Poem for Your Pocket: Bishop's "The Map"

(@Left: Young people from Upton -- my old neighborhood -- participating in the Maps on Purpose project)



In honor of April 17th's "Poem in Your Pocket Day" and of the current delicious blockbuster exhibit "Maps: Finding Our Place
in the World / Mapping the Cosmos" at the Walters Art Museum, and other locations around town as part of the Baltimore Festival of Maps -- including us --, a poem from the great Elizabeth Bishop, from her amazing first book, North and South.


The Map

Land lies in water; it is shadowed green.
Shadows, or are they shallows, at its edges
showing the line of long sea-weeded ledges
where weeds hang to the simple blue from green.
Or does the land lean down to lift the sea from under,
drawing it unperturbed around itself?
Along the fine tan sandy shelf
is the land tugging at the sea from under?



The shadow of Newfoundland lies flat and still.
Labrador's yellow, where the moony Eskimo
has oiled it. We can stroke these lovely bays,
under a glass as if they were expected to blossom,
or as if to provide a clean cage for invisible fish.
The names of seashore towns run out to sea,
the names of cities cross the neighboring mountains
-the printer here experiencing the same excitement
as when emotion too far exceeds its cause.
These peninsulas take the water between thumb and finger
like women feeling for the smoothness of yard-goods.

Mapped waters are more quiet than the land is,
lending the land their waves' own conformation:
and Norway's hare runs south in agitation,
profiles investigate the sea, where land is.
Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors?
-What suits the character or the native waters best.
Topography displays no favorites; North's as near as West.
More delicate than the historians' are the map-makers' colors.

Lit Up

As a teaser for next Saturday's City Lit Festival (Central Pratt Library Saturday April 19th), a poem by Baltimore's own Wei Yafeng -- aka 'Afaa' Michael Weaver ("Perhaps the only established African American poet who speaks, writes, and reads Chinese" according to Poets & Writers magazine, which featured him on its cover at the end of 2007). Baltimore City is proclaiming April 19th "Afaa Michael Weaver Day" in honor of him and his new book, The Plum Flower Dance: Poems 1985 to 2005.

My Father's Geography

I was parading the Côte d'Azur,
hopping the short trains from Nice to Cannes,
following the maze of streets in Monte Carlo
to the hill that overlooks the ville.
A woman fed me pâté in the afternoon,
calling from her stall to offer me more.
At breakfast I talked in French with an old man
about what he loved about America--the Kennedys.

On the beaches I walked and watched
topless women sunbathe and swim,
loving both home and being so far from it.

At a phone looking to Africa over the Mediterranean,
I called my father, and, missing me, he said,
"You almost home boy. Go on cross that sea!"

From My Father's Geography (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1992)

Weaver's personal story is amazing, and I admire both his work, and how he is a walking, breathing 'symbol of growth' -- not many black men who start in East Baltimore end up as professors and students of Chinese.

Weaver on Black Male Poetics

Listen to an audio clip of him reading "Theme For Intermediate Chinese", from the Academy of American Poets website

Even in the short time I've known him, his constant desire to learn and improve has been truly inspirational. I am not ashamed to say he's someone I look up to (figuratively and literally:). I'm looking forward to seeing him again, and to all the other writers -- Dr. Ben Carson, Dan Fesperman, Laura Lippman, Manil Suri, and children's book author Carole Boston Weatherford among them -- literary journals and just plain olf fans of reading who will be joining us on the 19th. Hope to see you there!

Happy National Poetry & Jazz Appreciation Month!

April, April....a very dreary beginning to the month yesterday morning here suddenly blossomed into a glorious and warm afternoon and evening. Considering all the flowering trees (..and my blooming sinuses) Spring (or something like it) has arrived.




In honor of the 12th National Poetry Month -- an excerpt from a poem by the great Jay Wright on this year's poster(viewed at right: download the pdf here) -- and also of the 8th Jazz Appreciation Month ([El]La Fitzgerald from the Verve Songbook series seen at left: pdf here), the librarian in me recommends:

Sascha Feinstein and Yusuf Komunyakaa's Jazz Poetry Anthology and The Second Set (The Jazz Poetry Anthology, Volume 2)

Sascha Feinstein's journal Brilliant Corners

Art Lange and Nathaniel Mackey's Moment's Notice: Jazz in Poetry and Prose

and the Kevin Young edited Jazz Poems

My own small contribution to the party and the joys of the month appears below, from 10 Tongues. Enjoy!

Dad on Tenor

Paint me a dream of the late
1950's: men in somber suits
and skinny ties. Everyone
wears hats. The South exploding
with the new thing -- "Civil Rights"
The North feeling bewildered,
superior again.

