June Jordan: “Poema sobre Intelecto para mis Hermanos y Hermanas” / “A Poem about Intelligence for my Brothers and Sisters”

Gordon Parks photographer_Boy at swimming pool_Harlem_New York City_1942

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June Jordan (1936-2002)

Poema sobre Intelecto para mis Hermanos y Hermanas”

.

Hace unos años me dicieron que Negro es un seso hueco y otra gente

tienen cerebros / casi como las células dentro las cabezas de niños negros

estaban fuera tomando una siesta a la hora en punto – cada hora.

.

El Científico llamé este fenómeno El Lapsus Arthur Jensen (de mala fama) – ¿no recuerdas?

Bien, estoy pensando en idear una prueba para los eruditos – los sabios, ¿sabes? – algo como una Prueba Cociente Intelectual Stanford-Binet por la CIA – ¿comprendes?

Por ejemplo…El señor doctor Einstein, incuestionablemente el “cerebro” más espectacular del siglo – ¿no?

.

Y estoy luchando contra estas sobras-Lapsus de mi niñez negra, y me pregunto por que alguien deciría: E = MC Squared – la equivalencia entre la masa y la energía.

Intento discutir sobre ésto con la vieja mujer que vive en mi cuadra…

Está escobando la escalera de entrada en una noche de sábado, enojado porque un “burro” dejó un colchón de cama king-size – manchas y demás – en frente de su casa, y no quiere saber nada de éso en primer lugar.

.

Inclinándome en la verja, digo: “Señora Johnson, ¿qué piensas en alguien que se inventa E = MC Squared?”

“¿Cómo te va?” me responde de su lado, como no quiere permitirme saber que tengo pelo no peinado (esta mañana de domingo) y que tengo el atrevimiento de molestarle durante una tarea seria con mis preguntas locas…

“¿E igual a que, cariño?”

Pues le digo: “Este tipo que dijo éso, ¡creo que fue El Padre No Refutado de La Bomba Atómica!”

“Sí, eso es,” murmura, no tan amablemente.

“¡Y siempre olvidó ponerse calcetines con sus zapatos!”– agrego (un poco deseperada).

En este momento Señora Johnson se aleja de mí, con su escoba, y da un gran paso atrás en la escalera.

“Y nunca no hizo nada para nadie sino en una comisión…Y decía “¿Qué hora es?” y alguien decía “Son las seis.” Y él decía “– ¿de la mañana o de la tarde?”…¡Y nunca no hirvió agua para una taza de té para nadie durante su entera vida brillante!…¡Y [ mi voz se eleva un poco ] nunca no bugui bugui ni nunca tampoco, no!”

“¿Y bien?” dice ella. “Supongo, sí – cielo – que eso es lo que llaman el Genio, ¿no?”

.

.

Versión de Alexander Best

.

.

Gordon Parks photographer_Street scene_Three young boys_Harlem_NYC_1943

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June Jordan (1936-2002)

A Poem about Intelligence for my Brothers and Sisters”

.

A few years back and they told me Black

means a hole where other folks

got brain / it was like the cells in the heads

of Black children was out to every hour on the hour naps.

Scientists called the phenomenon the

Notorious Jensen Lapse, remember?

Anyway I was thinking

about how to devise

a test for the wise

like a Stanford-Binet

for the C.I.A.

you know?

Take Einstein

being the most the unquestionable the outstanding

the maximal mind of the century

right?

And I’m struggling against this lapse leftover

from my Black childhood to fathom why

anybody should say so:

E=MC squared?

.

I try that on this old lady live on my block:

She sweeping away Saturday night from the stoop

and mad as can be because some absolute

jackass have left a kingsize mattress where

she have to sweep around it stains and all she

don’t want to know nothing about in the first place.

“Mrs. Johnson!” I say, leaning on the gate

between us: “What you think about somebody come up

with an E equals M C 2?

“How you doin,” she answer me, sideways, like she don’t

want to let on she know I ain’

combed my hair yet and here it is

Sunday morning but still I have the nerve

to be bothering serious work with these crazy

questions about

E equals what you say again, dear?”

Then I tell her, “Well

also this same guy? I think

he was undisputed Father of the Atom Bomb!”

