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The Book of Light
With a powerful introduction by Ross Gay and a moving afterword by Sidney Clifton, this special anniversary edition of The Book of Light offers new meditations and insights on one of the most beloved voices of the 20th century. Though The Book of Light opens with thirty-nine names for light, we soon learn the most meaningful name is Lucille—daughter, mother, proud Black woman. Known for her ability to convey multitudes in few words, Clifton writes into the shadows—her father’s violations, a Black neighborhood bombed, death, loss—all while illuminating the full spectrum of human grief and celebration, anger and joy, empowerment and so much grace. A meeting place of myth and the Divine, The Book of Light exists “between starshine and clay” as Clifton’s personas allow us to bear the world’s weight with Atlas and witness conversations between Lucifer and God. While names and dates mark this text as a social commentary responding to her time, it is haunting how easily this collection serves as a political palimpsest of today. We leave these poems inspired—Clifton shows us Superman is not our hero. Our hero is the Black female narrator who decides to live. And what a life she creates! “Won’t you celebrate with me?”
80 pages, Paperback
First published July 1, 1992
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1603 people want to read
About the author
Lucille Clifton
82 books435 followersLucille Clifton was an American poet, writer, and educator from New York. Common topics in her poetry include the celebration of her African American heritage, and feminist themes, with particular emphasis on the female body.
She was the first person in her family to finish high school and attend college. She started Howard University on scholarship as a drama major but lost the scholarship two years later.
Thus began her writing career.
Good Times, her first book of poems, was published in 1969. She has since been nominated twice for the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and has been honored as Maryland's Poet Laureate.
Ms. Clifton's foray into writing for children began with Some of the Days of Everett Anderson, published in 1970.
In 1976, Generations: A Memoir was published. In 2000, she won the National Book Award for Poetry, for her work "Poems Seven".
From 1985 to 1989, Clifton was a professor of literature and creative writing at the University of California, Santa Cruz. She was Distinguished Professor of Humanities at St. Mary's College of Maryland. From 1995 to 1999, she was a visiting professor at Columbia University. In 2006, she was a fellow at Dartmouth College.
Clifton received the Robert Frost Medal for lifetime achievement posthumously, from the Poetry Society of America.
She was the first person in her family to finish high school and attend college. She started Howard University on scholarship as a drama major but lost the scholarship two years later.
Thus began her writing career.
Good Times, her first book of poems, was published in 1969. She has since been nominated twice for the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and has been honored as Maryland's Poet Laureate.
Ms. Clifton's foray into writing for children began with Some of the Days of Everett Anderson, published in 1970.
In 1976, Generations: A Memoir was published. In 2000, she won the National Book Award for Poetry, for her work "Poems Seven".
From 1985 to 1989, Clifton was a professor of literature and creative writing at the University of California, Santa Cruz. She was Distinguished Professor of Humanities at St. Mary's College of Maryland. From 1995 to 1999, she was a visiting professor at Columbia University. In 2006, she was a fellow at Dartmouth College.
Clifton received the Robert Frost Medal for lifetime achievement posthumously, from the Poetry Society of America.
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August 24, 2023
There is no poet I love more than Lucille Clifton and when I saw there is a lovely hardback anniversary edition for The Book of Light, one of her most outstanding and vulnerable collections, I had to have it. Clifton is ‘one of our preeminent poets of joy,’ poet Ross Gay says in his introduction, and I’ve always found her words to be as soothing and thoughtful as they are empowering and progressive. Also how can I not love poems such as June 20, my own birthday has its own poem where she talks about being born in one week (Clifton’s birthday is June 27th), to ‘emerge face first / into their temporary joy.’ Her poems are compact yet contain multitudes, and here she turns her attention to both the personal and the political, with many poems discussing family such as her parents and the abuses from her father. This is a collection about surviving the world and the self, with so much grace and beauty it is astonishing it can fit in just 80pages, reaffirming why Lucille Clifton was such a decorated and celebrated poet. Reissued for the 30th anniversary of The Book of Light, it now comes with a lovely introduction from Ross Gay as well as a heartfelt afterword by her daughter, Sidney Clifton, and is an indispensable collection of gorgeous poetry.
night vision
the girl fits her body in
to the space between the bed
and the wall. she is a stalk,
exhausted. she will do some
thing with this. she will
surround these bones with flesh,
she will cultivate night vision.
she will train her tongue
to lie still in her mouth and listen.
the girl slips into sleep.
her dream is red and raging.