My father plays his horn 'Round
Midnight and beyond, dances notes
into Eisenhower's straightlaced sky
higher than a Sputnik, is the Negro
giving wet dreams to beatniks
across the tops of cities contemplating jazz...

The universe fits onto a 10" record,
and every blue note is a gem,
filled with epic rhythms
rolling louder than a drum.

Rock and Roll is Chuck Berry,
a painted Little Richard, white boys
stealing The Blues, imitating Louis Jordan
badly, a kid from Mississippi your mother
swears has some cullud in him somewhere

My mother's hands snake around him
sweet and sad as a bass line, her body
just as bowed with child. White girls wink
from the corners bright
high notes trilled from the piano.
The discords of the '60's wait to mug him
at the far end of the street. For now

the world is his, whispers like a lover
All the Things You Are into his ear
as he steps up to the mike, wets the reed,
wraps a smile around the mouthpiece.
Far off a voice calls out

Blow,
      Daddy,
              Blow!

Playing Ketchup

A long time away (problems on the home PC! I have NO IDEA what's going on in the world without my usual, semi-obsessive, nightly blogrolling!:) In any case, a couple of quick things I wanted to say....

Got caught in downtown Baltimore on the Sunday of our annual St Patrick's Day Parade. I usually miss this, the 2nd largest parade in the city, after the Preakness Parade, simply because I'm not particularly a fan of being in a crowd of people drunk on green beer (did enough of that in college, thank you very much....) However, as superpacked as it was, and as tied up traffic was, it wasn't too bad. Being Baltimore, it was probably one of the more 'multicultural' St Pats events. Family rumor has it that WE'RE part Irish, on my mother's side ( "Black Irish" ? AfroCelts?), but who knows...

One thing that struck me, however (more on the Friday before the St Pats weekend, when some co-workers and I just happened to stop into a downtown Irish Pub for lunch. Over the bar they have a sign saying "Help Wanted: Irish Need Not Apply" (click on the link to their website to see it). I was reminded that, a little over 100 years ago, discrimination against the Irish was almost as strong as it was against blacks, and their wave of Potato Famine-related immigration to this country was strongly condemmed. In the words of author Noel Ignatiev, the Irish "Became White", and now annually celebrate their heritage.

Hmmm.....Does this mean that, 100 years from now, folks will be wearing "Besa me soy mejicano/Kiss me I'm Mexican" t-shirts on Cinco de Mayo?


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Like many, I was also thrilled and astonished by Barack Obama's "Race Speech". If you have not read it or seen him deliver it, PLEASE do so now. IMHO it is an 'instant classic' and one that (I hope) people will read and youngsters will recite portions of for years to come. He said many things a lot of us have always wanted to say, but could not completley articulate.

And as for Rev Wright: Many of my friends and family agree -- he said nothing that many of us have not either said, or heard people say in churches, living rooms, barbershops and beauty salons across black America. Only they have not been snipped and cut, YouTubed and replayed ad nauseam by the media, and used as a club to beat down an uncommonly decent man. As Mr Obama said: Not this time! A national conversation on race is long (LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONGGGG!) overdue. The problem is there are going to be a lot of truths told, and pain dug up that our fake-nostalgia loving but otherwise historically antithetic country would rather not deal with. But if not now, when? If not Obama, who?


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Finally, as a follow up to a previous post: I saw this young man again recently, not writing, but sitting on the bus, listening to his I-Pod. However, just the other day I saw ANOTHER young black man, journaling away while in transit. He caught me looking and gave me a half smile and the 'Universal Black Man "Wazzup brotha" Head Nod' (patent pending). I did the same to him, and he went back to writing. TODAY I saw a woman pull out a spiral notebook and begin reading a section of a journal (her own? Someone else's?)

Hmm...Baltimore: The City That Journals......

O Albany! O Mores!

More on this later...although Salon's Glenn Greenwald captures a lot of my thinking very well... but for now (and to be positive)....Welcome Governor David Paterson!

And why, when thinking of Spitzer, did I think of this?

ANGELO
Well; come to me to-morrow.

LUCIO
[Aside to ISABELLA] Go to; 'tis well; away!

ISABELLA
Heaven keep your honour safe!

ANGELO
[Aside] Amen:
For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers cross.

ISABELLA
At what hour to-morrow
Shall I attend your lordship?

ANGELO
At any time 'fore noon.

ISABELLA
'Save your honour!

Exeunt ISABELLA, LUCIO, and Provost

ANGELO
From thee, even from thy virtue!
What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine?
The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
Ha!
Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I
That, lying by the violet in the sun,
Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary
And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
Dost thou desire her foully for those things
That make her good? O, let her brother live!
Thieves for their robbery have authority
When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,
That I desire to hear her speak again,
And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?
O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,
With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
Is that temptation that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art and nature,
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite. Even till now,
When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd how.