“That right.” She mumbles or grumbles, not too politely

“And dint remember to wear socks when he put on

his shoes!” I add on (getting desperate).

At which point Mrs. Johnson take herself and her broom

a very big step down the stoop away from me.

“And never did nothing for nobody in particular

lessen it was a committee

and

used to say, ‘What time is it?’

and

you’d say, ‘Six o’clock.’

and

he’d say, ‘Day or night?’

and –

and he never made nobody a cup a tea

in his whole brilliant life!

and

[my voice rises slightly]

and

he dint never boogie neither: never!

.

“Well,” say Mrs. Johnson, “Well, honey,

I do guess

that’s Genius for you.”

.     .     .     .     .


Audre Lorde: “Afuera” / “Outside”

ZP_Audrey Lorde poster copyright artist Beeswax Goatskull

Audre Lorde (18 de febrero, 1934 – 1992)

Afuera” (1977)

.

1.

En el centro de una ciudad cruel y fantasmal
todas las cosas naturales son extrañas.
Crecí en una confusión genuina
entre césped y maleza y flores
y lo que significaba “de color”
excepto la ropa que no se podía blanquear
y nadie me llamó negra de mierda
hasta que tuve trece.
Nadie linchó a mi mamá
pero lo que nunca había sido
había blanqueado su cara de todo
excepto de furias muy privadas
e hizo que los otros chicos
me llamaran agrandada en la escuela.
Y cuántas veces he vuelto a llamarme
a través de mis huesos confusión
negra
como médula queriendo decir carne
y cuántas veces me cortaste
e hiciste correr en las calles
mi propia sangre
quién creés que soy
que estás aterrorizado de transformarte
o qué ves en mi cara
que no hayas descartado ya
en tu propio espejo
qué cara ves en mis ojos
que algún día
vas a
reconocer como la tuya
A quién maldeciré por haber crecido
creyendo en la cara de mi madre
o por haber vivido temiendo la oscuridad potente
usando la forma de mi padre
ambos me marcaron
con su amor ciego y terrible
y ahora estoy lasciva por mi propio nombre.

.

2.


Entre los cañones de sus terribles silencios
Madre brillante y padre marrón
busco ahora mis propias formas
porque nunca hablaron de mí
excepto como suya
y los pedazos con que tropiezo y me caigo
aún registro como prueba
de que soy hermosa
dos veces
bendecida con las imágenes
de quienes fueron
y quienes pensé alguna vez que eran
de lo que traslado
hacia y a través
y lo que necesito
dejar detrás de mí
más que nada
estoy bendecida en los seres que soy
que han venido a hacer de nuestras caras rotas un todo.

.     .     .

Audre Lorde (born February 18th, 1934, died 1992)

Outside”

(first published in The American Poetry Review, Vol.6, #1, Jan.-Feb. 1977)

.

1.

In the centre of a harsh and spectrumed city

all things natural are strange.

I grew up in a genuine confusion

between grass and weeds and flowers

and what “colored” meant

except for clothes you couldn’t bleach

and nobody called me nigger

until I was thirteen.

Nobody lynched my momma

but what she’d never been

had bleached her face of everything

but very private furies

and made the other children

call me yellow snot at school.

.

And how many times have I called myself back

through my bones confusion

black

like marrow meaning meat

for my soul’s hunger

and how many times have you cut me

and run in the streets

my own blood

who do you think me to be

that you are terrified of becoming

or what do you see in my face

you have not already discarded

in your own mirror

what face do you see in my eyes

that you will someday

come to

acknowledge your own.

.

Who shall I curse that I grew up

believing in my mother’s face

or that I lived in fear of the potent darkness

that wore my father’s shape

they have both marked me

with their blind and terrible love

and I am lustful now for my own name.

.

2.

Between the canyons of my parents’ silences

mother bright and father brown

I seek my own shapes now

for they never spoke of me

except as theirs

and the pieces that I stumble and fall over

I still record as proof

that I am beautiful

twice

blessed with the images

of who they were

and who I thought them to be

of what I move toward

and through

and what I need

to leave behind me

for most of all I am

blessed within my selves

who are come

to make our shattered faces whole.

