“When I die, honey chil’, my angels will be tall Black drag queens. I will eat their stockings as they fling them into the blue shadows of dawn. I will suck their purple lips to anoint my mouth for the utterance of prayer.”

though i am a poet, and though i am a performance poet, i almost always read poetry inside my own mind and mouth. it’s ironic, because i am such a firm believer in eroding some of the lines that seem to seperate spoken word from written verse—that delineate one of these forms as more literary (read: more white, more wealthy, more emblematic of a high society) and more prestigious than the other. so, i very rarely read other poets’ words aloud. looking at it now, i realise that this is probably because, where slam and spoken word ought to invoke community, reciting lines to yourself in your living room can feel—for a lack of a better word—lonely.

essex hemphill was a performance artist as well; poet, as a single word—flaming and mythical word that it is—cannot contain all of his genius and artistry. i first encountered his words when i watched tongues untied, a phenomenal and empathetic and devastating and hopeful look at Black queer culture, directed by marlon riggs. hemphill’s poetry is a rod of lightning through the moving images. tongues untied is my favourite film.

so, it felt fitting—and strangely necessary—to not trap the weight of these words inside of myself. i read the foreword to myself (which, in its own right, left me teary-eyed), and, once i reached the first page of hemphill’s poetry, i unlatched my tongue.

there is no isolation to hemphill’s words, though they often come from a seemingly isolated place. his words fill my stomach with bees as i speak them, and i am once again aware of language as a weapon of community and resistance. as i read through love is a dangerous word front to back for the first time, i was struck down by a sense of profound understanding and familiarity. this is not me trying to present myself as genius or startlingly important by association, but a reminder that, in order for traditions to exist, we must make and manipulate and devour and disfigure those traditions. we must continue to make and honour Black queer art. we must continue to make and honour radical Black art. we must continue to make and honour art as protest.

hemphill was my favourite poet going into this selection of his words, and is my favourite poet coming out of it. though some of my most cherished of hemphill’s words are not present in this collection—most notably the full version of his critical text vital signs—love is a dangerous word is an excellent insight into the audacity, bluntness, tenderness and vulgarity that have cemented hemphill as a genius, and a pioneer of Black art, queer art, and art that refuses to conform.

it would be futile for me to list my favourite poems from this collection, as they are all so rich with such a wide range of offerings. in love is a dangerous word you will find sensuality, politic, violence, beginnings and endings in equal measure; you will find sickness and health, you will find nurses and drag queens and divas and destruction. you will find family, and you will find a fight you didn’t quite know existed within you. you will find notes war and freedom and love and life.

there is no adequate way to sum up this giant of poetry. i can only tell you to read it.