All Eye Hear: Made You Die (Trayvon Martin Tribute) by Yasiin Bey, Dead Prez & mikeflo
In the course of curating this space, The Literate Epoch, it has been a rare occasion that I have published anything by way of music with the exception of my recent review of a performance by Aniba Hotep and the Sol Collective. While the purpose of this space initially hinged upon promoting and building an appreciation of a culture of orality, writing and storytelling, I have continually allowed it to expand to encompass new mediums where there is a need for broadened cultural literacy.
Poetry was the beginning followed by an occasional rant or journal entry. Then came the book reviews and a selection of philosophical essays. Event reviews were my most recent effort at weaving together the deeper message of cultural literacy which this blog seeks to impart. The next frontier which I had thus far found myself wary of tackling is the arena of music and film, but a pep talk from a beautiful fellow traveling soul by the name of Shalay has bolstered confidence in my capacity to offer some measure of insight even in this area.
Some entries will find my thoughts attached. Others will be allowed to speak for themselves. All will afford you a glimpse into the musical and visual culture which either inform or represent my writing and personal philosophy. When this entry graced my social network last Friday, I was struck with a combination of affirmative call and response, overwhelming pride in the brilliant artistic assembly and followed by a resounding echo of truth contained in what appears to be simply music. The line below was the mantra most resonant to myself within the lyrics. It is something I have sought to inspire in others through each of my actions within and without the space of writing. To what are you committed? How do you exercise your commitment to construct a more just world?
"...let's do more than protest / let's make a commitment..."
An Informal Study in Pedestrian Crossings
I am a man
shoeless roaming
foot pads
like leather soles
well worn
all weather
off road traveler
changing direction
wandering
a rugged trail
forked in opposition
to what once
I envisioned
a destination
certain
which path
to choose?
I am a trail blazer
through thistle
and buckthorn
garlic mustard
and reed grass
over red clay
Al'bama backwoods
New O'leans bayou
Miss'sippi mud
'long the river bank
stuck deep once
upon a childhood
sojourn gone long
far 'way from home
sinking
quicksand low
how do I unfix
dis' hea' jam?
I am a journeyman
apprenticed to
St. Christopher
Khonsu
and Mercury
earning my keep
by beating those feet
let no moss grow
before I go
between boxcar
buttressing myself
by singing the blues
"now my companion trav'lin /
away from me / loved a woman /
she was some good company /
but now i'm leavin / walkin off /
without my shoes / i say i'm walkin /
hope these toes don't get too bruised"
I am a pedestrian
standing
in a crosswalk
contemplating
signal
destination
and direction
perhaps
i will know
before the light
changes again
and I am forced
to go one way
or the other.
Review: Nommo: A Literary Legacy of Black Chicago (1967-1987) ~ An Anthology of the OBAC Writers’ Workshop
Nommo: A Literary Legacy of Black Chicago (1967-1987) ~ An Anthology of the OBAC Writers' Workshop by Carole A. Parks
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
"A Black aesthetic is based upon the conviction that Black people share a complex of perceptions that do not have the same meaning for other people. While it is true that all humans, have certain basic physiological and emotional traits, socio-historical experience divides us into ethnic groups whose members have more in common with each other than with members of other groups, even though there may be overlapping. We all belong to ethnic groups. Ethnicity is inescapable. There is no such thing as a "universal" person." ~ from "Some Thoughts on The Black Aesthetic" by Eugenia Collier
While a flourishing hippie subculture was feasting upon the remnants of the literary and social counterculture once cultivated by the pioneers of the Beat Generation, Black literature was experiencing yet another cultural quickening in the form of the Black Arts Movement. A broad contingent of artists, critics, authors and intellects who eschewed the duplicity of Black authorship past which found our most nimble writers contorting themselves and their uniquely Black experience into a form more palatable for a mainstream white aesthetic now carved out independent publications, art houses, theaters and workshops. The call for Black Power, rising political resentment and a renewed embrace of the ideals of social separatism saw the revival of a "do for self" ethic sweep through the Black community. The old Civil Rights era alliances of the previous decade had shriveled and died upon the vine. Black people were shifted once again to membership along the social fringe.
