Oh...Hello There, Blog!

Neglect was never my intent. There have been many instances in which I would read a poem, learn of a poet or even (at the least) have a poetic moment in my life and I would say to myself "this would make a splendid blog entry." But, my friends, life has been dangling me by the ankles for a spell now. Between my last blog entry and now, I have had such a tough time finding the energy to read and write (creatively). I have had such a tough time finding...energy. Recently, I began to create pockets for time to do the things I like to do...the things that keep me sane. In September, the Eugene B. Redmond Writers Club had their first meeting for the 2013/2014 season.

Happy 111th Birthday, Langston Hughes!!!

Pastel Drawing of Langston Hughes by Winold Reiss

Happy 111th birthday to poetic legend, Langston Hughes, born on this day, Feb. 1, 1902 in my home state of Missouri! I admire you so very much! One day I'll write great poetry just like you did! Thank You, Brother Hughes! Bless your soul!

The Power of Discovery...Jayne Cortez (May 10, 1934-Dec. 28, 2012)

What most of you did not know (about me, of course) is that I am an active member of the Eugene B. Redmond Writers Club (EBRWC). Founded in March of 1986 and named exclusively after East St. Louis Poet Laureate, Dr. Eugene B. Redmond, the club serves as a poetical and literary voice for African Americans and other underrepresented groups within the East St. Louis/St. Louis community.

As a member, I am often given the responsibility of completing assignments that involve a great deal of research, writing, reading and re-writing. This task , I must admit, is one of the best exercises for me as a writer/reader and has proven to be very beneficial. And yes of course, since poetry is the club's main focus, I am also encouraged and pushed to dig deep into my sack of creativity, pulling out thoughts that I never knew existed. But isn't that what being a poet/creative writer is all about?

One of my most recent assignments involve writing a Kwansaba for poet/activist Jayne Cortez. Cortez, who is stated by Darlene Roy, President of the writers club, to be the first major writer that the EBRWC hosted in a reading and writers workshop as an organization in 1987, passed away late last year on December 28, 2012.

Honestly, until I had learned of the news of her death, I had never heard of her (which shows how much reading I need to do as a poet, esp. a poet of African decent). However, I have been researching her works and I am very impressed and enlightened. This revelation is a great example of the power of discovery. We often miss out on great things/people if we do not seek to find them. And now that I have "found her," read some of her poems, heard her read her poetry live and listened to some of her spoken word recordings, I am very eager to dive into the world of this late, great Black Arts poetess.

My favorite poem of hers that I've come across thus far is "So Long."

My man loved me so much
he wanted to kill me
cause he loved me so good
he wanted to die
cause he loved me without sorrow
so sad without tears
he loved me to kill to die to cry
so much he wanted to scream
cause i loved him too much i
drank his tears
loved him too much
i ate his strength
loved him too much i stole his joy
i loved him to drink to eat to steal
cause we loved so much
so good to love to love
so long to love
so long

Although this is one of many of her brilliant poems I have been exposed to, "So Long" stands out to me the most because of it's content, lyricism and slight repetition  From what I've learned, she has a distinctive voice in the world of poetry and that is very important for all poets. Finding and holding on to your poetical voice is something that Professor Cornelius Eady and I discussed before I graduated from the University of Missouri. My poetical voice is something I am still searching for. However, Cortez found her poetical voice many years ago and demanded that it was heard by all who had ears working well enough to listen.

So...here we have it. I have discovered yet another great poet! I am researching her works. I am writing creatively in praise of the gifts she has left our world; and my journey continues.



Adios!

Poetry as Liberation!

Me (El Williams III) at El Maguey's in the Delmar Loop: Fall 2012!

So it has definitely been way too long since I've blogged. Recently, maybe about a month ago, I was helping a very near and dear friend of mine (my sister) move into her new apartment and like ice-cold water leaping from some motionless shower head, a thought chilled my bones. "Why aren't you blogging?" I asked myself. "It's a very healthy and rational outlet," added my conscience. The question was as pure as honey and the comment as good as any two cents. Aha! All of a sudden, in the midst of my sister's rigorous cleaning, as she Cloroxed the unit's previous tenant's cooties away, I began to reminisce. The remembrance came to me shining bright like gold. In that instance, I began to long for one of the "somethings" (besides my many journals and photographs) that I claimed as my own. My blog. My baby. My poetical universe siting in cyberspace like a forgotten fifty dollar bill tucked tightly in the pocket of jeans untouched since last spring. I needed it and it needed me.