.     .     .

Otros poemas de Audre Lorde:  https://zocalopoets.com/2012/07/01/mujer-y-de-la-casa-de-iemanja-por-audre-lorde-woman-and-from-the-house-of-yemanja-by-audre-lorde/

.     .     .     .     .


Gwendolyn Brooks: “Estar enamorado” / “To be in love”

Francks François Décéus _Cloud 9_2012

Francks François Décéus _Cloud 9_2012

Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000)

“Estar enamorado”

.

Estar enamorado

es tocar con mano más suave.

En tú mismo te estiras – y estás bien.

Miras las cosas con los ojos de él.

Es rojo el cardenal, es azul el cielo;

y de repente sabes que él lo sabe también.

Él no está allí pero

sabes que ustedes los dos están probando juntos

el invierno o el tiempo primaveral.

Cuando toma tu mano

es demasiado soportar.

No puedes encontrar sus ojos

porque tu pulso no debe decir

lo que no debe ser dicho.

Cuando cierra la puerta,

o cuando él no está,

tus brazos se convierten en agua.

Y eres libre con una libertad horrible.

Eres la bella mitad de un daño de oro.

Recuerdas…pues codicias su boca

– tocarla, y susurrar sobre esos labios.

Ay, cuando declarar el Amor – ¡es una Muerte, por seguro!

Oh, cuando notificar es cautivar…

Y ver rendirse la Columna de Oro

en ceniza ordinaria.

.

Traducción del inglés: Alexander Best

.     .     .

Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000)

“To be in love”

.

To be in love
Is to touch with a lighter hand.
In yourself you stretch, you are well.
You look at things
Through his eyes.
A cardinal is red.
A sky is blue.
Suddenly you know he knows too.
He is not there but
You know you are tasting together
The winter, or a light spring weather.
His hand to take your hand is overmuch.
Too much to bear.
You cannot look in his eyes
Because your pulse must not say
What must not be said.
When he
Shuts a door,
Is not there,
Your arms are water.
And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.
You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt.
You remember and covet his mouth
To touch, to whisper on.
Oh, when to declare
Is certain Death!
Oh, when to apprize
Is to mesmerize,
To see fall down, the Column of Gold,
Into the commonest ash.

.     .     .

Otros poemas de Gwendolyn Brooks:

https://zocalopoets.com/2014/01/30/gwendolyn-brooks-mis-suenos-mis-trabajos-tendran-que-esperar-hasta-mi-vuelta-del-infierno/

.     .     .     .     .


Aida Overton Walker: Glamour on The Stage – a century ago

Aida Overton Walker in a glamour portrait from the first decade of the 20th century

Aida Overton Walker (February 14th, 1880 – 1914) dazzled early 20th century American audiences with her original dance routines, an enchanting singing voice, and a penchant for elegant costumes. She was one of the premiere African-American women artists from the end of The Gilded Age, the Cake-Walk era, the dawn of Jazz’s birth. In addition to her alluring stage persona and  acclaimed performances, she won the hearts of Black entertainers for numerous benefit performances near the end of her all-too-brief life. She was, in the words of the New York Age‘s Lester Walton, the exponent of “clean, refined artistic entertainment.”

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Born in Richmond, Virginia, Aida Overton grew up in New York City, where she gained an education and considerable musical training. At the age of fifteen, she joined John Isham’s Octoroons, a  Black touring group of the 1890s, and the following year she became a member of The Black Patti Troubadours. Although these shows consisted of dozens of performers, Overton emerged as one of the most promising “soubrettes” of her day. In 1898, she joined the company of the famous comedy team Bert Williams and George Walker, appearing in all of their extravaganzas—The Policy Players (1899), The Sons of Ham (1900), In Dahomey (1903), Abyssinia (1905), and Bandanna Land (1907). Within about a year of their meeting, George Walker and Overton had married and before long became the most admired of African-American couples on stage.

