Below is a slam poem I wrote and performed at the Georgia Governor’s Honors Program in July 2021. While meant to be heard in spoken word, it might be a cool read too!
This poem addresses the Confederate Memorial Carving at Stone Mountain, a popular tourist attraction and recreational area here in Atlanta. This carving was completed in 1972 (stunningly recent!) and depicts three Confederate leaders: Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee, and Stonewall Jackson. The tragedy of etching three men who led the fight to preserve slavery only deepens when you consider the fact that the city of Stone Mountain itself is over 72% African-American. It’s truly ironic in the worst kind of way.
Note: The use of the phrase “cow shit” is not merely gratuitous profanity. Rather, it addresses the idea to inexpensively conceal the Confederate Memorial Carving by spraying manure across it, facilitating the growth of enough plants and mosses to entirely cover the carving.
“Those Old Men of the Mountain”
Amit Kamma
As I keep the cycle moving
I ride into a town gilded with gifts and gabs
A place of kitsch and where people who will tell you a story they hold central to the ground
Against the cerulean horizon, I see
The rock cathedral towering over me
The only church in the world where crosses are burned
And where little kids might grow up in the shadow of a hatred that’s learned
And still, I ride my bike into the belly of the park
Greeted by a gate of green glory,
A docile wood where tanagers sing and where deer lay dormant
But hooking a left, I’m on a road named after a man who lost
You lost a war, you lost your honor, yet your descendants lost a cause
Finding a way to honor you — that what you did was well-advised
That your actions were out of bravery that you were not on the wrong side
Of history
A concept so vague that people find ways to tell it untrue
But as I ride my bike under the mountain shadows I see these men too,
Their engraved eyes are like a sign you’ll never stop watching
A symbol of this place, this state, and what used to be
And how some may never be welcome in a place where so many people seem to breathe
Easier than in others
Because this county, DeKalb, they say, is one of color
One where the soil runs deep and where black people might prosper
And yet this county has a rusted crown, all gray and dusty
With an engraving that spits on us and tells us what of we
They said we won the battle
But it feels like we lost the war
Living in a world of reality mixed with hateful lore
And Mother nature’s creation with all its fond glory
Has been violated by you selfish men looking to advance a lost story
And so I ask? can we return this mountain to the place whence it came
A place where people can run and children can play
Without the sight of those men who spur hate to this day
So let us spray your faces with the finest of cow shit
And let your memories fester
Defeating the stories of those lesser
And let our mother
take you back to her realm
And one more memory of hate can be pushed out of our minds
And let the rock underneath get a chance to truly shine
And let the moss cover the mountain, create a sheen of green
And maybe, just maybe, another person won’t see you in their dreams
Won’t feel the hate in their bones, won’t see the faces on a letter
Instead, they’ll see a mountain restored to nothing
But —
I think that’s better
A mountain returned to its maker
With no human faces on the side
And where I can enjoy this site for its true beauty
Without hearing the echoes of the generations those ghastly men looted
So let us find our cause
And let flora overcome those men
Because holding up the untruth
Will just keep the cycle moving