she will remember
to build something human with it
The Book of Light is divided into three sections, Reflection looking inward, Lightning Bolt with her gaze more out towards the world, and the metaphysical and ponderous final section titled Splendor. As her daughter, Sidney, explains in the afterword:
Her ‘vulnerability birthing poems’ comes through this entire collection, in poems where she speaks frankly about how ‘each morning i pull myself / out of despair’ or the difficulties of memories about her father, such as in My Lost Father where she writes ‘where he moves / he leaves a wake of tears.’ These poems can bruise, but they are also healing and often full of joy. On this, Ross Gay elaborates that ‘joy is a condition that emanates from the complicated, difficult, wonderful, and devastating fact that we belong to something beyond ourselves: namely, one another.’ And that sense of connection she instills always wraps you up in the beauty of her words like a caring hug.For this reason Gay tells us that in Clifton voice we read ‘voice not as a possession, but as possession itself.’ This entire collection crackles in such a magnificent voice.
here yet be dragons
so many languages have fallen
off of the edge of the world
into the dragon’s mouth. some
where there be monsters whose teeth
are sharp and sparkle with lost
people. lost poems. who
among us can imagine ourselves
unimagined? who
among us can speak with so fragile
tongue and remain proud?
There is a fun variety to the poems here though. We have a poem written to US republican senator Jesse Helms—who was strongly opposed to civil rights, women’s rights, gay rights and voting rights—that caused controversy when it came out for her sharp criticisms of military bombings where ‘civilian deaths have become / collateral damage’ (read it here). Mythology comes into play in several poems, such as one about Sisyphus in the underworld (‘how sweet power is, the story / gods never tell’) or about Atlas who states ‘i have learned to carry it / the way a poor man learns / to carry everything.’ And there is also a series of poems addressed to Clark Kent and Superman, asking ‘who will come flying / after me, leaping tall buildings? / you?’ that shows we don’t need superheroes to save us, we just have each other and we can be strong enough. Though perhaps one of the most memorable is the final poem, brothers. It is told in eight parts as a conversation between the Devil and God where we only hear the Devil’s voice, quoting Carolyn Forché for the title of the sixth part: ‘the silence of God is God’, as the Devil asks:
tell me, tell us why
In the confusion of a mountain
of babies stacked like cordwood,
Or limbs walking away from each other,
Of tongues bitten through
By the language of assault,
Tell me, tell us why
You neither raised Your hand
Nor turned away, tell us why
You watched the excommunication of
That world and You said nothing.
The Devil lated admits ‘still there is mercy, there is grace’ and concludes pondering that ‘to ask You to explain / is to deny You.’ Clifton shows that acceptance comes from beyond words. And of course there is this one, one of her most well known and loved:
won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.
Lucille Clifton was a miraculously good poet and her skills come shining from every page of The Book of Light. The opening poem lists many different words for light, though none seem to shine as bright as Lucille herself. A favorite poet, I turn to her quite often and always find something new to enjoy or think about. This is a lovely and essential work of hers.
5/5
‘i too am blessed with
the one gift you cherish;
to feel the living move in me
and to be unafraid.’
night vision
the girl fits her body in
to the space between the bed
and the wall. she is a stalk,
exhausted. she will do some
thing with this. she will
surround these bones with flesh,
she will cultivate night vision.
she will train her tongue
to lie still in her mouth and listen.
the girl slips into sleep.
her dream is red and raging.
she will remember
to build something human with it
The Book of Light is divided into three sections, Reflection looking inward, Lightning Bolt with her gaze more out towards the world, and the metaphysical and ponderous final section titled Splendor. As her daughter, Sidney, explains in the afterword:
‘These poems were written in a time of personal reclining: with the parents she struggled to love, understand, and forgive; with a husband who left too early and with no explanations or apologies; and with a future she hadn’t anticipated.’
Her ‘vulnerability birthing poems’ comes through this entire collection, in poems where she speaks frankly about how ‘each morning i pull myself / out of despair’ or the difficulties of memories about her father, such as in My Lost Father where she writes ‘where he moves / he leaves a wake of tears.’ These poems can bruise, but they are also healing and often full of joy. On this, Ross Gay elaborates that ‘joy is a condition that emanates from the complicated, difficult, wonderful, and devastating fact that we belong to something beyond ourselves: namely, one another.’ And that sense of connection she instills always wraps you up in the beauty of her words like a caring hug.For this reason Gay tells us that in Clifton voice we read ‘voice not as a possession, but as possession itself.’ This entire collection crackles in such a magnificent voice.
here yet be dragons
so many languages have fallen
off of the edge of the world
into the dragon’s mouth. some
where there be monsters whose teeth
are sharp and sparkle with lost
people. lost poems. who
among us can imagine ourselves
unimagined? who
among us can speak with so fragile
tongue and remain proud?