Shakespeare, Measure for Measure (Act 2, scene 2)

It Was 20 Years Ago Today......

Relationships and trust do not remain constant. They are maintained and deepened only as you actively nurture and build on them with regular acts of kindness, consideration, appreciation and service. I learned that both the quality of our marriage and my own happiness had very little to do with what she was doing for me, and everything to do with whatIwas trying to do everyday to foster her happiness, share her burdens, and partner with her in the things we care most about. I've learned that unity in my relationship with my wife is one of the greatest, enabling sources of power in my life -- not only in our most significant work in the family and community together, but in every area of my life, including professionally. It creates a well of strength, peace, joy, belonging and energy that fuels my best work, creativity and drive to contribute.*

March 1998:I'm sure I was out that night, at some bar or club somewhere, otherwise I doubt that I would have wound up at the after hours club, The Last Stop. A (barely) converted warehouse (someone told me they they made and stored coffins there sometime during the building's history), it was one of the centers of House Music in Baltimore. It was also a place some friends of mine warned me about: dark, smoke-filled (both cigarettes and weed), illegally selling alcohol after hours....'dangerous.' I went anyway. I liked the music, and felt comfortable with the crowd.

Mark was probably in the club that night, and we probably saw each other, but didn't speak. Didn't really meet until after we'd left the club. We talked. We connected. We 'hooked up.' We exchanged phone numbers. And, being 'typical men' we didn't call each other.

A week or so later, I got a phone call from someone I didn't know, who was one of Mark's friends. Apparently he had been talking about me so much his friend, Butch, couldn't take it anymore: If Mark wasn't going to call, he would. Butch invited me over to his place to meet Mark again. (By one of those 'Baltimore is an Overgrown Small Town' coincidences, the home is within walking distance of where we live now). Amazingly, I went over to visit this person who I didn't know, to meet someone I'd only met once. He was lying on the floor in the club basement, watching TV when I arrived. I lay myself down beside him.

We've been together ever since. (Thank you Butch...we miss you and Jayson!)

It has not been easy. I am not the easiest person to get along with. However you feel about astrology, it is unfortunately true that I embody many of the negative features of Cancer the Crab: Moody, mercurial, silent, slow to change. And (to tell tales on myself here)....well, let's just say that over the years there have been occasional flare ups of my family's (apparently genetic) inability to keep our pants on. He's no angel either (although you didn't hear that from me!). Through it all, however, we've managed to hang in there with each other.

Time is a very odd thing, and memory plays tricks. There are things that I remember from before we met that I think he experienced as well. There are also events that we both attended that I sometimes don't remember him being there. Whenever I have to go someplace without him, even though we may not call each other every day, I usually find myself thinking, "Mark should be here to see this," or "We have to come back here together" (at which point I'll call 3 or 4 times, with a step by step description of where I am!:) Our being together just *is* some times, like the air is always there, allowing you to breathe without even thinking about it. He really is my 'Other Half,' my solid foundation, and I'm not entirely sure I'd even be here if it weren't for him to help hold things together.

For various reasons, we didn't do a big blow-out celebration. I took the day off. We sat in the front row for a performance of Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead at Center Stage (Mark had seen the film version on cable, and wondered about a possible 'gay subtext'. The local production, using two African American actors, Michael Jean Dozier and Howard W. Overshown, as the title characters (and the only black people on stage; photo above) did little to disabuse him of the notion that R & G were involved in some kind of long-term relationship. The production also starred one of our favorite local actors/characters, Laurence O'Dwyer (photo below), as The Player). We also ran into (the cute) Mr. Dozier outside after the play and congratulated him on his performance. Then it was on to one of our favorite 'hangs' for something to eat between glances at election returns from Texas, Ohio, Vermont and Rhode Island, and then home. "Special," yes, but also 'just another day' in what has felt to us for quite some time as our 'married life' together (even though we took a pass on actually tying the knot on our last visit to Toronto. This year, the Maryland Legislature looks like it's moving toward something vaguely like civil unions even as we speak.)

Just like Charles Barkley, we do not consider ourselves Role Models. We are too imperfect and there have been too many bumps in the road for us to comfortably pass ourselves off as people others should emulate. And we're not unique: another black gay male couple we know (but don't see anywhere nearly enough) will celebrate twenty years together later this year. Don't believe the hype: It happens. But it happens with a lot of communication and a lot of work, day by day, week in, week out. And it's worth it.


