Toi Derricotte

“I like to talk about things that are unseen,

and often unwanted, and ‘bad.’

I think it’s about reclaiming things that have been used against

us and taken away from us.”

Photo: C.B. Claiborne, 2004

A poet, memoirist and educator, at the time of the 1994 Conference, Toi Derricotte had written three books: The Empress of the Death House (1978); Natural Birth (1983); and Captivity (1989). Since then, she has authored a memoir, The Black Notebooks (1997), as well as the collections Tender (1997), The Undertaker’s Daughter(2011), and more recently I: New and Selected Poems (2019). Derricotte is the recipient of two fellowships from National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), two Pushcart Prizes, a Guggenheim Fellowship, the Lucille Medwick Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America, a Folger Shakespeare Library Poetry Book Award, the Paterson Poetry Prize for Sustained Literary Achievement, and the PEN/Voelcker Award for Poetry. Derricotte’s work has been published in a number of journals, including Callaloo, The New Yorker, The Paris Review, New England Review, and American Poetry Review. In 1996, she co-founded the Cave Canem Foundation with Cornelius Eady to cultivate and highlight African-American poetry. In 2009, Derricotte was recognized as a Distinguished Daughter of Pennsylvania.

Featured Poems

“Coming”

“Clitoris”

Photo: C.B. Claiborne, 2004
Photo: C.B. Claiborne, 1994
Photo: C.B. Claiborne, 1994

Interviews, Talks, and Readings

/ Toi Derricotte reads “Coming”

Coming

Molly Peacock in the Paris

Review makes me come

 

back to coming—the poem

about whether she is faking

 

it, and whether he really

likes it with his head

 

between her thighs. That wonder,

and wondering

 

if it is right

to wonder

 

if he is

the one, the prince of your

 

second coming, or if you too are just 

stuck there, his tongue

 

on your clitoris like a block

of dry ice. Oh

 

silver skin

of wondering! that bad

 

taste in your mouth. The prince may be no more

than an ordinary

husband, the evolution of repressed

 

desire wearing

a gold ring.

 

“What is 

love,” I ask

 

a buddy over

lunch, a survivor

of marriage

for forty years. “Well,”

 

she waffles, “it

depends…”

/ Toi Derricotte reads “Clitoris”

Clitoris

This time with your mouth on my clitoris, I will not think

he does not like the taste of me. I lift the purplish hood back

from the pale white berry. It stands alone on its thousand branches.

I lift the skin like the layers of taffeta of a lady’s skirt.

How shy the clitoris is, like a young girl

who must be coaxed by tenderness. 

 

Related Links

Interactive Program Day I