Poet Marilyn Buck

I was Marilyn’s poet sister friend for the last fifteen years.  And she was mine.  Our relationship began with me as her teacher of poetry as a young student teacher poet with June Jordan’s Poetry for the People, teaching writing workshops on Sundays at the Dublin Federal Correctional Institution in 1995.   Since then, she became my teacher of how to live one’s poetry; to embody fearlessness; to struggle for justice with commitment and discipline.  Over the years, we spoke often of haiku, hip hop and ghazal; of India, Kenya and South Africa; of transnational women’s organizing; of my relationships and heartaches; of the crab nebula that I had studied as an undergraduate; of her writing projects.  We celebrated birthdays with poetry – her hand-made cards would arrive with a new poem in progress or clippings of a news article that she thought I’d enjoy in subjects ranging from Bangladeshi microcredit to astronomy to poetry. Marilyn’s stack of letters filled with humor and insight have captured for me a tremendous and transformative relationship of the last 15 years.  I met Marilyn when I was only 19 and it is no hyperbole to say that she changed the course and character of my life.  Her wisdom, compassion and incisive analysis of the world around us, in and out of prison shaped my political and personal development.  Marilyn taught me what it means to be the most generous of mentors, the most caring of listeners and the most feeling of poets, outraged by injustice and in love with humanity.

I knew she was a prolific writer of letters but it was such an experience to open the mail and see her thank you note after a visit.  I was always moved by her impeccable Southern ways.  Marilyn – busier than most people; luminous in intellect and instinct; a hero of our times; and here she was, thanking me for visiting her!  It never ceased to amaze me that through letters and conversations, she managed to deeply inquire, connect and love people.    Once Maria and I were leaving with our long goodbyes from a delightful visit with Marilyn, she held our faces in our hands and said, you are June’s daughters.  You are doing her proud.  We cried all the way home.  This was Marilyn – knowing when us younger comrades needed to be reminded where we came from; understanding that encouragement came in the shape of seeing people beyond their masks.   Marilyn also changed forever my expectations from white folks.  She embodied what it meant to be an anti-racist white person in a racist world.

On my last visit with Marilyn in Dublin to celebrate her birthday in November 2009, over vending machine coffee and sponge cake, I mentioned that I had finally completed my manuscript of poems and I could not wait to have her help me edit it.  She was so excited that after almost ten years of working on it, I had finally done it and asked me to mail it right away.  The very next week, she was moved to Texas. The next time I saw Marilyn in person was in Brooklyn on Saturday, July 17, 2010 two days after her release.  I saw Marilyn free!  Time stopped for me in that moment.  It was indeed historical to see Marilyn out of prison for the first time in 27 years surrounded by loved ones, being cared for and celebrated.  It was awesome to hold her in a hug too long, uninterrupted by any armed guards and intrusive head counts.

We made plans for writing, in spite of her sickness. She wanted to hear music in the park and savor rice and peas with just a touch of hot sauce.  She talked of writing short stories and essays.  In between her naps, I got to stroke her hand and listen to her plans for opening a bank account, cook a meal from scratch, wear a new outfit and take a long walk. She had me share about what I was learning from the global justice movements that I get to support in my day job.  She asked me about love, my heart, work, community.  She indulged me by putting on a Kenyan necklace of shells that I brought her and smiled when I told her about the Swahili coast and the women’s cooperative that made these objects of tremendous beauty.

Marilyn was under no illusion about how sick she was.  She was simply doing what Marilyn did well – imagine what is possible; craft a poem from the ordinary; inquire deeply about those that may not seem important; articulate her immense unwavering vision for social justice; delight in meaningful conversation; love and inspire all of us to live and struggle fiercely.  To Marilyn Jean Buck, thank you for the poetry of your life.  Onwards.

– Rajasvini Bhansali

This blog is for all friends and family and comrades of our dear sister Marilyn. Please post any comments, photos, videos, or poetry to remember her by, including links to other sites. The blog is moderated, so there may be a delay of a day or so before posts appear. You can find us under either name: MarilynBuckPresente.org or MarilynBuckPresente.wordpress.com.

Mumia Abu-Jamal recorded a tribute to Marilyn on August 13, shortly after her passing. The text and the audio are here on PrisonRadio.

Marilyn joined with other political prisoners to help bring Mumia’s case to the public before it had received widespread attention. Her poem “One White Girl Ponders Strange Behavior” appeared in In Defense of Mumia (Readers & Writers, 1996).

Rafael Cancel Miranda

(the original Spanish follows the English translation;
Published in Claridadpuertorico.com)

My People,

I read the article written by the Rodríguez sisters in Claridad this week about revolutionary Marilyn Buck. I remembered that the Jericho Movement had sent me a picture of Lolita and Marilyn Buck together, as Marilyn spent some time in the prison in Alderson, West Virginia with Lolita.

Marilyn and I wrote to each other from prison to prison. Suddenly I didn’t receive any more letters from her and then I learned she had escaped. The same thing happened to me with Guillermo Morales and Safiya Bukhari, member of the Black Liberation Army, who also wrote to me from prison to prison until they escaped.

