levelheaded: Beyoncé is Sorry for What She Won’t Feel

The title of this week’s poem—”Beyonce is Sorry for What She Won’t Feel”—reads about a gajillion different ways. Beyoncé could be feeling sorry for herself because she doesn’t feel sorry. She could feel badly for other people (the general public, say) because she doesn’t feel sorry. Complicating things further, “what she won’t feel” could refer to any type of feeling other than feeling sorry. Read this way, the title reaches even farther. Beyoncé could feel badly for herself because she won’t feel sad or overjoyed or pathetic or strong. She might feel badly for herself because she’s not physically feeling a soft, fuzzy teddy bear. She might feel sorry for not feelin’ Kelly Rowland’s latest solo album. She might feel apologetic towards an adoring fan for not touching his outstretched hand. She just might feel sorry for herself or toward others, and the reason why, the “for what,” is the thing she cannot feel.

The subtle complexity of the poem’s title manifests itself in Parker’s use of the pronoun “I.” Is Bey the real speaker of the poem and, in the title, is she referring to herself in the third person? Or is the speaker someone else, someone for whom Beyoncé serves as an apt metaphor? We think both are true, and—more importantly, that the poem’s “I” is even farther reaching than Beyoncé or the speaker, extending to encompass American women of color, Americans of color, women of color, American women, Americans, women, people of color, people.

There are enough clues in the poem to relay that the historical/pop cultural event at its center is Beyonce’s lip synch performance of the national anthem at President Obama’s second inauguration, but Parker is not beholden to that single, literal narrative. When she writes, “A Nation / of Weaves / assembles at my / Jimmy Choos,” Parker seems to be making a statement about our culture and the subcultures therein. People of the modern world are, to a large degree, concerned with material things—donning fake hair and high heals to look our “best.” The problem is, the focus on money, the gazing into a Gatsby-esque “green light” is a tiresome, boring, if not deadly pursuit, which ends when the pursuer “falls asleep.”

If the poem is a commentary on Beyoncé herself, the image of her presented is not exclusively negative. While some feminists might take offense to the idea that the speaker is “all legs,” there is an unmistakable power, a unabashed sexiness in that phrase. Similarly, some might not want to think of teenage girls’ role model as the “First lady of desire” who “pant[s] for our future,” but those “pant[s]” so close to Beyoncé’s long legs remind us how she has managed to be an incredibly successful black businesswoman in a corporate American landscape traditionally dominated by white men.

We can read the whole poem with as much attention as we’ve paid to these few short lines, but we’d need a bigger internet. On the macrocosmic level, in the end, this is a poem about being “Free” and finding “Home“—two key words in our national anthem, but as we’ve already learned, it’s worthwhile to also look for Parker’s message in the words that are not said. From that lens, this is a poem about being Brave, about remaining true to ourselves while seeking to better ourselves. It’s a poem about never ever submitting to what other people want or expect of us if those desires or expectations do not align with what we want for ourselves and—perhaps more importantly—with what we want for our children.

– The Editors