There is a fun variety to the poems here though. We have a poem written to US republican senator Jesse Helms—who was strongly opposed to civil rights, women’s rights, gay rights and voting rights—that caused controversy when it came out for her sharp criticisms of military bombings where ‘civilian deaths have become / collateral damage’ (read it here). Mythology comes into play in several poems, such as one about Sisyphus in the underworld (‘how sweet power is, the story / gods never tell’) or about Atlas who states ‘i have learned to carry it / the way a poor man learns / to carry everything.’ And there is also a series of poems addressed to Clark Kent and Superman, asking ‘who will come flying / after me, leaping tall buildings? / you?’ that shows we don’t need superheroes to save us, we just have each other and we can be strong enough. Though perhaps one of the most memorable is the final poem, brothers. It is told in eight parts as a conversation between the Devil and God where we only hear the Devil’s voice, quoting Carolyn Forché for the title of the sixth part: ‘the silence of God is God’, as the Devil asks:
tell me, tell us why
In the confusion of a mountain
of babies stacked like cordwood,
Or limbs walking away from each other,
Of tongues bitten through
By the language of assault,
Tell me, tell us why
You neither raised Your hand
Nor turned away, tell us why
You watched the excommunication of
That world and You said nothing.
The Devil lated admits ‘still there is mercy, there is grace’ and concludes pondering that ‘to ask You to explain / is to deny You.’ Clifton shows that acceptance comes from beyond words. And of course there is this one, one of her most well known and loved:
won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.
Lucille Clifton was a miraculously good poet and her skills come shining from every page of The Book of Light. The opening poem lists many different words for light, though none seem to shine as bright as Lucille herself. A favorite poet, I turn to her quite often and always find something new to enjoy or think about. This is a lovely and essential work of hers.
5/5
‘i too am blessed with
the one gift you cherish;
to feel the living move in me
and to be unafraid.’
January 1, 2020
Divided into three parts, with the first part
reflection
being poems about childhood and family and survival, ending with that brilliant and famous poem:
won’t you celebrate with me
what i shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both non-white and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay.
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.
The second part is entitled lightning bolt , was my favourite part, more outward-looking than the first part yet still self-questioning, self-assessing, with more uncertainty and gloomier than the first part of the collection. And excellent poems such as this one:
each morning i pull myself
out of despair
from nights of coals and a tongue
blistered with smiling
the step past the mother bed
is a high step
the walk through the widow’s door
is a long walk
and who are these voices calling
from every mirrored thing
say it coward say it
Then the last part is splendor , mythological and spiritual and very fascinating. I loved this book, a fantastic opening to this new year.
won’t you celebrate with me
what i shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both non-white and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay.
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.
The second part is entitled lightning bolt , was my favourite part, more outward-looking than the first part yet still self-questioning, self-assessing, with more uncertainty and gloomier than the first part of the collection. And excellent poems such as this one:
each morning i pull myself
out of despair
from nights of coals and a tongue
blistered with smiling
the step past the mother bed
is a high step
the walk through the widow’s door
is a long walk
and who are these voices calling
from every mirrored thing
say it coward say it
Then the last part is splendor , mythological and spiritual and very fascinating. I loved this book, a fantastic opening to this new year.
January 16, 2020
A few of my faves -
thel
was my first landscape,
red brown as the clay
of her georgia.
sweet attic of a woman,
repository of old songs.
there was such music in her;
she would sit, shy as wren
humming alone and lonely
amid broken promises,
amid the sweet broken bodies
of birds.
for roddy
i am imagining this of you,
turned away from breath
as you turned from my body,
refusing to defile what you adored;
i am imagining rejuvenated bones
rising from the dead floor where
they found you, rising and running
back into the life you loved,
dancing as you would dance
towards me, wherever, whose ever i am.
cigarettes
my father burned us all. ash
fell from his hand onto our beds,
onto our table and chairs.
ours was the roof the sirens
rushed to at night
mistaking the glow of his pain
for flame. nothing is burning here,
my father would laugh, ignoring
my charred pillow, ignoring his own
smouldering halls.
trying to understand this life
who did i fail, who
did i cease to protect
that i should wake each morning
facing the cold north?
perhaps there is a cart
somewhere in history
of children crying "sister
save us" as she walks away.
the woman walks into my dreams
dragging her old habit.
i turn from her, shivering,
to begin another afternoon
of rescue, rescue.
thel
was my first landscape,
red brown as the clay
of her georgia.
sweet attic of a woman,
repository of old songs.
there was such music in her;
she would sit, shy as wren
humming alone and lonely
amid broken promises,
amid the sweet broken bodies
of birds.
for roddy
i am imagining this of you,
turned away from breath
as you turned from my body,
refusing to defile what you adored;
i am imagining rejuvenated bones
rising from the dead floor where
they found you, rising and running
back into the life you loved,
dancing as you would dance
towards me, wherever, whose ever i am.