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While George Walker supplied most of the ideas for the musical comedies and Bert Williams enjoyed fame as the “funniest man in America,” it was Aida who became the indispensable member of the Williams and Walker Company. In The Sons of Ham, for example, her rendition of Hannah from Savannah won praise for combining superb vocal control with acting skill that together presented a  strong image of Black womanhood. Indeed, onstage Aida refused to comply with the “Plantation image” of Black women as plump Mammies, happy to serve; like her husband, she viewed the representation of refined African-American types on the stage as important political work. A talented dancer, Aida improvised original routines that her husband eagerly introduced in their shows; when In Dahomey played in England, Aida proved to be its strongest attraction. Society women invited her to their homes for private lessons in the exotic Cake Walk that the Walkers had included in the show. After two seasons in England, the company returned to the United States in 1904, and Aida was featured in a New York Herald interview about their tour. At times Walker asked his wife to interpret dances made famous by other performers—one example being the “Salome” dance that took Broadway by storm in the early 1900s.

George Walker (1873-1911), attired for "In Dahomey" (1903)

George Walker (1873-1911), attired for “In Dahomey” (1903)

Bert Williams_1875-1922

Bert Williams_1875-1922


After a decade of nearly continuous success with the Williams and Walker Company, Aida’s career took an unexpected turn when her husband collapsed on tour with Bandanna Land. Initially Walker returned to his boyhood home of Lawrence, Kansas, where his mother cared for him. In his absence, Aida took over many of his songs and dances to keep the company together. In early 1909, however, Bandanna Land was forced to close, and Aida temporarily retired from stage work to care for her husband, now seriously ill. No doubt recognizing that he would not recover and that she alone must support the family, she returned to the stage in Bob Cole and J. Rosamond Johnson’s Red Moon in the autumn of 1909, and she joined the Smart Set Company in 1910. Aida also began touring the Vaudeville circuit as a solo act. Less than two weeks after Walker’s death in January 1911, she signed a two-year contract to appear as a co-star with S. H. Dudley in another all-Black traveling show.
Aida Overton Walker_portrait made at the Apeda Studio NYC
Although still a relatively young woman in the early 1910s, Aida began to develop medical problems that limited her capacity for constant touring and stage performance. As early as 1908, she had organized benefits to aid such institutions as the Industrial Home for Colored Working Girls, and after her contract with S. H. Dudley expired, she devoted more of her energy to such projects, which allowed her to remain in New York City. She also took an interest in developing the talents of younger women in the profession, hoping to pass along her vision of Black performance as refined and elegant. She produced shows for two such female groups in 1913 and 1914—the Porto Rico Girls and the Happy Girls. She encouraged them to “work up” original dance numbers and insisted that they don stylish costumes on stage.

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When Aida Overton Walker died suddenly of kidney failure on October 11, 1914, the AfricanAmerican entertainment community in New York went into deep mourning. The New York Age featured a lengthy obituary on its front page, and hundreds of people descended on her residence to confirm a story they hoped was untrue. Walker left behind a legacy of polished performances and model professionalism. Her demand for respect – and her generosity – made her a belovéd figure in African-American theater circles.

Aida Overton Walker in 1912

Aida Overton Walker in 1912

 

Reprinted from:

Jazz: Black Musical Theater in New York, 1890-1915. Washington, D.C., Smithsonian Institution Press, 1989, Thomas L Riis

. . . . .


Zócalo Poets: Poems of Love and Desire

Hummingbird_photograph copyright Paul Nguyen

Love and Desire are Eternal, the very Essence of Poetry. Today is Valentine’s Day and Zócalo Poets has a variety of poems about Life’s inexhaustible themes. Some of them are short enough that you should be able to memorize them for that special someone – be you secret admirer or BFF!

.     .     .

Langston Hughes (1902-1967)

Easy Boogie”

Down in the bass
That steady beat
Walking walking walking
Like marching feet.

Down in the bass
They easy roll,
Rolling like I like it
In my soul.

Riffs, smears, breaks.

Hey, Lawdy Mama!
Do you hear what I said?
Easy like I rock it

In my bed!

.     .     .