Those arising during the Black Arts period began to wield this exclusion as an incentive for the development of an insular artistry deeply rooted in the language, style and existence of Black people which came to be defined as the "Black aesthetic". A diminished appreciation for historical nuance often finds a more comprehensive story about the movement left untold. Much like the locational specificity of the Harlem Renaissance overshadows discussion about Black authorship outside of Harlem or Negritude in the Black Francophone diaspora, it is most often the case that the Black Arts Movement as a mystical literary milestone eclipses deeper scrutiny of any cluster of regional activity which contributed to its occurrence. The burden of fault rests with both poor scholarship and a lack of prominent documentation on how the movement transformed the creative landscape for Black artists throughout the country. Nommo: A Literary Legacy of Black Chicago is a history which serves to both amend and extend that record.
Nommo documents the creative and critical literary content generated by members of the Chicago axis of the Black Arts Movement operating through the Organization of Black American Culture (OBAC) over the course of 20 years at the time the book was published. Throughout their 30 year tenure, OBAC organized three artist workshops consisting of Visual Arts, Theater and Writing which provided spaces for peer review and mentoring. The Visual Arts Workshop was able to complete a longstanding mural known as the Wall of Respect at 43rd and Langley. The Theater Workshop found itself in a prodigious era as Chicago's urban magnetism assembled the creative synergy which culminated in the Kuumba Theater, Southside Community Art Center and Afro-Arts Theater. The Writer's Workshop saw a diversity of authors from varying levels of professional notoriety move through the nourishing space to bolster one another towards more keen insights and greater acclaim.
Nommo captures the essence of this extraordinary collective through writings which appeared in both the individual works of featured artists along with the OBAC writing journal also titled Nommo. The writing frequently manages to be both profound and overwhelming when one attempts to read the text without pause. Occasionally it veers off in directions which appear to be ideologically enigmatic such as Carolyn M. Rodgers' "Black Poetry-Where It's At" which found me pondering to myself if these were not merely a group of reckless young adults who had become fascinated with the sound of their own voice. She uses the space of her commentary to elaborate on the various forms and directions being created, evolved and engaged by Black poets in her generation. It is not until you reach the section entitled "Remembering Hoyt W. Fuller" that you can reflect deeply upon the measure and meaning of advancing the Black aesthetic. Rodgers' determination to characterize the nuances of Black poetry as they existed then was rooted in a desire to stretch the boundaries of acceptable literary discourse where Black people were taught to circumscribe portions of their language and being in order to fit into the classical (read: white) construct being studied in academia. She refused.
While it is left to one's imagination to consider how the plays were interpreted on stage, the works of members from the Theater Workshop are exhibited including "Masque Etude" with its rich symbolism and spartan, poetic dialogue or the reflective examination of an interracial relationship of convenience from "Mr. Gooden's House". The poetry, prose and essay material assembled here searches out these tiny kernels of the Black experience and seeks to magnify their importance that we might appreciate, acknowledge and analyze them as art. The Black aesthetic as understood by Hoyt W. Fuller was not simply amplifying the widely touted sentiment that "Black is beautiful", but building upon that notion further for if we value things of beauty then let the elements of Blackness be appraised the highest amongst Black people.
In closing with their reflections upon the life and legacy of Hoyt W. Fuller, the daring stance taken by OBAC is shown to be helmed by a fearless defender of Blackness. Fuller towers above this anthology existing still as the guiding light behind its formation. Throughout the tiny vignettes of his life, I found myself hungering to know and understand even more than these selections were able to express in the space of such brevity. Nommo is a text worthy of continuous examination. While no organization finds themselves advancing the Black aesthetic with such a rigorous and thorough program as OBAC did in their time, it remains important to our children that we link together the body of material already extant in order that they might learn early in life what is beautiful, valuable, worthy and artful about the Blackness they inherit. It ain't just a pigment. It is a legacy.