cigarettes
my father burned us all. ash
fell from his hand onto our beds,
onto our table and chairs.
ours was the roof the sirens
rushed to at night
mistaking the glow of his pain
for flame. nothing is burning here,
my father would laugh, ignoring
my charred pillow, ignoring his own
smouldering halls.
trying to understand this life
who did i fail, who
did i cease to protect
that i should wake each morning
facing the cold north?
perhaps there is a cart
somewhere in history
of children crying "sister
save us" as she walks away.
the woman walks into my dreams
dragging her old habit.
i turn from her, shivering,
to begin another afternoon
of rescue, rescue.
August 25, 2025
Lucille Clifton's poetry is indefinable, something readers must experience for themselves. I can only give an example of my favorite poem in this collection and allow readers of this non-review to decide for themselves.
I have never seem a more eloquent expression of the human conflict caused by the division of "them" and "us."
january 1991
they have sent our boy
to muffle himself
in the sand with our son
who has worshipped skin,
pale and visible as heaven,
all his life,
who has practiced the actual
name of God,
who knows himself to be
the very photograph of Adam.
yes, our best boy is there
with his bright-eyed sister
both of them waiting in dunes
distant as Mars
to shutter the dark veiled lids
of not our kind.
they, who are not us, they have
no life we recognize,
no heaven we can care about,
no word for God we can pronounce.
we do not know them,
do not want to know them,
do not want this lying at night
all over the bare stone country
dreaming of desert for the first time
and of death and our boy and his sister
and them and us.
I have never seem a more eloquent expression of the human conflict caused by the division of "them" and "us."
July 19, 2010
I love Lucille Clifton's poetry and I get it. I read her selections over and over and turn them around and around in my mind. It's exhilirating to be touched by words so deeply.
October 28, 2019
Divided into the three sections: "reflection," "lightning bolt," and "splendor"---these poems are luminescent, painful, curious, and revelatory. Even though I read the book straight through with some pauses for savoring, these are poems that I will read again and again.
January 18, 2020
“i too am blessed with
the one gift you cherish;
to feel the living move in me
and to be unafraid.”
god, I love her
the one gift you cherish;
to feel the living move in me
and to be unafraid.”
god, I love her
June 20, 2009
I wanted to like this volume more. Some of the poems -- "climbing," "june 20," "if i should" -- offer taught visions of pain and memory that make me want to penetrate the surface of the words to better understand the sentiments taking refuge there, waiting to be revealed and understood.
But most of the rest of the poems in this volume tell too much, too immediately, or they tell everything and leave little to be explored on the reader's end. This is an acceptable technique, but it never forces the reader to look past the language to something deeper and more enduring.
I found these poems pleasant in their observation sometimes, or pleasantly forgettable otherwise, with rare but striking exception.
But most of the rest of the poems in this volume tell too much, too immediately, or they tell everything and leave little to be explored on the reader's end. This is an acceptable technique, but it never forces the reader to look past the language to something deeper and more enduring.
I found these poems pleasant in their observation sometimes, or pleasantly forgettable otherwise, with rare but striking exception.
July 30, 2020
[5 stars] I’d been searching for Lucille Clifton’s original publication of my favorite poem “won’t you celebrate with me” and was happy to find it at a rare bookseller in Washington; it was one of the few she didn’t publish with Rochester-based indie press BOA Editions. Like me, Lucille Clifton is a daughter of Western New York, even though our lives eventually took us elsewhere. The Book of Light has big range, exploring Black liberation and white supremacist politics, sexual abuse and family violence, and transformation and growth. Other favorites include “the earth is a living thing”, “dear jesse helms,”, “fury”, and a duo commemorating the MOVE headquarters bombing, “move” and “samson predicts from gaza the philadelphia fire”. Highly recommended for everyone who loves the powerful simplicity of language and its ability to provoke, complicate, and heal.
Goodreads Challenge: 57/72
Popsugar Reading Challenge: a book published in the 20th century (bonus category!)
Goodreads Challenge: 57/72
Popsugar Reading Challenge: a book published in the 20th century (bonus category!)
August 12, 2014
Third book I have read by her, same result. Outdated 1968-style poetry. And her stories just aren't that interesting.
Her poems about a group known as MOVE are just too one-sided and simplistic. They show no understanding of what it must have been like for the neighbors living near them. No one should have to tolerate such behavior. The group needs to shoulder some responsibility for the tragedy that finally occurred. Just look up MOVE on Wikipedia to find out more.