Helene Johnson (1906-1995)

Poem” [from the 1920s]
Little brown boy,
Slim, dark, big-eyed,
Crooning love songs to your banjo
Down at the Lafayerre–
Gee, boy, I love the way you hold your head,
High sort of and a bit to one side,
Like a prince, a jazz prince. And I love
Your eyes flashing, and your hands,
And your patent-leathered feet,
And your shoulders jerking the jig-wa.
And I love your teeth flashing,
And the way your hair shines in the spotlight
Like it was the real stuff.
Gee, brown boy, I loves you all over.
I’m glad I’m a jig. I’m glad I can
Understand your dancin’ and your
Singin’, and feel all the happiness
And joy and don’t care in you.
Gee, boy, when you sing, I can close my ears
And hear tom-toms just as plain.
Listen to me, will you, what do I know
About tom-toms? But I like the word, sort of,
Don’t you? It belongs to us.
Gee, boy, I love the way you hold your head,
And the way you sing, and dance,
And everything.
Say, I think you’re wonderful. You’re
Allright with me,
You are.

.     .     .

Audre Lorde (1934-1992)

Woman”

I dream of a place between your breasts

to build my house like a haven

where I plant crops

in your body,

an endless harvest

where the commonest rock

is moonstone and ebony opal,

giving milk to all of my hungers,

and your night comes down upon me

like a nurturing rain.

.     .     .

 

And more Poems…..

.

Claude McKay’s The Snow Fairy:

https://zocalopoets.com/2014/01/21/claude-mckay-the-snow-fairy/

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Langston Hughes’ Love Poems and Blues Poems:

https://zocalopoets.com/2013/02/01/love-poems-blues-poems-from-the-harlem-renaissance/

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Pat Parker’s Love poems:

https://zocalopoets.com/2013/06/29/loving-the-ladies-the-poems-of-pat-parker/

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Contemporary Love poems:

https://zocalopoets.com/2013/12/09/bird-songs-accompany-our-laughter-poems-of-love-and-desire-2/

.     .     .


Amor o Libertad: una canción “Soul” de los años 70: “Libre” por Deniece Williams

This is Niecy_1976 debut album by Deniece Williams

Deniece Williams (nacido en 1950)

Libre” (1976)

.

Susurrando en su oído,

mi pocón mágica de Amor;

diciéndole que soy sincera

y que no hay nada que es demasiado bueno para nosotros

.

Pero – quiero ser libre – libre – libre…

Y tengo que ser yo, sí, yo, sí – yo.

.

Manos coqueteandos en su cabeza

dan misterio a nuestras noches;

hay alegría todo el tiempo – ah, ¡como me complace ese hombre!

.

Pero – quiero ser libre – libre – libre…

Y tengo que ser yo, sí, yo, sí – yo.

.

Sintiéndote cerca de mí

hace sonreír todos mis sentidos;

no desperdiciemos nuestro arrobamiento

porque me quedo aquí solo un ratito

.

Y quiero ser libre – libre – libre…

Y tengo que ser yo, sí, yo, ah sí – yo.

.     .     .

Deniece Williams (born 1950)

Free” (1976)

.

Whispering in his ear
My magic potion for love
Telling him I’m sincere
And that there’s nothing too good for us
.
But I want to be free, free, free
And I’ve just got to be me yeah, me, me
.
Teasing hands on his mind
Give our nights such mystery
Happiness all the time
Oh and how that man pleases me
.
But I want to be free, free, free
And I’ve just got to be me, me, me
.
Feeling you close to me
Makes all my senses smile
Let’s not waste ecstasy
‘Cause I’ll only be here for a while
.
And I’ve got to be free, free, free-eee, ohh-ohh
And I just wanna be me, yeah – me.

.     .     .

.

.     .     .     .     .


Amor y un alma vieja: “Yendo a la deriva” por Jimi Hendrix

Nancy Reiner_Cover drawing for posthumous Jimi Hendrix album The Cry of Love released in February 1971Jimi Hendrix (1942-1970)

Yendo a la deriva” (1970)

.
Yendo a la deriva
En un mar de lágrimas olvidadas
En un bote salvavidas
Navegando para
Tu amor: mi hogar.

Ah ah ah…
.
Yendo a la deriva
En un mar de antiguas angustias
En un bote salvavidas
Tirando para
Tu amor,

Tirando para

mi hogar.

Ah ah ah oooo ah…

. . .

Jimi Hendrix (1942-1970)

Drifting” (1970)

.