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NaPoWriMo 15:30 ~ Telegraphing The Bomba Drum

Portrait of a Dancer by Martin Soto
His calloused fingers
unfolding before
the flirtatious eloquence
of her skirt's
articulate flourish
bending towards
the weight
of her womanhood
Bada Bada Bada Bada Bada Bomp
Bada Bada Bada Bada Bada Bomp
Her careful carriage
of a hemline
held betwixt a twining
of lady fingers
like a handkerchief
delicate enough
to misplace
beneath a rhythmic
thumping
Budunk U Dun Budunk U Dun
Budunk U Dun Budunk U Dun
The joy
of children
coming apart
schoolyard loose
losing themselves
in this moment for life
like a ritual
layered in resurrection
of a remembered
humanity
denied them elsewhere
upon the fringe of society
Boonku Boonku Boonku Boonk
Boonku Boonku Boonku Boonk
Boonku Boonku Boonku Boonk
Boonku Boonk Boonku Boonk
The drum
plays Africa
Men and Women
Still
Tracing the lineage
far from home
leaving no portion
of themselves
undisclosed
despite a change
in scenery
We shall never forget
the drum
this distress signal
bringer of otherwise
unutterable joy
mover of bodies
builder of resistance
to uncertain conditions
now come for us
A telegraph typed
in the frenetic
challenge
of his hips
her skirt
those hands
beating the skin
from Mayaguez
to M'banza-Kongo.
NaPoWriMo 14:30 ~ Dismounting The Catbird Seat
Being that my
cerebral circuitry
surges with an
unbroken certainty
that every
cybernetic entity
entering before me
has jacked into
your surreal synapse
and tuned out that
disruptive discourse
to listen lucidly
at the wise counsel
of your labyrinthine logic
It is critical
that i disengage
the perch of peace
upon which rest
these stiffened limbs
that i might stand
and humbly request
You, Sit the fuck down.
No gratitude required.
It was the least I could do.
Review: David Walker’s Appeal
David Walker's Appeal by David Walker
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
David Walker's Appeal opens with an impassioned examination of the Black condition in America driving slow and painstakingly towards a radical crescendo at the close of the fourth article. Upon first glance, the Appeal seems to exhibit one the earliest written examples of the classical Negro sermon invoking the tools of emotional petition, scriptural analogy and historical scrutiny in outlining the core narrative. Through further revisions to the text, Walker was able to expand upon the original thesis to form the ideological framework of Black liberation theology, social theory and nationalist discourse with consideration towards both freedmen and enslaved Blacks.
The Preamble of Walker's Appeal provides an intriguing context for the rise and influence of Black liberation theology where the theological construct exists as the last bastion of "free" intellectual inquiry available to those held in slavery. Walker mines the potentiality of biblical scripture in order to establish his case for the abolition of slavery through moral suasion, Pan-African struggle and armed resistance when necessary. For sewing these seeds of discord, Walker would find himself revered amongst enslaved Blacks and radical abolitionists, reviled amongst whites and slaveowners, held afar by moderate whites and Blacks alike who considered his approach too extreme and later murdered near his shop only a year from the publication of the manuscript.
Walker divided his appeal into four distinct areas of discourse following the Preamble which considered the effects of Slavery, Ignorance, Religion and Colonization upon the minds of Black people. He used each of these areas to display how the historical treatment of Blacks in America was mired in moral, social and political hypocrisy which should prevent us from thinking naively that we could hope for a fairer treatment in the future than we had been afforded in the past. While he fiercely refuted the efforts to colonize members of the free Black community in the African nation of Liberia, he displayed a particularly warm kinship for the recently liberated island nation of Haiti whose inspiration he drew upon in outlining his impression of what steps could be taken in America to secure freedom for all Black people.
While some concepts in the Appeal leave themselves open misinterpretation in a modern context such as Walker's own fondness for the English whom he considered friends of the Negro, there areas here that remain ripe for exploration in understanding the course of events which culminated in ending slavery. The Appeal was quite masterful at fomenting radical discourse when it was published in 1829 and taken together with the rebellion of Nat Turner in 1831 most certainly struck an alarming chord in states which had continued the practice of slavery. The Appeal was outlawed and at least one legislature, Georgia, placed a bounty upon Walker's head. It still managed to circulate widely through underground networks of abolitionists, freedmen societies, churches and maroon communities.
As we stand in the aftermath of cases in Arizona, Texas and Tennessee on the cusp of seeing the necessity for the return of outlaw education, let us take a lesson from David Walker in thinking dangerously and writing fearlessly about the oppressive systems which continue to impact our quality of life in this day and the overlapping alliances we must forge in order to break them apart permanently.