Her poems about a group known as MOVE are just too one-sided and simplistic. They show no understanding of what it must have been like for the neighbors living near them. No one should have to tolerate such behavior. The group needs to shoulder some responsibility for the tragedy that finally occurred. Just look up MOVE on Wikipedia to find out more.
April 18, 2025
Really enjoyed this! The last two poems, in particular, "far memory" and "brothers" inspired me to go back to the beginning. I loved that there was such a clear voice throughout, so that even though there are many topics covered (e.g., incest/sexual abuse, the Philly Move bombing, Superman, narratives from biblical figures), this read together nicely. Great pacing!
I didn't love the multiple Superman poems, but if I had read this at the time of publication, those might have had a different feel/context. I loved the opening poem and section titles so clearly being thematic with light, and when light imagery popped up in poems throughout, that felt special - I also didn't put all of the poems together under that light umbrella. But I am not a poetry expert, so I'm likely just missing something.
I didn't love the multiple Superman poems, but if I had read this at the time of publication, those might have had a different feel/context. I loved the opening poem and section titles so clearly being thematic with light, and when light imagery popped up in poems throughout, that felt special - I also didn't put all of the poems together under that light umbrella. But I am not a poetry expert, so I'm likely just missing something.
January 31, 2023
I love lucille!!!
December 2, 2018
Lucille Clifton is a multiple prize winning poet and distinguished professor. She is considered to be great poet and her books gain great reviews. But her poems do not speak to me. I enjoyed some of the earlier poems in the book but particularly the later poems left me cold and unmoved.
April 10, 2024
Loved it, was a fitting book to get into after the passing of a maternal loved one. Also as a person who grew up across the bridge from Philly in Jersey the MOVE poem was really moving. I also love the poem that’s composed of different terms for light. I stumbled into reading this after watching a Hammer Projects video about Kiyan Williams; their work Between Starshine and Clay referencing a poem in this book. I love how they talked about it and also the line aligned with readings in my contemporary art class (centering Judy Watson’s work) highlighting the bodies connection to land, as the land literally being the ancestors. Which gave me pause especially thinking about how the place where my parents immigrated from literally are literally the lands that my loved ones were buried in for generations. It brought me back to line in Puar’s assemblages that stressed that is the people and not necessarily the land itself that makes the diaspora. Which made me rethink how I received Imagined Communities (Benedict Anderson) initially.
October 16, 2018
Lucille Clifton's poems have always hit me right in the heartstrings, and this beautiful book is no exception. I've read some of these poems before in other collections ("further note to clark" is one of my favorite of all her poems), but most of them were new to me.
And they're all stunning, important, and so needed—like all good poetry is.
[Five bright stars because I'll never stop being grateful for Clifton's voice and her potent poetry.]
And they're all stunning, important, and so needed—like all good poetry is.
[Five bright stars because I'll never stop being grateful for Clifton's voice and her potent poetry.]
March 31, 2024
won't you celebrate with me
what I have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay.
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.
(p. 21)
what I have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay.
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.
(p. 21)
January 7, 2025
4.5 stars.
These are poems you can hold in your hands, powerful in their brevity and ability to sucker punch the reader while also lifting them up. Clifton is a poet I'll definitely read more from.
These are poems you can hold in your hands, powerful in their brevity and ability to sucker punch the reader while also lifting them up. Clifton is a poet I'll definitely read more from.
come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.
June 4, 2025
Most of the poems in this collection were fine, but I thought the last piece, called 'brothers' - self-described as "a conversation in eight poems between an aged Lucifer and God, though only Lucifer is heard" - was incredible. I often feel (with trepidation like a mountain looming in the distance) that I ought to be writing poetic theology.
January 28, 2022
Book Riot 2022 Read Harder Challenge #12: Read an entire poetry collection
October 27, 2025
I loved this so much, I think night vision was my favorite. however yeti poet is the one I want engraved on my stone when I die :)
February 26, 2023
who among us can imagine ourselves unimagined? who among us can speak with so fragile tongue and remain proud?
here yet be dragons lucille clifton
here yet be dragons lucille clifton
April 30, 2023
Beautiful poetry.
May 11, 2024
Poetry’s definitely very subjective and I don’t even really feel qualified to be rating it but anyways. This book was my first dip into poetry books and it was more religious than I expected. I’m sure there were things that I didn’t get but would have appreciated more if I did get them, so I’d say it wasn’t particularly memorable to me but I don’t regret reading it
January 15, 2022
This is the 7th collection of Clifton's that I've read, and I am having a descending experience. I thought the first was electric and raw, but even by the second her writing began to wear thin - all of her poems, over the span of decades, remain virtually unchanged; the same language, same content, same structure, same themes. There is a quality to it that I've also seen in Bukowski's poems (though they covered very different subjects), in that the poems too often feel like they were simply written as thoughts dumped on the page, in a roughly poetic format, but without thought to rhythm or aesthetic at all. I really only liked one poem here, called "song at midnight," and found the rest to sort of blend together with no discernible features.