Drifting
On a sea of forgotten teardrops
On a lifeboat
Sailing for
Your love

Sailing home.

Ah ah ah…
.

Drifting
On a sea of old heartbreaks
On a lifeboat
Sailing for
Your love

Sailing home.

Ah ah ah oooo ah…

.     .     .

.     .     .     .     .


Frank Marshall Davis: “Cuatro Ojeadas de Noche” y “Auto-Retrato” / “Four Glimpses of Night” and “Self-Portrait”

Betye Saar_The Phrenologers Window_1966

Frank Marshall Davis (1905-1987)

Cuatro Ojeadas de Noche”

.

I

.

Ansiosamente

como una mujer que se apura por su amante

La Noche llega en el cuarto del mundo

y se extiende, tierna y satisfecha

contra el rostro fresco y redondo

de la luna.

.

II

.

La Noche es un niño curioso,

vagabundeando entre tierra y cielo,

entrando a hurtadillas por las ventanas y puertas,

pintarrajeando morado

el barrio entero.

El Día es

una madre humilde y modesta

siguiendo con una toallita en la mano.

.

III

.

Yendo puerta a puerta

La Noche vende

bolsas negras de estrellas de menta,

un montón de cucuruchos de luna-vainilla

hasta que

sus bienes están acabados,

pues arrastra los pies de camino a casa,

tintineando las monedas grises del alba.

.

IV

.

El canto quebradizo de la Noche,

hecho de plata, aflautado,

destroza en mil millones de fragmentos de

sombras silenciosas

con el estrépito del jazz

de un sol madrugador.

.     .     .

Frank Marshall Davis (1905-1987)

Four Glimpses of Night”

.

I

.

Eagerly

Like a woman hurrying to her lover

Night comes to the room of the world

And lies, yielding and content

Against the cool round face

Of the moon.

.

II

.

Night is a curious child, wandering

Between earth and sky, creeping

In windows and doors, daubing

The entire neighbourhood

With purple paint.

Day

Is an apologetic mother

Cloth in hand

Following after.

.

III

.

Peddling

From door to door

Night sells

Black bags of peppermint stars

Heaping cones of vanilla moon

Until

His wares are gone

Then shuffles homeward

Jingling the grey coins

Of daybreak.

.

IV

.

Night’s brittle song, sliver-thin,

Shatters into a billion fragments

Of quiet shadows

At the blaring jazz

Of a morning sun.

.     .     .

Betye Saar_Black Girls Window_1969.     .     .

Auto-Retrato” (del poemario Humores negros, 1948)

.

Yo sería

un pintor con palabras,

creando retratos ingeniosos

sobre el lienzo amplio de tu mente,

imágenes de esas cosas

moldeados por mis ojos

algo que me interesa;

pero, porque soy un Décimo Americano

en esta democracia,

bosquejo una miniatura

aunque contraté por un mural.

.

Claro,

Entiendes esta democracia;

Un hombre es bastante bueno como el otro

de una cabaña de troncos hasta La Casa Blanca –

de chico pobre hasta presidente de una empresa –

Hoover y Browder, cada uno con un voto;

en un país libre;

con completa igualdad;

Ah SÍ…

Y los ricos reciben devoluciones de la renta y

los pobres obtienen cheques de asistencia.

.

¿Y YO?

Pago cinco centavos por un sumario de los sucesos del momento;

veinticinco centavos por lo último sobre Hollywood;

tuerzo el dial por “Stardust” o Shostakovich;

y con mi talón de gradería guardo el derecho a gritar: “¡Mata’l cabrón!” al árbitro.

Pues, ¿por qué soy diferente a los nueve otros Americanos?

.

Pero escúchame, tú:

No te preocupes por mí

porque tengo rango.

Soy el converso número 4711 de la Iglesia Bautista Beulah;

Soy Seguridad Social número 337-16-3458 en Washington;

¡Gracias, Señor Dios y Señor Roosevelt!

Y hay algo más que te quiero decir:

No importa lo que pasa…

¡Yo también puedo hacer señas a un policía!

.     .     .

Self-Portrait” (from Black Moods, published 1948)

.

