Jill Johnston: The Audacity of a Dyke
Chocolate Waters
the audacity of dyke
(for jill johnston)
tho jill said lesbian
the audacity of lesbian
the audacity of a nation
of lesbians
that was jill
herself an entire
audacious lesbian nation
her dream
mine
yours too Photo: Jack Manning, New York Times
remember
tho jill said lesbian
the audacity of lesbian
the audacity of a nation
of lesbians
that was jill
herself an entire
audacious lesbian nation
her dream
mine
yours too Photo: Jack Manning, New York Times
remember
Working Notes
Jill Johnston cannot die. The spirit of a woman who was so outrageous that she rolled around on the floor with another woman at a “polite” panel discussion at NYC’s Town Hall in 1971 must be preserved. If we are to continue on the path of forging new definitions and inroads for women, Jill’s indomitable spirit must also be reborn in today’s generation of women and in the newest lives among us.
I first discovered Jill’s out and loud and brilliant voice in the pages of her “Dance” column in NYC’s Village Voice. It was the late ‘60s and in that time you were not lesbian or gay – you were queer. There was no Women’s Movement. No Lesbian movement. No Gay/BTQ Movement. In fact, there was no movement at all; at least not for those of us in small town America. Finding Jill was thrilling, inspiring and unprecedented. Her unique style and courage helped me and so many others to begin the process of coming out and to view the personal as political.
I believe Jill may be the first and only person I ever wrote a fan letter to. Although she didn’t answer the letter, I did meet her in person for the first time right after Lesbian Nation was released in 1973. The book, with its bold assertion that all women are lesbians—some of them just don’t know it yet—caused an absolute sensation among the political women’s communities of the era. Denver, Colorado, where I was working on Big Mama Rag, was no exception. When the University of Colorado @ Boulder flew her in as part of the book’s promotion we all rushed there to see her.
I remember thinking that Jill, who was in her early forties then, was a bit on the homely side, with her long straggly brown hair and scruffy denim jacket and jeans. Of course, as soon as she began to speak and we all became engaged by her and her ideas, none of that mattered at all. Indeed, Jill became more and more beautiful every time I saw her again over the years, with her silverish hair and long, lean dancer’s physique.
We did correspond for a while but I didn’t see her again until the early ‘80s when I relocated to Manhattan. She was one of the few NY contacts who actually tried to assist me in getting a job. We met for wine and soup at a popular spot in the West Village called the Pink Elephant, if I’m recalling the name correctly. She turned me on to some of her Village Voice contacts, including Arthur Bell, who was then a prominent gay writer. Even though I didn’t end up working for the Voice, I always appreciated the assistance Jill offered.
Over the next few decades I encountered Jill and her life partner, Ingrid Nyeboe, on a number of occasions, either at lesbian events, or readings at A Different Light Bookstore or promotions of Jill’s latest books. One of the most pleasurable memories is a car trip we all took together to a wedding in West Cornwall, CT.
Jill’s life was, of course, very much bigger than being creator and part of Lesbian Nation (that’s lesbian nation with either capitals or small letters). It is, however, what I and others of my generation will remember and cherish her for the most.
In fact, when I got the email from Ingrid last month letting friends know of Jill’s death, there was a Notepad file on my desktop labeled “JJ” – with a quote from an interview in the Gay and Lesbian Review, 2006:
Interviewer: “To what extent have you modified the central views you expressed in the book?”
JJ: “I haven’t modified anything I said in the book. I just don’t say it any more.”
Don’t rest in peace, dear Jill. Wherever you are, give ‘em hell!
I first discovered Jill’s out and loud and brilliant voice in the pages of her “Dance” column in NYC’s Village Voice. It was the late ‘60s and in that time you were not lesbian or gay – you were queer. There was no Women’s Movement. No Lesbian movement. No Gay/BTQ Movement. In fact, there was no movement at all; at least not for those of us in small town America. Finding Jill was thrilling, inspiring and unprecedented. Her unique style and courage helped me and so many others to begin the process of coming out and to view the personal as political.
I believe Jill may be the first and only person I ever wrote a fan letter to. Although she didn’t answer the letter, I did meet her in person for the first time right after Lesbian Nation was released in 1973. The book, with its bold assertion that all women are lesbians—some of them just don’t know it yet—caused an absolute sensation among the political women’s communities of the era. Denver, Colorado, where I was working on Big Mama Rag, was no exception. When the University of Colorado @ Boulder flew her in as part of the book’s promotion we all rushed there to see her.