At the risk of politicizing, I also think it's worth noting that, in the poem "Move," Clifton takes a troubling view on the 1985 bombing of the MOVE house in Philadelphia. To be sure, the bombing of the house was deeply tragic and unacceptable. However, Clifton goes so far in the other direction that she seems to suggest that MOVE's only real sin was that they were "different," and that if people didn't like them then they should have just moved to another neighborhood. Really? MOVE members were guilty of murder, and all sorts of serious crimes, and evidence shows that they terrorized that neighborhood. They were not targeted because they were "different." None of this justifies what happened to them, and to that neighborhood, but it seems grossly inappropriate to suggest that the neighbors should have just "moved away."
Having said all that, I do have respect for Clifton as a writer and a person, and I think many of her themes are powerful. But she got away with essentially repeating herself for decades, and for anyone reading her work with any thoroughness, that becomes hard to wade through.
At the risk of politicizing, I also think it's worth noting that, in the poem "Move," Clifton takes a troubling view on the 1985 bombing of the MOVE house in Philadelphia. To be sure, the bombing of the house was deeply tragic and unacceptable. However, Clifton goes so far in the other direction that she seems to suggest that MOVE's only real sin was that they were "different," and that if people didn't like them then they should have just moved to another neighborhood. Really? MOVE members were guilty of murder, and all sorts of serious crimes, and evidence shows that they terrorized that neighborhood. They were not targeted because they were "different." None of this justifies what happened to them, and to that neighborhood, but it seems grossly inappropriate to suggest that the neighbors should have just "moved away."
Having said all that, I do have respect for Clifton as a writer and a person, and I think many of her themes are powerful. But she got away with essentially repeating herself for decades, and for anyone reading her work with any thoroughness, that becomes hard to wade through.
December 16, 2023
LIGHT
ray
stream
gleam
beam
sun
glow
flicker
shine
lucid
spark
scintilla
flash
blaze
flame
fire
serene
luciferous
lightning bolt
luster
shimmer
glisten
gloss
brightness
brilliance
splendor
sheen
dazzle
sparkle
luminous
reflection
kindle
illuminate
brighten
glorious
radiate
radiant
splendid
clarify
clear
Roget’s Thesaurus (3)
c.c. rider
who is that running away
with my life? who is that
black horse, who is that rider
dressed like my sons, braided
like my daughters? who is that
georgia woman, who is that
virginia man, who is that light-eyed
stranger not looking back?
who is that hollow woman? who am i?
see see rider, see what you have done. (14)
won’t you celebrate with me
won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed. (21)
it was a dream
in which my greater self
rose up before me
accusing me of my life
with her extra finger
whirling in a gyre of rage
at what my days had come to.
what,
i pleaded with her, could i do,
oh what could i have done
and she twisted her wild hair
and sparked her wild eyes
and screamed as long as
i could hear her
This. This. This. (25)
night vision
the girl fits her body in
to the space between the bed
and the wall. she is a stalk,
exhausted. she will do some
thing with this. she will
surround these bones with flesh.
she will cultivate night vision.
she will train her tongue
to lie still in her mouth and listen.
the girl slips into sleep.
her dream is red and raging.
she will remember
to build something human with it. (39)
how great Thou art
listen, You are beyond
even Your own understanding.
that rib and rain and clay
in all its pride,
its unsteady dominion,
is not what You believed
You were,
but it is what You are;
in Your own image as some
lexicographer supposed.
the face, both he and she,
the odd ambition, the desire
to reach beyond the stars
is You. all You, all You
the loneliness, the perfect
imperfection. (64)
“……….is God.”
so.
having no need to speak
You sent Your tongue
splintered into angels.
even i
with my little piece of it
have said too much.
to ask You to explain
is to deny You.
before the word
You were.
You kiss my brother mouth.
the rest is silence. (70)
ray
stream
gleam
beam
sun
glow
flicker
shine
lucid
spark
scintilla
flash
blaze
flame
fire
serene
luciferous
lightning bolt
luster
shimmer
glisten
gloss
brightness
brilliance
splendor
sheen
dazzle
sparkle
luminous
reflection
kindle
illuminate
brighten
glorious
radiate
radiant
splendid
clarify
clear
Roget’s Thesaurus (3)
c.c. rider
who is that running away
with my life? who is that
black horse, who is that rider
dressed like my sons, braided
like my daughters? who is that
georgia woman, who is that
virginia man, who is that light-eyed
stranger not looking back?
who is that hollow woman? who am i?