I would be

A painter with words

Creating sharp portraits

On the wide canvas of your mind   

Images of those things

Shaped through my eyes

That interest me;

But being a Tenth American   

In this democracy

I sometimes sketch a miniature   

Though I contract for a mural.

.

Of course

You understand this democracy;

One man as good as another,

From log cabin to White House,

Poor boy to corporation president,   

Hoover and Browder with one vote each,   

A free country,

Complete equality—

Yeah—

And the rich get tax refunds,

The poor get relief cheques.

.

As for myself

I pay five cents for a daily synopsis of current history,

Two bits and the late low-down on Hollywood,

Twist a dial for “Stardust” or Shostakovich,

And with each bleacher stub I reserve the right to shout “Kill the bum!” at the umpire—

Wherefore am I different

From nine other Americans?

.

But listen, you:

Don’t worry about me

I rate!

I’m Convert 4711 at Beulah Baptist Church,   

I’m Social Security No. 337-16-3458 in Washington,

Thank you Mister God and Mister Roosevelt!

And another thing:—

No matter what happens

I too can always call in a policeman!

.

.

.

Traducción del inglés / Translation into Spanish: Alexander Best

.     .     .     .     .


Sterling Allen Brown: “She jes’ gits hold of us dataway”

The family pictured here was part of The Great Migration:  African-Americans on the move from the rural South up or over to towns and cities of the North and MidWest. They wished to escape that Life of which Ma Rainey sang...

The family pictured here was part of The Great Migration: African-Americans on the move from the rural South up or over to towns and cities of the North and MidWest. They wished to escape that Life of which Ma Rainey sang…

Sterling Allen Brown (1901-1989)

Ma Rainey” (1932)

.

I

When Ma Rainey

Comes to town,

Folks from anyplace

Miles aroun’,

From Cape Girardeau,

Poplar Bluff,

Flocks in to hear

Ma do her stuff;

Comes flivverin’ in,

Or ridin’ mules,

Or packed in trains,

Picknickin’ fools. . . .

That’s what it’s like,

Fo’ miles on down,

To New Orleans delta

An’ Mobile town,

When Ma hits

Anywheres aroun’.

.

II

Dey comes to hear Ma Rainey from de little river settlements,

From blackbottorn cornrows and from lumber camps;

Dey stumble in de hall, jes a-laughin’ an’ a-cacklin’,

Cheerin’ lak roarin’ water, lak wind in river swamps.

An’ some jokers keeps deir laughs a-goin’ in de crowded aisles,

An’ some folks sits dere waitin’ wid deir aches an’ miseries,

Till Ma comes out before dem, a-smilin’ gold-toofed smiles

An’ Long Boy ripples minors on de black an’ yellow keys.

.

III

O Ma Rainey,

Sing yo’ song;

Now you’s back

Whah you belong,

Git way inside us,

Keep us strong. . . .

O Ma Rainey,

Li’l an’ low;

Sing us ’bout de hard luck

Roun’ our do’;

Sing us ’bout de lonesome road

We mus’ go. . . 

.

IV

I talked to a fellow, an’ the fellow say,

She jes’ catch hold of us, somekindaway.

She sang Backwater Blues one day:

   It rained fo’ days an’ de skies was dark as night,

   Trouble taken place in de lowlands at night.

   ‘Thundered an’ lightened an’ the storm begin to roll

   Thousan’s of people ain’t got no place to go.

   ‘Den I went an’ stood upon some high ol’ lonesome hill,

   An’ looked down on the place where I used to live.’

An’ den de folks, dey natchally bowed dey heads an’ cried,

Bowed dey heavy heads, shet dey moufs up tight an’ cried,

An’ Ma lef’ de stage, an’ followed some de folks outside.”

Dere wasn’t much more de fellow say:

She jes’ gits hold of us dataway.

.     .     .

Ma Rainey” from The Collected Poems of Sterling A. Brown, edited by Sterling A. Brown. © 1932

Ma Rainey with her band in 1923_Eddie Pollack_Albert Wynn_Thomas A. Dorsey_Dave Nelson_Gabriel Washington

Ma Rainey with her band in 1923_Eddie Pollack_Albert Wynn_Thomas A. Dorsey_Dave Nelson_Gabriel Washington

.     .     .     .     .