About 4 or 5 years after my release from prison in 1979, 3 FBI agents entered the Mueblería La Puertorriqueña, which had belonged to my father and where I worked, and they came to my office led by a fellow worker. One of the agents took out a paper and with trembling hands tried to give it to me. It was a citation to appear at a tribunal in New York. I refused to take the paper and asked the agent to read it to me. When I heard him mention the name of Marilyn Buck, I took the paper from his hands, thinking they had issued the citation at Marilyn’s request for her defense.

At that time Juan Mari Brás lived in Old San Juan, so I took my car and went there so Juan could clarify if the citation was to defend Marilyn or if it was from the prosecution. Upon reading the document, Juan told me that it was the prosecution who requested me, and I responded: “Then I am not going there.” I asked Juan what the tribunal would do if I refused to appear. He told me that I would get the same treatment as Corretjer. I remember that I commented: “Okay, Juan, my vacations are over, because I will not testify against Marilyn.”

Juan continued investigating the issue and some lawyers from New York informed him that they were accusing me of helping in the escape of Assata Shakur, Marilyn’s comrade in struggle, an escape that occurred two months after my release. A little while later, I received a message from the lawyer Abi Lugo, saying that he wanted to accompany me to New York when they arrested me and took me there.

The New York lawyers were able to get the prosecution to turn over the case documents. Among the documents was an airline ticket in my name from Puerto Rico to Havana and a newspaper clipping which stated that, on precisely the same day as Assata escaped, Fidel was awarding Lolita, Irvin, Oscar and myself the Moncada Medal. Obviously, I could not have been in two places at the same time. So obviously I would not be testifying.

The evidence they had against me was a photo of me that Assata had put on the wall of her cell, and a corrections officer and some prisoners had declared that the person in the photo was one of those who had helped Assata to escape.

When the day arrived to go to New York, I got dressed ready for the arrest and the voyage, but as we say, “Don’t get dressed because you’re not going,” since the bailiffs never arrived, and still have not until today.

I gave Juan all the documents of this gringo delusion so he could keep them as a souvenir, including a picture that had been taken of me in prison.

To conclude, Marilyn Buck was a true revolutionary.
————
Mi gente,

Leí el artículo de parte de las hermanas Rodríguez en Claridad de esta semana sobre la revolucionaria Marilyn Buck. Recordé que en días pasados la organización Jericho me envió una foto en la que están Lolita y Marilyn Buck juntas, pues esta última estuvo un tiempo en la prisión de Alderson, West Virginia con Lolita.

Marilyn y yo nos escribíamos de prisión a prisión. De pronto no recibí más cartas de ella y luego supe que se había escapado. Lo mismo me sucedió con Guillermo Morales y Safiya Bukhari, esta última del Black Liberation Army, con quienes me escribía de prisión a prisión hasta que éstos también se escaparon.

Pues bien, pasados unos cuatro o cinco años de haber salido de prisión en 1979, entran tres agentes del FBI a la Mueblería La Puertorriqueña, que había pertenecido a mi padre y donde yo trabajaba, y llegan hasta mi oficina siguiendo a un compañero de trabajo. Uno de los agentes sacó un papel y con manos temblorosas intentó entregármelo. Era una citación para comparecer a un tribunal en Nueva York. Rehusé tomar el papel y le dije que me lo leyera. Cuando lo escuché mencionar el nombre de Marilyn Buck, tomé el papel de sus manos pensando que me habían citado a petición de Marilyn para su defensa.

Para ese tiempo Juan Mari Brás vivía en el Viejo San Juan, así que tomé mi carro y salí para allá para que Juan me aclarara si la citación era para defender a Marilyn o si era de parte de la Fiscalía. Al leer el documento, Juan me dice que es la Fiscalía quien me citaba, a lo que le respondí: “Entonces para allá no voy”. Le pregunto a Juan qué hará el tribunal al negarme a comparecer. Me contesta que lo mismo que le pasó a Corretjer. Recuerdo que le comenté: “Bueno, Juan, se me acabaron las vacaciones pues yo no voy a testificar nada contra Marilyn”.

Juan continuó investigando el asunto y unos abogados de Nueva York le ponen al tanto de que se me acusaba de haber ayudado en el escape de Assata Shakur, compañera de lucha de Marilyn, fuga que ocurrió dos meses después de mi excarcelación. Pasado un tiempito, recibí un mensaje del abogado Abi Lugo diciéndome que quería ir conmigo a Nueva York cuando me llevaran arrestado.

Los abogados de Nueva York lograron que la Fiscalía les entregara los documentos del caso. Entre los documentos estaba un boleto de avión a mi nombre de Puerto Rico a La Habana y un recorte de periódico donde precisamente el mismo día que se escapa Assata, Fidel nos estaba poniendo a Lolita, Irvin, Oscar y a mí la Medalla del Moncada. Siendo así, no podía haber estado en dos lugares a la misma vez. Así que nada más con el testigo.

La evidencia que tenían contra mí era una foto que Assata había colocado en la pared de su celda, y un guardia penal y unos presos habían declarado que el que estaba en la foto era uno de los que había ayudado a Assata en la fuga.

Llegado el día de salir para Nueva York, me vestí listo para el arresto y el viaje, pero como decimos por ahí, “No te vistas que no vas”, pues los alguaciles nunca aparecieron, y hasta el día de hoy.

Le regalé a Juan los documentos de todo el embeleco gringo para que los guardara como souvenir, incluyendo una foto que me habían tomado en la cárcel.

Para terminar, Marilyn Buck sí era una revolucionaria.