper sack test.
We melanin blessed.
The darkness I possess means
I have been cooked poetically.
Stewed in the juices of the Southern Sun.
I am not my father’s Dream Deferred.
I am not a raisin dried, but plump with rich words
with each poetic step I take as a word-dealer
a poem-builder, a metaphor-sifter,
a rhythm-quaker, a seed-planter.
I give I get
I make up I take up
I let go I give in
I take in I let out
I circle I spiral
radiate verbs cul de sac verve
share poetic recipes sip sorrow-
‘til it recedes as gentle pen pusher
as creative encourager for others to spin time,
therapeutically quilting what the world
has taken apart at the hinges of the heart.
I deal in denominations of Hope,
where I’ve got emerald thumbs to cope.
I whisper magic words as I go.
I whisper magic words as I preach.
I whisper magic words when I teach.
I whisper magic words that give back
what was taken from me, taken from you.
I whisper magic words
in lonely aspiring ears