Black Hairstory Month: Baldheads, Dreads; Wigs & Things

.     .     .

Okhai Ojeikere  (born Johnson Donatus Aihumekeokhai Ojeikere) died just over a week ago, on February 2nd, 2014, at the age of 83.  Born in 1930 in the Nigerian village of Ovbiomu-Emai, he later mainly worked and lived in Ketu, Nigeria. At the age of 20 he decided to pursue photography;  he began with a humble Brownie D camera without flash, and a friend taught him the technical fundamentals of the art.  He worked as a darkroom assistant from 1954 till about 1960 for the Ministry of Information in Ibadan.  In 1961 he became a studio photographer for Television House Ibadan, and from 1963 to 1975 he was with West Africa Publicity in Lagos.  In 1968, under the auspices of the Nigerian Arts Council, he embarked upon an ambitious project of photo-documenting the many varieties of Nigerian hairstyles.  He printed close to a thousand such pictures.   A selection of Okhai Ojeikere’s prints was featured in the Arsenale at the 55th Venice Biennale in 2013.  To honour Ojeikere’s life we present a century of Black hairstyles, with Ojeikere’s own photographs being Images 17 through 20.

.     .     .Téwodros II_1818 to 1868_Emperor of Ethiopia.

Vintage photographic portrait_date unknown_1890s through 1910 perhaps.

Unknown Black American gentleman_around 1900.

Jenkins and Ardmore Photo Studio_names and date unknown_perhaps first decade of the 20th century.

Hugh Mangum_portrait of a young lady_around 1910.

Edna_1920s_Ross Family Album.

Josephine Baker in a typical glamour shot from the 1920s.

Josephine Baker and her signature Brilliantined hair_1920s.

James VanDerZee_unidentified portrait_NYC_1929

Miss Lois Harris_1940s_Addison Scurlock photographer.

Eskew Reeder a.k.a. Esquerita_1950s_an early influence on Little Richard.

Esquerita visiting the Good Publishing House in Texas.

Little Richard Penniman_Hollywood glamour portrait_1950s.

Little Richard at The Apollo Theatre in 1956.

1961 publicity photo of Aretha Franklin.

Aretha in the mid1960s.

Okhai Ojeikere photographer_Untitled_1968_NigeriaOkhai Ojeikere photographer_Nigerian woman_late 1960sOkhai Ojeikere photographer_Mkpuk EbaOkhai Ojeikere photographer_Modern Suku_1974

.

The Ike and Tina Turner Revue_1966_Tina rocking a wig.

Tina Turner_1970s_Jack Robinson photographer.

Angela Davis.

Sly Stone in 1967 before he let his hair do its own thing...Sylvester Stewart...better known as Sly Stone.

Jimi Hendrix_photograph by Linda McCartney.

Marvin Gaye in 1971.

Ohio Players_inside foldout photograph from their 1973 album entitled Ecstasy.

Isaac Hayes with Pat Evans in 1975

.Isaac Hayes_1942 to 2008_1970s promotional photo for the Stax record label

.

Mende WomanMaasai hairstyle for menBodi boyBob Marley and his natty dreads_1970sNatty Dread by photographer Gregory PrescottSinger Esther Phillips in 1975Portrait of British pop singer SadeStevie Wonder_album cover painting from his Hotter Than July album_1980Grace Jones_1981 Nightclubbing album cover photographTina Turner with her signature hairdo from the 1980sShemar Moore as a teenagerJoie Lee in brother Spikes film Mo Better Blues

South Sudanese British model Alex Wek_born 1977

Fashion model Alex WekHarry BelafonteL. Fountain by Armand Wright_AfricanAmerican Elders

Celia Cruz_cantante cubana_1925 a 2003_Siempre ViveréMiddle aged Rastafarian man_photograph by L New tonDionne Warwick in 2011 at 71 years old...Wow

Snoop Dogg portrait by Mark Sanford_2009Computer Ink drawing of Ludacris by W.B.SantosMetta World Peace of the NBA_born Ronald William Artest Jr.A lovely hairstyle on this young girl highlights her smileAfrican child with beaded braids

Be Yourself !

Be Yourself !