see see rider, see what you have done. (14)
won’t you celebrate with me
won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed. (21)
it was a dream
in which my greater self
rose up before me
accusing me of my life
with her extra finger
whirling in a gyre of rage
at what my days had come to.
what,
i pleaded with her, could i do,
oh what could i have done
and she twisted her wild hair
and sparked her wild eyes
and screamed as long as
i could hear her
This. This. This. (25)
night vision
the girl fits her body in
to the space between the bed
and the wall. she is a stalk,
exhausted. she will do some
thing with this. she will
surround these bones with flesh.
she will cultivate night vision.
she will train her tongue
to lie still in her mouth and listen.
the girl slips into sleep.
her dream is red and raging.
she will remember
to build something human with it. (39)
how great Thou art
listen, You are beyond
even Your own understanding.
that rib and rain and clay
in all its pride,
its unsteady dominion,
is not what You believed
You were,
but it is what You are;
in Your own image as some
lexicographer supposed.
the face, both he and she,
the odd ambition, the desire
to reach beyond the stars
is You. all You, all You
the loneliness, the perfect
imperfection. (64)
“……….is God.”
so.
having no need to speak
You sent Your tongue
splintered into angels.
even i
with my little piece of it
have said too much.
to ask You to explain
is to deny You.
before the word
You were.
You kiss my brother mouth.
the rest is silence. (70)
September 5, 2023
The book’s publisher calls Lucille Clifton a poet with “compassionate anger,” and this seems to be as fitting as anything I could come up with. As such, she delves into the requisite topics of getting older, the unending trials of racism, the recognition of parental hardships, and, perhaps, some subtle hints of abuse. Her poem “sam” is a good example of her complex views of how people are inseparably good and bad. One section reads, “if he / could have gone to school / he would have learned to write / his story and not live it,” and, thus, mitigates–but does not absolve–some of her father’s poor decisions.
Not that there's anything wrong with the standard content of poetry, but Clifton does go beyond some of the more saccharine topics and, at times, has a sense of humor. She writes one poem from the perspective of a crab whose family is about to be boiled. She has a few poems addressed to Clark Kent that question his ability to fix the problems of ordinary life.
She carries on her penchant for merging pop culture with contemporary issues with a poem like “them and us,” which draws attention to the fact that Elvis, a figure who freely appropriated black culture, lives on as a cultural icon while many black pioneers have been forgotten. She works in comparisons with ancient mythology as well, making parallels between Samson and modern black women: in both cases, their hair is a cultural signifier, and once taken away, they are drained of their power.
The final poem sequence is called “brothers” and tells a one-sided conversation between God and the devil. It raises conventional issues like the notion of theodicy, but it does so with such an intimate and engaging lyricism, it’s hard to resist. God’s silence in the poem can easily be regarded as a divinity that existed before language or the absence we all need to believe in.
Not that there's anything wrong with the standard content of poetry, but Clifton does go beyond some of the more saccharine topics and, at times, has a sense of humor. She writes one poem from the perspective of a crab whose family is about to be boiled. She has a few poems addressed to Clark Kent that question his ability to fix the problems of ordinary life.
She carries on her penchant for merging pop culture with contemporary issues with a poem like “them and us,” which draws attention to the fact that Elvis, a figure who freely appropriated black culture, lives on as a cultural icon while many black pioneers have been forgotten. She works in comparisons with ancient mythology as well, making parallels between Samson and modern black women: in both cases, their hair is a cultural signifier, and once taken away, they are drained of their power.
The final poem sequence is called “brothers” and tells a one-sided conversation between God and the devil. It raises conventional issues like the notion of theodicy, but it does so with such an intimate and engaging lyricism, it’s hard to resist. God’s silence in the poem can easily be regarded as a divinity that existed before language or the absence we all need to believe in.
January 3, 2023
"Won't you celebrate with me / what I have shaped into / a kind of life?" - Good poetry "casts light," and that is what Lucille Clifton aims to do in The Book of Light.
The Book of Light could effectively be called The Book of Lucille. Clifton, I believe, is doing two things: (1) She is defining what it means to be human, and (2) She is seeking where the sublime can be found in human existence. This she accomplishes through exploring light in its many forms. Her very name means "light"; she speaks of stars and birth and glistening jewels and flame. The culmination and conclusion of her focus on light is in her poem in seven parts, "brothers," one-half of a conversation between God and Lucifer, whose name comes from the same root as "Lucille," and means "light-bearer."
Clifton illuminates, too, the evils done to others--often women of the past. Her voice is one of fury and fierceness, though it is not unhopeful. Her depersonalization, even of herself, is noteworthy here: she lowercases nearly all of her words. The only words in the bodies of her poems that she regularly capitalizes are "God" and second-person pronouns referring to God ("You," "Your). She knows what it is to be human because she understands what it is to be treated as less than one, and she honors through her words others who have experienced mistreatment. The Book of Light is also a book about darkness.