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NaPoWriMo 13:30 ~ Superstygian
Steeped in stupor
such that natural
causality
offers little comfort
when considering
unnaturally brutal
human behavior
Besotted by a belief
that principled justice
lies somewhere
beyond man's reach
in fictitious constructs
fickle
in their engagement
of Earthly operation
Pacing ourselves
to wait on world
changes
if we are patient
bewitched
and bedazzled
by the mystery
of our irrational ability
to manufacture
a universe that orbits
entirely around Us
Narcissus
meet your reflection
whose kiss can kill
curse the cat
who blackened your path
and the ladder offering
no route around
which forced you below
while someone else
was getting over
Poverty is no parlor trick
manifest
from a preponderance
of penurious thoughts
Racism is rich
with working fingers
of active oppression
not to be defeated
by mere discourse
around revolution
The world is shifting
beneath the feet
of pedestrians
who peddle
the pedantic precepts
of primitive prophecy
as insurance policy
against global disruption
Luck don't live here
Lose no time
laboring over 7 years
of broken mirrors
before you pause
to clear your path
of the fractured
shards of glass.
"...when you believe in things that you don't understand, then you suffer." ~ Stevie Wonder
NaPoWriMo 12:30 ~ In Transit Across The Celestial Meridian
Rolling high noon
Sun like yolk of egg intact
perched upon a plate of sky
feeding freely light
to energize human activity
Twin pistols burning hot
aimed and ready
unable to Corral
an O.K. sense of ethics
before boiling point
when gunfight ensues
no bystander innocent
safe from catchment
of crossfire
We are trapped
in passage of time
reading the milliseconds
questioning a desire
to take our time
as the day labors on
laborers longing
for their time in the Sun
so work seems tedious
and reward lackluster
Let us prefer being seen
as players in a reality show
called Earth
where a Sun creeping
across the celestial meridian
is recognized to be
a deity worthy of worship
For only working ritual
which will earn you Heaven
is cultivating
a life of respect
for planetary cohabitation
and biospheric cooperation
Anything less
would be uncivilized.
NaPoWriMo 11:30 ~ Channeling a Deluge
...over a rain barrel
shifting this torrent
of trepidation
dam wall bracing
the river
tension fractures
leaking pressure
losing emotion
letting steam
we are survivors
we are antideluvian
descendants
of swimmers
who kept head
above water
sailing their way
over triangular Atlantic
we are risers
buoyed by insight
floating somewhere
above immediate circumstance
of too much information
too little filtration
siphoning heavy metal toxin
and artificial impurity
from what was once
the substance of life
we are trying only
to make it out alive
before the sharks
smell blood in ocean
we are open plains
pending irrigation
parched throats
sensing dehydration
all the water in the world
and not a drop to drink
all the knowledge
at your fingertips
is not enough to think
we are breathing
on the brink
of being seized
by submersion
we are unbroken sod
sown with the seeds
of subversion
on the verge
of being supplanted
if we don't
overturn the Earth
hoe this hard row
and overthrow the dirt
dog paddle through
the overflow of work
for both flood and wild fire
bring elemental renewal
one charred carbon matter
the other Nile River sediment
whose bank gave us a settlement
if we would sense the deluge flowing
we might dampen its effect
and channel potential destructive energy
into the building of what lives next.
NaPoWriMo 10:30 ~ Moonlight o’er Urban Hinterland
When Earth
takes shape
beneath the hands
of man
the soil sprouts
concrete
fire hydrants
and manhole covers
unimpressive
manicured
lawns
mulch patches
and misplaced trees
paved roadways
of horseless carriages
sculptured meridian
splitting the boulevard
Promontory Point
and the municipal
golf course
Erratic man
feigning nostalgia
for artifact of nature
replicates Japanese Garden
and Dune Habitat Restoration
Enduring animals
mostly oblivious
having adapted
accordingly
to habitual
displacement
linger
on the periphery
hinting no intention
of keeping their place
By moonlight
a lone coyote
made mischief
darting mercurial
along the divider
a caravan came
to halt in its presence
cameras grasped
to capture evidence
of its ghostly apparition
puzzled callers
prodded cell phone
panels
in search of
confessional outcry
for the incredulous
encounter
apprehensive
that the wall
we've constructed
to seal away
nature
might be only
paper thin.