I remember thinking that Jill, who was in her early forties then, was a bit on the homely side, with her long straggly brown hair and scruffy denim jacket and jeans. Of course, as soon as she began to speak and we all became engaged by her and her ideas, none of that mattered at all. Indeed, Jill became more and more beautiful every time I saw her again over the years, with her silverish hair and long, lean dancer’s physique.
We did correspond for a while but I didn’t see her again until the early ‘80s when I relocated to Manhattan. She was one of the few NY contacts who actually tried to assist me in getting a job. We met for wine and soup at a popular spot in the West Village called the Pink Elephant, if I’m recalling the name correctly. She turned me on to some of her Village Voice contacts, including Arthur Bell, who was then a prominent gay writer. Even though I didn’t end up working for the Voice, I always appreciated the assistance Jill offered.
Over the next few decades I encountered Jill and her life partner, Ingrid Nyeboe, on a number of occasions, either at lesbian events, or readings at A Different Light Bookstore or promotions of Jill’s latest books. One of the most pleasurable memories is a car trip we all took together to a wedding in West Cornwall, CT.
Jill’s life was, of course, very much bigger than being creator and part of Lesbian Nation (that’s lesbian nation with either capitals or small letters). It is, however, what I and others of my generation will remember and cherish her for the most.
In fact, when I got the email from Ingrid last month letting friends know of Jill’s death, there was a Notepad file on my desktop labeled “JJ” – with a quote from an interview in the Gay and Lesbian Review, 2006:
Interviewer: “To what extent have you modified the central views you expressed in the book?”
JJ: “I haven’t modified anything I said in the book. I just don’t say it any more.”
Don’t rest in peace, dear Jill. Wherever you are, give ‘em hell!
About the author
Chocolate Waters has been writing and publishing poetry for over four decades. During the second wave of feminism she was one of the first openly lesbian poets to publish, and her contribution has recently been documented in Feminists Who Changed America 1963-1975 (edited by Barbara Love). Her first three collections, To the man reporter from the Denver Post, Take Me Like A Photograph and Charting New Waters, are considered classics of the early women’s movement.
In addition to her work as a writer, Waters is also a founding mother of the early radical feminist newspaper Big Mama Rag, which was produced in Denver, Colorado from 1972-1982.
She is the recipient of a New York Foundation for the Arts fellowship in Poetry, a fellowship from the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund and was recently awarded a “fruitie” for the best poetry performance in the Fresh Fruit Festival held in Manhattan.
Her poetry, which has won many individual awards in addition to being nominated for several Pushcart prizes, is widely published and anthologized. Currently hailed as the "Poet Laureate of Hell’s Kitchen,” Waters is also a pioneer in the art of performance poetry. She has toured throughout the United States, but makes her home in Manhattan where she teaches poetry workshops, runs a submission service for serious poets, tutors individual clients and is often a participant in the New York City poetry circuit.
A new chapbook, the woman who wouldn’t shake hands, will be published in 2010 by Poets Wear Prada. You can visit on the web at www.chocolatewaters.com or on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/ChocolateWatersPoet
For an updated list of works published in TRIVIA, please see this author's contributor page.
In addition to her work as a writer, Waters is also a founding mother of the early radical feminist newspaper Big Mama Rag, which was produced in Denver, Colorado from 1972-1982.
She is the recipient of a New York Foundation for the Arts fellowship in Poetry, a fellowship from the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund and was recently awarded a “fruitie” for the best poetry performance in the Fresh Fruit Festival held in Manhattan.
Her poetry, which has won many individual awards in addition to being nominated for several Pushcart prizes, is widely published and anthologized. Currently hailed as the "Poet Laureate of Hell’s Kitchen,” Waters is also a pioneer in the art of performance poetry. She has toured throughout the United States, but makes her home in Manhattan where she teaches poetry workshops, runs a submission service for serious poets, tutors individual clients and is often a participant in the New York City poetry circuit.
A new chapbook, the woman who wouldn’t shake hands, will be published in 2010 by Poets Wear Prada. You can visit on the web at www.chocolatewaters.com or on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/ChocolateWatersPoet
For an updated list of works published in TRIVIA, please see this author's contributor page.