(The Other Half points the way to the next 20 years...I love you, boo!:)

Finally, I'm learning that strong relationships require real effort and sacrifice. They require putting someone else's well-being, growth and happiness before your own. And oh, how it's worth it! For such effort is the door to our own happiness. What would we do without the pull of such relationships that help us get outside ourselves and become equal to our potential? -- *Quoted in The 8th Habit: From Effectiveness to Greatness by Stephen R. Covey

Baltimore: The City that Writes

One of the many futures of (African) American Literature, hard at (and on the way to) work in Baltimore today

Potomac Pounding

Quite an amazing showing by Senator Obama here in the Mid-Atlantic and the "Potomac Primary" yesterday. Turn out was heavy, in spite of the bad weather here (roads and traffic was horrible in Maryland, sadly forcing the cancellation of a program here at the library with author Nathan McCall....he'll reschedule...), which led to an 1 1/2 hour voting time extension. My poll-working brother-in-law and his wife were none too happy about that, but most everyone else was fine with it (their two sons seemed okay with their parents being out later, as their somewhat more lenient uncles allowed them to watch cartoons and play video and computer games longer than their parents would have done!)

More amazingly, Maryland delivered an extremely rare 'here's your hat, what's your hurry' upset to two incumbent House members: Republican Wayne Gilchrest was defeated by state legislator Dr. Andy Harris (..no relation...:). It was NOT a pretty campaign as Gilchrest was painted as 'too liberal' for working with members on the other side of the aisle: he was one of the only two Republicans to vote with House Democrats for a timetable for withdrawing American troops from Iraq, for example. What can I say? It's the Maryland 1st. Covering the entire Eastern Shore and parts of long-time Republican strongholds in Anne Arundel and other counties on the Western Shore, "Liberal = Communist" in much of that district.

The other surprise was the defeat of Al Wynn in the Maryland 4th by Donna Edwards, who just barely lost in her previous attempt to unseat him. Feeling was generally positive toward Wynn for much of his term, but he's turned increasingly to the right on a number of issues, and has become too comfortable with donations from the oil and banking industries for those of us over here on the left side of the spectrum. It also didn't hurt that Edwards attempted to embrace Senator Obama's mantra of "Change" (literally in some cases, as seen in this photo of her at Barack's University of Maryland rally)

A graphic from the Baltimore Sun on Maryland's Political Landscape (Hey, we really are "America in Miniature"!:)

Many thanks, however, to JohnK, for pointing out that, while we were voting, so was the Senate, on the FISA bill, moving to expand presidential powers to snoop on US citizens and give retroactive immunity to telecommunications companies who listen in on phone calls in the 'hunt for terrorists.' Shame on Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid for collapsing like a house of cards before this travesty.

Deep in the Heart of....

Yet another reason my Other Half has no desire to visit Texas (despite my raves about Austin) -- Bolaño banned from the prison system (many thanks to the great Maude Newton for the heads up).

I'm impressed that someone behind bars was attempting to improve themselves by reading Roberto, but did the system think the offending passage was going to give the inmates ideas -- "Hey let's try this too!" -- although the description is of a heterosexual encounter (as if sexual activity doesn't happen behind bars anyway, sans literary influence).

I agree with Maude, Bolaño himself would have been amused this turn of events (and probably included it in his next fiction). I am so tempted right now to buy some copies and ship them to Texas (and/or give a call to our local jail librarian and see if they have the book here in Baltimore)!

Safe Journeys, Dearest Vincent

What does it mean to heal, from betrayal by those who have often stood closest to us, to heal from the burdens of the past, to heal our insulted humanity, to heal from the belief that we are not holy and imbued with sacred function? And at what cost do we ignore our fatigue, deeply repressed angers, the bleeding absence of love, our silenced stories? We can and should talk and share and support one another, but the first order of business is relearning how to love and care for our individual selves/our souls. This is our primary sacred task and, as well, our road to liberation.

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Cave Canem Remembers Vincent Woodard (1971-2008) (PDF)

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UPDATE
Sunday, Feb 24 @ 1230 - 130pm
A Celebration of Vincent Woodard (d. 2008)
Brownstone Books
409 Lewis Avenue
Between Macdonough and Decatur Streets in Bed- Stuy, Brooklyn, New York
(A/C to Utica Avenue)

There will be small bites and juice. There will be time and space for readings, reflections, and creations to share. Please direct all questions to Andre Lancaster (andre@freedomtrainproductions.org).

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I received the sad news today of the passing of Vincent Woodard, a fellow Cave Canem Fellow, University of Colorado faculty member, and one of the gentlest -- yet fiercest -- men I've ever met.

