Hymnal Review of jayy dodd’s Mannish Tongues
by Logan February
In Mannish Tongues, jayy dodd demonstrates a mastery of lyric, and more than that: they fully inhabit language, manipulating it so intimately that every proclamation doubles as a confession. The presence of “tongues” is laid out across the whole book; the speaker's language belongs exclusively to them. One clear instance of this is the persistent capitalization of the word “Black”—a gesture that works to establish blackness as more than just one of many facets of identity & self, as central, fundamental. The profundity goes even deeper—the personal ritual of speaking in “tongues” is essential to the work. In the poem “There's Something bout Being Raised In Church,” the speaker offers some explanation for this; they speak of “learning to walk on holy ground when both [their] / parents were preachers,” a revelation that provides great insight into dodd's poetics. The speaker claims they have been “touched by the most high.” This is what makes Mannish Tongues such a hymnal experience. I have attempted to recreate that experience in the following call-and-response. All italics represent quotes from dodd’s book.
Hymn for Black & Body
i first learned sensation singing hymns too close to choirboys
hallelujah. hallelujah.
my first tongues were communion, / the body was sacrifice to be broken
amen. amen.
the most genuine magic my boyish / hands could conjure was a fluke, a phenomenon, one i would be / hard-pressed to manifest again
hallelujah. hallelujah.
When Momma was God, / She blessed me in her image
amen. amen.
this is not a mythology / this is the only story I know
for my body / born of broken earth / into a city breaking & burning
hallelujah. hallelujah.
because Heaven touches Earth / right below my jawline
amen. amen.
I am often caught in the dark, with familiar / failures, hollering at homeboys & / whispering profanities
It’s funny to me how many boys must have pictures like this / allowed / to be soft & pouty before it’s beat out of them
amen. amen.
praise new ways to tell time, / praise not knowing which timezone it is when he calls, / praise him never listening but always wanting to talk
hallelujah. hallelujah.
I believed him when he told me I was the truth / & that I could set him free
I want to call you love, but / only know you as confessional
amen. amen.
Kissing spliffs before familiar / tongues. These are our bodies
my lungs are night-sky- / black & sparkling at their own resilience
hallelujah. hallelujah.
vernacular of bullets coming for the back of your throat
imagine this body beautiful, imagine this Black, / immaculate
amen. amen.
infinite Harambes / infinite African bodies / displaced
infinite niggas / bashing out eulogies / to be taught in school
hallelujah. hallelujah.
the first biographies i learned were eulogies
amen. amen.
infinite footage / on loop on loop on loop on loop on / loop on loop on loop on loop on loop on
hallelujah. hallelujah. hallelujah.
the god of blue / shields & white devils / arms his flock / with noose & / silence
amen. amen.
Some Black boys begin with daily incantation, / you, mourning them quietly
amen. amen.
Black ghosts dwell just outside / of streetlight altar, where // Black & body are unable / to survive the night
hallelujah. hallelujah.
Black ghosts don’t creak the floorboard / nor terrorize dreams, don’t fester // old grudges bout money / never expected to get back
we gather wealth on / dance floors, awaiting / the interstellar possibility of return
amen. amen.
death was always subject / to some sort of resurrection
hallelujah. hallelujah. hallelujah.
Our spirits will whisper / a chorus of victory, every hymn of night-time / & new nations
you will find / yourself: an effigy of stars
amen. amen.
we lived in heaven, so maybe all imagined was possible
ain’t nothing / more real than being alive right now
hallelujah. hallelujah.
every poem, even in its most spectacular excitement, / must know how to finish itself off
hallelujah. hallelujah.
every poem is masturbation
amen. amen. amen.
Logan February is a happy-ish Nigerian owl who likes pizza & typewriters. He is Co-Editor-In-Chief of The Ellis Review. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Tinderbox, Wildness, Glass, Bateau, and more. He is author of How to Cook a Ghost (Glass Poetry Press 2017) & Painted Blue with Saltwater (Indolent Books 2018). Say hello on Instagram & Twitter @loganfebruary.