Delany Lemke
November” and “Neandertal Songs”
I wrote "November" shortly after the 2016 election. I had been verbally harassed on campus more than once by groups of men because of the election, and I was watching the number of hate crimes rise as men in suits made toasts about their success in the election. My friends were all crying, because we knew what this meant for us. It felt like a nightmare for queer people, people of color, and other marginalized groups. Reflecting on this was and still is absurdly difficult and painful. Because of this, I decided to approach my concerns in a more surreal setting.
So, I included the boys shouting from their pickup truck. I included the hate crimes. I included the men celebrating. Then, in the end, I let the speaker escape from that reality through death and a return to nature through decay, where she’s taken in by these humming women. I gave her refuge in song and plants, where she’d really feel welcomed. Looking back, it reminds me how helpless I feel, because this was the only way I could imagine her finding peace.
The first draft of “Neandertal Songs” was frantically composed in my evolutionary anthropology class with Professor Catherine Willermet. We were discussing neandertals, and she played this video of a man in a cave playing a flute called the Divje Babe Flute. It was gorgeous. I ended up playing that video while I was trying to do homework for a while because it was so calming. The first stanza is all factual. The rest is speculation.
It went on to win the Eric Torgerson Poetry prize this year. I actually sobbed when I got the email because I was so excited. I called my mom, my dad, my partner, emailed my anthropology professor, and probably geeked to everyone. This poem has a tender little spot in my heart.
So, I included the boys shouting from their pickup truck. I included the hate crimes. I included the men celebrating. Then, in the end, I let the speaker escape from that reality through death and a return to nature through decay, where she’s taken in by these humming women. I gave her refuge in song and plants, where she’d really feel welcomed. Looking back, it reminds me how helpless I feel, because this was the only way I could imagine her finding peace.
The first draft of “Neandertal Songs” was frantically composed in my evolutionary anthropology class with Professor Catherine Willermet. We were discussing neandertals, and she played this video of a man in a cave playing a flute called the Divje Babe Flute. It was gorgeous. I ended up playing that video while I was trying to do homework for a while because it was so calming. The first stanza is all factual. The rest is speculation.
It went on to win the Eric Torgerson Poetry prize this year. I actually sobbed when I got the email because I was so excited. I called my mom, my dad, my partner, emailed my anthropology professor, and probably geeked to everyone. This poem has a tender little spot in my heart.