So, here I am. My fingers are pecking my Dell's keyboard in good use again. I am here to blog. Of course, I'll blog about poetry and keep you updated on my world as it deals with poetry. I will also use this blog as a release sometimes. Liberation! Isn't that what blogging is all about? And since poetry is my liberation, my release, the oxygen to my lungs, this ought to be good!


Holla!

"Fuck I Look Like?!"-Kai Davis

Jean Michel Basquiat In Front of One of His Paintings

CITY-AS-SCHOOL
by Kevin Young

Day-trips
in Washington Sq
Park, dropping

out--STONED
ON SAMO. Two hits
of acid a day

& each night
his father Gerard
worrying. Searches

the weeks high
& low. Finds his son
deep in a dice

game wit God.
Blood
shot. Drags Basquiat

like a cigarette
back to Bklyn
to his high school

in the city--
"Papa I'll be very very
famous one day"

delirious Basquiat
declares. Hard
headed, mama's boy,

spleenless--
on a double
dare from Al Diaz,

fills a box with Papa's
shaving cream,
at graduation giving

Principal a white face
full of menthol.
NO POINT

IN GOING BAK--smart
ass Basquiat empties
his locker, heads

for the big city
with Papa's cash
loan. GOOD PLACE

FOR A HANDOUT.
EASY MARK
SUCKER. Surviving

CHILD WITH SEED OF LIFE--
knows only ow to move
forward like a shark

or an 8-track, going
out of style. For broke.
PLUSH SAFE HE THINK:

Only the good
die numb--Bird
& Billie & Jimi

& Jesus--
his heroes
crowned

like a tooth.
GOLD WOOD.
Basquiat begins

with hisself, writes
FAMOUS
NEGRO ATHLETES

on downtown walls,
spraying SAMO
across SoHo--

"royalty, hroism
& the streets"--
covering galleries

with AARON
& OLD TIN. ORIGIN
OF COTTON. NO

MUNDANE OPTIONS.


I will admit, as of right now, I am still in the process of dissecting this poem. A small amount of research helped me to figure out that "CITY-AS-SCHOOL," the title of Kevin Young's poem, is not in reference to one of Jean Michel Basquiat's paintings. However, the title is referring to the high school Basquiat's attended in his home state, New York (City-As-School Location). Therefore, this poem is not ekphrastic, as I thought it was, but it is biographical. With that said,

Toi Derricotte's Visit to the University of Missouri-Columbia!

Poet Toi Derricotte

Tender, University of Pittsburgh Press, ( 1997)

Family Secrets    They told my cousin Rowena not to marry Calvin―she was too young, just eighteen, & he was too dark, too too dark, as if he had been washed in what we wanted to wipe off our hands. Besides, he didn't come from a good family. He said he was going to be a lawyer, but we didn't quite believe. The night they eloped to the Gotham Hotel, the whole house whispered―as if we were ashamed to tell it to ourselves. My aunt and uncle rushed down to the Gotham to plead― we couldn't imagine his hands on her! Families are conceived in many ways. The night my cousin Calvin lay down on her, that idol with its gold skin broke, & many of the gods we loved in secret were freed. —from Tender 1997

When speaking about confessional poetry, Toi Derricotte quoted her former mentor, poet Audre Lorde, by explaining “Shame keeps everyone silent; and silence keeps everything the same.” Indeed, this is very true and was one of many statements that stood out from Derricotte’s visit to our class. After reading Derricote’s poetry, attending her reading and having her personally visit our Contemporary African-American Poetry course, I now have a better understanding of the need to break that “silence” through the use of poetry.  There is a necessity for this kind of poetry, because it acts as a medium for comprehending the reality of conventions and customs, the consciousness of opinion and the desire for equality. For example, in her poem, “Family Secrets,” the speaker explains how the concept of believing that lighter skin tones are superior to darker skin tones in the black community is an idea that is lost when those of different shades come into physical contact with one another. The speaker states “The night my cousin Calvin lay/down on her, that idol with its gold skin/broke, & many of the gods we loved/in secret were freed.” Derricotte’s enthusiasm and explanation of Cave Canem, the poetry foundation co-founded by her, was also very informative. In her explanation, she explained how the program came about, because there as a need for black poets to have a safe haven where they could write the poetry they really wanted to. She told our class that “there are a lot of black poets out there who are invisible,” and that there are “a lot of people ready to really write great poetry.” Derricotte’s notion of there being a strong desire for providing black poets with a place to congregate artistically as writers was, indeed, true. As a poet, I admire Cave Canem. Hopefully, I can attend a retreat with her one day and write under her guidance.