Clifton's voice carries the reader through the significance of one's roots, the challenges and beauty of femininity, the complexities of race. Her poetry is emotional and spiritual, often drawing from raw experiences and the language or narratives of Scripture. Though her words are often difficult, sad, mournful, angry, somehow the work as a whole is joyful, patient, intelligent, caring.
The Book of Light could effectively be called The Book of Lucille. Clifton, I believe, is doing two things: (1) She is defining what it means to be human, and (2) She is seeking where the sublime can be found in human existence. This she accomplishes through exploring light in its many forms. Her very name means "light"; she speaks of stars and birth and glistening jewels and flame. The culmination and conclusion of her focus on light is in her poem in seven parts, "brothers," one-half of a conversation between God and Lucifer, whose name comes from the same root as "Lucille," and means "light-bearer."
Clifton illuminates, too, the evils done to others--often women of the past. Her voice is one of fury and fierceness, though it is not unhopeful. Her depersonalization, even of herself, is noteworthy here: she lowercases nearly all of her words. The only words in the bodies of her poems that she regularly capitalizes are "God" and second-person pronouns referring to God ("You," "Your). She knows what it is to be human because she understands what it is to be treated as less than one, and she honors through her words others who have experienced mistreatment. The Book of Light is also a book about darkness.
Clifton's voice carries the reader through the significance of one's roots, the challenges and beauty of femininity, the complexities of race. Her poetry is emotional and spiritual, often drawing from raw experiences and the language or narratives of Scripture. Though her words are often difficult, sad, mournful, angry, somehow the work as a whole is joyful, patient, intelligent, caring.
April 29, 2025
The Book of Light is a luminous collection that exemplifies her signature style: spare, unadorned language that radiates depth and emotional resonance. In these poems, Clifton confronts themes of ancestry, spirituality, and the enduring legacy of trauma, particularly as they relate to Black womanhood and the body. Her poetry is deeply personal yet universally accessible, using everyday language to evoke wonder, resilience, and a sense of mystery. Clifton’s work is shaped by a spiritual undercurrent that both acknowledges suffering and insists on the possibility of transcendence, often drawing on her own experiences and family history to illuminate broader truths about identity and survival.
What sets The Book of Light apart is Clifton’s ability to transform pain into affirmation and to find light in the darkest places. Her poems are compact but powerful, often uncapitalized and direct, yet layered with meaning and surprise. She addresses the complexities of memory, the weight of history, and the sacredness of the physical self, celebrating Black bodies and lives with radical acceptance. Clifton’s voice, humble yet authoritative, invites readers to witness both the burdens and the beauty of existence, making The Book of Light a vital contribution to contemporary American poetry and a testament to the enduring power of hope and self-definition.
What sets The Book of Light apart is Clifton’s ability to transform pain into affirmation and to find light in the darkest places. Her poems are compact but powerful, often uncapitalized and direct, yet layered with meaning and surprise. She addresses the complexities of memory, the weight of history, and the sacredness of the physical self, celebrating Black bodies and lives with radical acceptance. Clifton’s voice, humble yet authoritative, invites readers to witness both the burdens and the beauty of existence, making The Book of Light a vital contribution to contemporary American poetry and a testament to the enduring power of hope and self-definition.
July 29, 2025
Lucille Clifton’s The Book of Light has as best of a start as any of her books, with her unflinching stance against Jesse Helms and her bold acknowledgement of the MOVE bombing in Philadelphia, as well as a heartbreaking poem which sparsely, yet powerfully, renders the thousands of days passed since the death of her husband, from which she has decided, in a very dark place, to continue seeking the light, which is to, in essence, continue living. However, I found myself struggling to figure out what the rest of the poems, about halfway through, were doing toward the book’s organizing principle, though here and there, there would indeed be poems having some kind of thing to do with light. Some of Clifton’s best poems are in here, though the book, as a whole, is structurally her weakest, least justified in its collecting.
February 17, 2018
Some of the poems were lovely. Some were beautiful primarily because I imagined hearing Clifton read them (I've listened to recordings of her read). This reminds me of a poet--I think it was Dean Young--saying that he doesn't like poetry readings and that poetry shouldn't have to be spoken aloud to come alive. I'm still thinking on that sentiment, which seems 90% cantankerous and 10% kinda useful. At any rate, this is a collection where the force behind some of the poems must be conjured, and this conjuring at times feels like it shouldn't need to be done. But the poems that will stay with me celebrate and unsettle, and that seems right.
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