Last Standing Poet

Name: Samantha Thornhill
Age: 26
Status: Effing Amazing
The Deal: She's got CDs, poems to read, and a book upcoming
Website: www.samathaspeaks.com (click the "Journal" link for her blog)
(read: CHECK HER OUT!!!)

I had the initial (and clueless) pleasure of meeting miss Samantha a few years ago through Quraysh Ali Lansana, a longtime friend from Chicago whose poetry show I had just missed seeing (because I am eternally late) at the Bowery Poetry Club. I was new to New York and it was my first time there...I still haven't really learned my lesson about being late, but I haven't completely missed anything since then--I promise!
After trying to apologize to Quraysh profusely on a Sunday afternoon, I accepted defeat and leaned into the introduction phase. Samantha was there and she hadn't missed the show. To make up for my absence, I followed the group of family and friends out to a Chinese restaurant. We ate, exchanged information--I left.

During the intro phase and through supper (dinner pre-6pm), I did mention my then strong and living desire to get my MFA in Creative Writing, similar to many at the table that afternoon turned evening. And while no one was unfriendly in the least, no one seemed as happy or excited as the counselors whom I'd just left behind at Howard just a few months before. It was then I started to understand that whatever I wanted in life would have to be mine, and I would have to own it. No one was necessarily going to push me or cheer me on. I'd had to establish a self-endorsing team of my own and in myself.

Back to Samantha and her amazingness. She reached out. Albeit, her reach out (otherwise known as adding me to her email list) had nothing to do with my desire to "do" poetry. At the time, I was also completely clueless with regard to this theory of recklessness. It's growing on me. [The idea of throwing one's self into a task or into a passion directly seems slightly difficult, especially with my varied and extensive list of interests (singing, knitting, writing, dancing (sometimes)), as well as painful--the actual throwing, that is.]

... SAMANTHA (i digress easily, as you can see) added me to her list and I started learning about her slamming and poetry. I never went to her shows. I hardly ever really read her emails. I was too busy working at Random House! The one email that did finally catch my eye had to do with her needing mentors for a program she was heading up at the Children's Aid Society that fall. I needed to do community service for my soul. I responded. We reunited. (A story about a girl named Doriza who stole my heart away to the Philippines shall one day follow.)

One of the interesting things about Sam is (at least from my perspective) her sincere and true dedication to everything she engages in. She's a poet, an artist, and an amazing one at that. But she's also a teacher, mentor, organizer, lover, human.
This kind of messed me up in the head. How come SHE can be all focused and I'm all over the place? I still wonder this. I think they call it focus.

Only just now, about three years later, am I finally finding myself really able to read and devote some real time to "hearing" Sam's ridiculous talent. Why? Because I'm kind of following her example. Doing something with this devoted focus thing.

I just read her poem (A Memory) about Amina Baraka, wife of Amiri Baraka, who I heard recently read a poem at the Bowery about a red dress and a purple hat. (I've got to find the footage of that poem.)

If you're seriously not made to smile by "A Memory" like I was, go away.
Or, you can just go to Sam's page and find something you do like. She will become yours, and hopefully, you'll jump to task quicker than I did.