Vincent's critical/academic work explored issues of sexuality and gender in African American studies. But to me his real work was Spiritual. His readings and performances were more like revivals, visitations of the spirits, than what we usually think of as 'readings.' Relatively straightforward recitations would suddenly turn into incantations, sermons, divinations. His body and voice would shake as if possessed by the words, or the spirit of the words, he was the vessel for. "Moving" doesn't even come close to the experience of hearing him perform. The man could shake you to your foundations without seeming to break a sweat. Many of us remember him as someone who seemed made more of Light than of Flesh, radiating peace, wisdom, and a great deal of strength and courage.

And, yes, I think I fell a little in love with him when we first met. How could anyone resist such an Angel? I will miss his dear, beautiful soul.

The quotes above and belwo are from Vincent's essay in AIDS Project LA's Think Again. In typical Woodard style (The complete journal here in PDF format) the article 'transgresses' with style, discussing things some in our community would rather not talk about, and mixes critique with memory, fiction with non fiction, poetry with essay.


A powerful tradition of witnessing exists within black traditional religious practices dating back to slavery. In the context of slavery, the Civil War, Reconstruction and the Civil Rights era, witnessing was the way that black people affirmed the enspirited, boundless humanity that gave them the courage and power to overcome. Somebody stood up, in a church, in a field, down by a riverside, and told a story, their story, or perhaps a story that had been passed on to them, and the onlookers sat there, stood there, taking it, making it more real, through the act of witnessing. Too often, black gay lives exist between the chasm of wanting to be witnessed for and a silence that chokes down the voice. I know this silence is real. I battle it, hunt after it every day. I search for names for this silence so that I can call it out, march it to the stand, turn to the jury and make them acknowledge that too many black gays die from longing, invisibility, slow calculated suicides, addiction and numerous other forms of soul murder.

The power and legacy of the witnessing tradition demands, though, that we look through and beyond these deaths to the glory and the lessons they have left, like a pyre of ceremonial ashes painting our naked bodies in circles and blood. If I reach inside my stomach and pull out a story to tell you, it would be the springtime, dragonfly tears, a ripening of pines, oak trees and lost souls wanting to return, wanting to be witnessed.


UPDATE

Many thanks to Professor E. Patrick Johnson for this note on Vincent's papers and publishing projects

Dear All:

I know that there was a lot of discussion about Vincent's papers. I can tell you that his book manuscript was under contract at NYU Press and the press is still committed to publishing it. Vincent provided instructions before he passed with regard to getting the manuscript revised. The good thing is that NYU has the rights to the manuscript because of the signed contract, so the family has no say in that. He did not have a will and it is still unclear what the family will do with his other papers and his poetry, but Vincent did ask one of his colleagues at the University of Colorado to make sure that they were preserved.

This is all I have been able to find out, but I'll provide news as it becomes available.

E. Patrick Johnson
Chair & Director of Graduate Studies
Department of Performance Studies
Professor, African American Studies
Northwestern University

Passing the Torch

(Part of) The Kennedy Clan endorses Obama.

We, too, want a president who appeals to the hopes of those who still believe in the American dream and those around the world who still believe in the American ideal and who can lift our spirits and make us believe again. I’ve found that candidate and I think you have, too.


Poet Elizabeth Alexander on Toni Morrison's "Clinton as First Black President" comment

And La Morrison herself endorses Obama



I have admired Senator Clinton for years. Her knowledge always seemed to me exhaustive; her negotiation of politics expert. However I am more compelled by the quality of mind (as far as I can measure it) of a candidate. I cared little for her gender as a source of my admiration, and the little I did care was based on the fact that no liberal woman has ever ruled in America. Only conservative or "new-centrist" ones are allowed into that realm. Nor do I care very much for your race[s]. I would not support you if that was all you had to offer or because it might make me "proud."

In thinking carefully about the strengths of the candidates, I stunned myself when I came to the following conclusion: that in addition to keen intelligence, integrity and a rare authenticity, you exhibit something that has nothing to do with age, experience, race or gender and something I don't see in other candidates. That something is a creative imagination which coupled with brilliance equals wisdom. It is too bad if we associate it only with gray hair and old age. Or if we call searing vision naivete. Or if we believe cunning is insight. Or if we settle for finessing cures tailored for each ravaged tree in the forest while ignoring the poisonous landscape that feeds and surrounds it. Wisdom is a gift; you can't train for it, inherit it, learn it in a class, or earn it in the workplace--that access can foster the acquisition of knowledge, but not wisdom.

When, I wondered, was the last time this country was guided by such a leader? Someone whose moral center was un-embargoed? Someone with courage instead of mere ambition? Someone who truly thinks of his country's citizens as "we," not "they"? Someone who understands what it will take to help America realize the virtues it fancies about itself, what it desperately needs to become in the world?

