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Diorama

from Y by Holy '57

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about

HER HANDS ARE A DIORAMA

I have a version of events
Distinct from that which I was read
Some of the characters involved
Seem to be missing from the roll
I see it in the sharp divides
I feel it in my shame and loss
I heard it from my flesh and blood
The secrets that we don’t speak of

She had
Hands I will never forget
Hands that knew courage and grit
Hands unafraid to show it
Texture of leather sprung from wisdom

How could she forget from where she came from? Forget from whom her name’s from? Her hands are a diorama!
She don’t care if you feel like she’s dressed wrong, enunciates her words odd! That’s all the more power to her!

I’d like to let the record show
She had the courage to leave home
Bringing from one world to another
A mother father sister brother

And she used
Words I will never forget
Told truth set apart from the rest
I never heard that in your classroom, no
I never seen that in your courtroom, no

How could she forget from where she came from? Forget from whom her name’s from? Her hands are a diorama!
She don’t care if you feel like she’s dressed wrong, enunciates her words odd! That’s all the more power to her!

Edward Said, Orientalism, first published in the UK by Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1978

An excerpt from Chapter One:
An order of sovereignty is set up from east to west
A mock chain of being whose clearest form was given once by Kipling
And he quotes:
"Mule, horse, elephant or bullock
He obeys his driver
And the driver his sergeant
And the sergeant his lieutenant
And the lieutenant his captain
And the caption his major
And the major his colonel
And the colonel his brigadier commanding three regiments
And the brigadier his general who obeys the viceroy
Who is the servant of the empress"

I just got my doctorate in postcolonialism
But these -isms don’t have an answer for the schism
That I’m feeling now she’s really been gone
Now that she’s really passed on
Now a memory herself inside the archive of my song
I’ve got the archive fever
Collective memoria
She is the hyper-realer thing
And I’m a true believer
But when we carried her coffin down the hall of the crematorium
I couldn’t find the words I couldn’t find the

Mamaji:
...he played the piano, very good piano player.
There were ten of them, there were,
and I used to come home tired from work,
and end up cooking for them.
At times I used to say, 'You horrible fellows! Do your own cooking!'
I used to get so tired,
because I used to just come
and sit there on the settee,
and fall asleep,
listening to the music.

credits

from Y, released October 2, 2020
writ & perf // holy ‘57
mix & prod // holy '57
drums // arun dhanjal
sax // mandeep singh
trumpet // will lyons

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Holy '57 London, UK

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!

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