Remembering Mari Evans' intense, unblinking life

Her poems were realistic and sometimes ironic, but also hopeful, even ecstatic. She ended "Who Can Be Born Black?" with these lines: "Who /can be born/ black /and not exult!"

Will Higgins, will.higgins@indystar.com
A photo of Mari Evans looks up from a program during the Celebration of Life memorial for Dr. Mari Evans Phemster, held at St. Luke's United Methodist Church, Monday, March 20, 2017.

When the poet Mari Evans died March 10, early reports put her age at 93. But she was really 97, her grandson Chris Phemster confided to the some 500 mourners gathered for her funeral Monday. "She kept rolling her age back," he explained. "I think she stayed 70 for several years."

It was one of the lighter moments of the send-off for a celebrated artist and social activist known for her intensity and no-nonsense candor.

"You came warrior-woman clear," said the poet Sonia Sanchez, reciting a tribute to her longtime friend. "We were reborn in your spreading sails … Sister Mari."

Sanchez and Evans were among the architects of the Black Arts movement of the 1960s and 1970s. They and others, including Haki R. Madhubuti, who also attended the funeral at St. Luke's United Methodist Church, were literary figures, skilled writers, but also civil rights activists. They were in the forefront of promoting black pride. 

Evans first caught the public's attention in 1970 with the publication of her second collection of poetry, "I Am A Black Woman." The title poem concludes: “I/ am a black woman/ tall as a cypress/ …  Look/ on me and be/ renewed.” 

Her poems were realistic and sometimes ironic, but also hopeful, even ecstatic. She ended "Who Can Be Born Black?" with these lines: "Who/ can be born/ black/ and not exult!"

More:Late Indianapolis poet Mari Evans leaves legacy of social justice

Joanne V. Cabbin, an English professor at James Madison University and a longtime friend of Evans, was one of seven eulogists. She put a new spin on that line. "Who could know Mari Evans and not exult!" she said.

Cabbin noted Evans' "sharpness, her brilliance" and "her insistence on speaking the truth" but also "her intense love for black people." Some of the mourners were white, and to them Cabbin added: "She loved you, too."

But Evans was not warm and fuzzy. She lived in Indianapolis since 1947 and found considerable fault with the city. “What we find is that racism, in this up-South city at the end of the twentieth century, is like a steel strand encased in nylon then covered in some luxurious fabric,” Evans wrote in her 1988 essay for the Indiana Humanities Council's "Where We Live." “The intent is to avoid, if possible, blatant offenses, to soothe, mollify, if necessary dissemble — while racism, the steel strand, still effectively does the job.”

On Monday, Evans lay in a casket, wearing a mostly olive African-print dress. Her white hair was brushed back. Communion wafers were in each hand. Evans was described as a devout Christian and an avid church-goer. She was a member of Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church though in recent years attended services at Broadway United Methodist Church. The Rev. John L. Lambert, formerly at Bethel, said he once urged her to return to Bethel. "I'll decide that," she said. "You just preach."

The funeral was held at St. Luke's Methodist because it could accommodate the anticipated large crowd. Several of her poems were printed in the program, including "The Rebel," which goes: "When I/ die/ I'm sure/ I will have a/ Big Funeral.../ Curiosity seekers.../ coming to see/ if I/ am really /Dead.../ or just/ trying to make/Trouble..."

Lambert and others described a woman who, despite a soft voice, had strong opinions and never shrank from expressing them. The Rev. Michael Mather of Broadway United recalled one time, after witnessing poor parenting, she took the opportunity to "coach" a young mother. Evans, who wrote several well-received children's books, was committed to teaching and helping children, several people said. Several years ago she called Mather to get the name of a child headed for a Christmas without presents. She took the child shopping, and later Mather asked her, "Did you have a good time?" 

"No," Evans said flatly. "But I didn't do it to have a good time."

Early in the funeral service, a video was shown of Evans teaching her great-grandson, Matthew Phemster, the song "Amazing Grace." She led, on piano; he followed, on saxophone. He appeared to be about 14, and his play was shaky. She interrupted several times with corrections and admonitions. She insisted on do-overs. They were blood, she was "Ma Mari," but this was serious, it was a lesson.

After the video, an only-slightly-less-youthful Matthew was introduced to warm applause. He stood in front of the sanctuary with a saxophone and, accompanied by pianist Carl Hines, delivered an "Amazing Grace" that was both polished and soaring.

Matthew's progress was stunning and uplifting. The mourners beamed, and they cheered. 

Contact IndyStar reporter Will Higgins at (317) 444-6043. Follow him on Twitter @WillRHiggins.

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