....There have been a few prescient leaders in our past, but you are the man for this time.
(Full Text Here)

Meme-of-the-Month Club

ONLY because I love Ms Jones am I doing this! I'm not a chain mail/meme kind of person. But She Asked, and so I Answer....


January 2007
'007 News, Good and Bad
Positive spin:
Quranic Brothers: Keith Ellison and Thomas Jefferson


February 2007
Black Gay History Month for the NBA
Too much has been happening here in the past month for me to do much blogging, but I did want to sneak in a brief post to say....

April 2007
National Poetry Month: Theme and Variations
I know
I know...
long time -
no Blog

sorry
the weather has been
so warm and clear.

I will try
to do better
soon

May 2007
You call yourself ...what?

I recently had the pleasure of teaching a workshop at Coppin State University, and one of the students in the class asked me a question.

June 2007
Dancin' Dancin' Dancin'!

I purposefully took a copy of writer Barbara Ehrenreich's new book, Dancing in the Streets, along when The Other Half and I went on a recent visit to Chicago, because I knew I would see its subject in action.

July 2007
Carrying On
I am very pleased to be part of this project.

August 2007
(Still) Brutal Imagination

I was going to blog about other things (like this week's buzz word 'infrastructure'), but then:

September 2007
Ciao Luciano!

A fond farewell to the Great Tenor (and hero to 'men of size' everywhere).

October 2007
Quote: Michael Palmer
As Octavio Paz notes, the poem is alive only when the reader opens the book; until then it is nothing, it is waiting in the dark.

November 2007
The Great Not-so-white North

Back from a whirlwind trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I guess if Garrison Keillor can come to Baltimore, I can go to Lake Woebegon!

December 2007
Poem: "Self-Portrait at Twenty Years" by Roberto Bolaño

It's been a while since I've posted a poem, and thought I'd put this up, since the subject of translation has been one some friends and I have been discussing recently

"Irrational Exuberance"?

Happy New Year! Happy New Century?

Since the Iowa Caucuses, I've been trying avoid Mr. Greenspan's "Irrational Exuberance". It's early, there's a long way to go, he's still a Black Man in America, and to be honest, before those returns came in, the Other Half and I were discussing why a state that really is pretty unrepresentative of the rest of the nation in many ways got to be so darned Important.

Ask me about the issues, and I really should be voting for Dennis.

And if there's a lesson to be learned by the results in New Hampshire, it's that sometimes polls don't mean a thing...

But still, I'm sorry, I can't contain myself. In point of fact, even with Hillary's win in New Hampshire, I remain, well....kinda giddy! I've already had the dream of loading all our nieces and nephews into the car and heading to DC on January 20, 2009, to be there in person when History is made...

Obviously I need a cold compress and a little lie down.

(And I'm ignoring the fact that, if Hillary wins, History will STILL be made)

The old Political Science Major in me is making a comeback. This is turning out to be the most exciting primary season I can remember. The Republicans might go into their convention without a clear winner (a smoke-filled room alert will soon be issued for Minneapolis). Hill & Bill could be trading primary's with Barack up to Super Tuesday (I've heard pundits start to call it Tsunami Tuesday, which strikes me as really insensitive)

It's also amazing, in this age of sound-bites, that people are responding to Obama's speeches. Eloquence on the campaign trail? Unheard of (Rev. Mike Huckabee has a bit of this as well, I think, as well as an ability to engage people on both a personal and intellectual level, which is another reason why Iowa was so interesting). I've often said on a local level that one of the things missing here is someone able to give Baltimore residents a vision of our future, someone that could make us dream of something better, and make us long to achieve it. Obama is doing this on a national level. Everyone else seems bogged down in detail, while he soars above it all.

A bit disconcerting -- man and woman do not govern on "The Vision Thing" alone -- but it is essential. And the correct kind of a vision, and embracing one, is important as well.

Plus, the man can write pretty well also.

Yeah, I'm late for the bandwagon. Yes, I am "one of THOSE Negroes who waited to see if white people would vote for a black candidate." Sue me.

See you in DC, Barack!

Kathleen Hall Jamison on Iowa -- and against the Zero-Sum Game analogy in politics. Moyers/Jamison will be a weekly must in our household for the rest of the campain.

A note to those who were went all 'Hillary is Dead' after Iowa

Obama's New Hampshire concession: "Yes We Can"

Oscar Peterson

Sad to report the loss of the great jazz pianist Oscar Peterson on Christmas Eve. A National Hero in Canada (the only living person, other than Queen Elizabeth, to have a stamp issued in his honor back in 2005), his dazzling speed on the keyboards -- the man could sound like two pianists sometimes -- sometimes obscured his improvisational inventiveness, and his ability to swing/funkiness as well. A great loss.

(Personal aside: the first Peterson album I purchased was 1979's live "Digital at Montreaux" (pressed on red vinyl!) with Oscar and the similarly named bassist Niels-Henning Ørsted Pedersen. His whip-fast, finger breaking '(Back Home Again In) Indiana' knocked my teenaged butt on the floor....)

A sample of his work.....

Some links:

A message from the Official OP website

Boston Globe


Toronto Star

A 2003 NPR Interview

Washington Post

Merry Happy

Had the mixed pleasure of spending a couple of pre-Christmas days in New York City.

The "mixed" part of it was due to how brief a time I and others from the library were there (for meetings). My apologies to all my friends for not even letting you know I was coming but this was practically the textbook definition of 'whirlwind': come up, go to meetings, sleep, get up go to meetings, leave. I do so love New York, as impossible as it is, and it had been much too long since I'd gotten the jolt of being there during the holidays. The streets were filled, the shops along 5th Avenue were their usual glittering astonishments (Harry Winston's sales staff were even wearing tuxedos and floor length black ball gowns), and Times Square was even brighter than usual, if that's possible, making coming away from them to the side streets feel like walking from day into night. There's always something thrilling to me about being in New York, and also something inside me that makes me think "I'm Home!"

I've been curious about recent discussions of how safe the streets are in The City...and how some people think they are perhaps too safe. They miss the mess, the trash, the element of danger being in New York usually implied. Makes me wonder: Is pleasure/enjoyment always mixed with an element of risk? Sadly, the Old Home Place continued its reputation as Bodymore Murdaland this year, with few of NYCs amenities to lessen the pain of the numbers.

I also said something there about the holidays which made me sound like a pro-consumerism fanatic. One of my co-workers complained that it 'didn't feel like Christmas' and I remarked how, as we get to be adults, the fun tends to go out of the season. "We even get boring gifts!" I said. She took my comment to mean that we should be spending more on presents.

What I wanted to say, but didn't say too clearly, was that we should focus on joy, and pleasure, on returning to a state of innocence. We should try to do things that reawaken the sense of wonder and excitement inside of us. I've gotten a lot of 'things' over the years since I've been an adult, but I think I was most touched to get a stuffed bear from one of my friends. And I usually buy myself an inexpensive 'Matchbox' car of some kind (one of my continuing childhood weaknesses) and usually spend a few minutes Christmas morning making that 'vroom vroom' sound as I guide it across the floor or desk.

Make your inner child happy, as well as your outer adult, this season. And it doesn't (or shouldn't) require you to spend a lot of money to do that.



Speaking of Joy and Wonder: Part of the time in NYC was spent in museums, and -- revealing even more of myself! - I was somewhat overcome in the Museum of Modern Art. It was my first time in Yoshio Taniguchi's 'new building' -- a treat in and of itself. In addition to the dazzling Martin Puryear retrospective (up close his work displays an almost breathtaking level of craft and beauty), I wandered through the 'classics' on the museums' 4th and 5th Floors: Cézanne, van Gogh, Matisse (although I'm NOT happy with Dance I being in the stairwell!), Picasso, Léger, Jackson Pollock, Rauschenberg,
Magritte .... a room filled with Mondrians showing his stylistic progression to the jazzy glory of Broadway Boogie Woogie.....the "hits" just keep on coming, one astonishment after another. I was wiping away tears on my way down to the main floor. My Inner Child doesn't get exposed to anywhere near enough Art (bad parent to him that I am) and it was quite a rush to be flooded with seeing so many great works (again, in most cases -- Bonjour, Demoiselles, I'm home!) 'live' and up close (reproductions truly do NOT measure up). A Joyeux Noël indeed!

Out of Balance

Risking the wrath of Terry McMillan, I recently read her ex-husband Jonathan Plummer's novel, Balancing Act.

Sigh!

During the McMillan divorce saga, I was inclined to be in Plummer's camp, and the book does nothing to change that. I can feel for and understand the man's dilemma. Not everyone knows or excepts their sexual orientation at an early age, and Jamaica is a country where gay people are taunted, chased, beaten, and sometimes murdered. I can understand how someone might not be ready or able to deal with being gay until after they left the island. Terry was and is an attractive woman (who may have been engaging in just a touch of sexual tourism), with the added bonus of being wealthy and offering him a ticket to the States.

As for the novel, I don't think Ms McMillan needs to worry about having a literary rival. Plummer's book, thanks, in part I'm sure to his prolific co-author Karen Hunter, falls into the "Urban Lit" genre (the first line of the book contains African America's favorite 12-letter profanity, for example, although the later sex scenes are, relatively, chaste). There's the same element of wish fulfillment one finds in many of these books, although in this case instead of from Ghetto to Riches it's from Jamaica (and relative wealth) to Riches -- and Magazine Cover Fame. There's a dash of early E Lynn Harris, and more than a little 'up market' product placement/name dropping. There's also more emphasis on 'what happens next' and plot than on developing any of the characters into real people. One skims along the surface of this book, but doesn't really feel anything.

What intrigues me here is that the novel, although written by someone who is now openly gay, still manages to fall into any number of stereotypical traps. Colorful 'flaming' characters dance around the edges of the story (set in the world of high fashion modeling, how could that not be the case?) providing comic relief and/or saving the day. The main character discovers his orientation at the hands, lips, straw (?!? ....don't ask....) and tongue of a white man, making it seem (once again) that "white people are the Source of Homosexuality." And once the main character leaves the security of his situation with the woman he's been involved with, the only sexual experiences mentioned are fleeting ones he engages in at a porn shop.

With friends like these, who needs Focus on the Family?

I don't mean to be shooting fish in a barrel, or taking a lightweight 'entertainment' too seriously. But it does disturb me: I've read a couple of 'urban'-styled novels, written ostensibly by someone either LGBTQ or a supporter of the community, that fall into similar traps (and I've heard similar things from a friend who read the deliciously titled, 'Jail made me gay, yo' novel, Homo Thug) and I'm wondering if what I've seen is a conceit of the genre. Leaving out the need to 'explain' the characters orientation, none featured characters who are comfortable with their homosexuality, or shown in a happy or even well-functioning, relationship.

I'm not saying an interesting novel could NOT be written about characters wresting with who they are. I do, however, wonder 'how far we've come,' this many years into the 21st Century.

Bonus Note: For a brilliant, hilarious take on the novel, check out author Stanley Bennett Clay's review on Amazon (scroll down the page).

Poem: "Self-Portrait at Twenty Years" by Roberto Bolaño

(Author Photo from Latinoamerica- online)

It's been a while since I've posted a poem, and thought I'd put this up, since the subject of translation has been one some friends and I have been discussing recently. This is by the amazing Chilean author, Roberto Bolaño (1953-2003) whose work the angels at New Directions have been issuing in English in recent years. Bolaño's massive, glorious novel, The Savage Detectives has made most if not all of the "Best of 2007" booklists I've seen (both the New York and Los Angeles Times, for example).

An excerpt from Bolaño's 'fictional dictionary' Nazi Literature in the Americas, appeared in the wonderful Virgina Quarterly Review's "South America in the 20th Century" issue; a short story, Álvaro Rousselot's Journey appeared in The New Yorker, his poem "Godzilla in Mexico" appears in a recent issue of The Nation., and this one, reprinted on the New Directions site, first appeared in Harpers (Take THAT "The Magazine is Dead" people)

!Que viva Bolaño!


"Self-Portrait at Twenty Years"

I set off, I took up the march and never knew
where it might take me. I went full of fear,
my stomach dropped, my head was buzzing:
I think it was the icy wind of the dead.
I don't know. I set off, I thought it was a shame
to leave so soon, but at the same time
I heard that mysterious and convincing call.
You either listen or you don't, and I listened
and almost burst out crying: a terrible sound,
born on the air and in the sea.
A sword and shield. And then,
despite the fear, I set off, I put my cheek
against death's cheek.
And it was impossible to close my eyes and miss seeing
that strange spectacle, slow and strange,
though fixed in such a swift reality:
thousands of guys like me, baby-faced
or bearded, but Latin American, all of us,
brushing cheeks with death.

Roberto Bolaño (translated from the Spanish by Laura Healy)

Guest Blog: Going "Outside the Lines"

Author Christopher Hennessy recently asked me for a 'black & gay' take on Major Jackson's controversial (to some) “A Mystifying Silence: Big and Black,” in American Poetry Review

Whether it be out of fear of exposing their own homophobia or simply worry about saying something potentially ‘politically incorrect,’ most non-gay writers dare not veer beyond their own experiences. The straight writers are supposed to write about being straight, the gay writers about being gay, and seldom do the twain meet. In much the same way that blacks are expected to talk about racism, and women about sexism, so we gays and lesbians are the ones that are charged with bringing up issues of sexual orientation. Sadly, this is a typical, and very old, position taken by those in the ‘mainstream’: WE (i.e. straight, white, male, etc) don’t have a problem, YOU (the non-straight, non-white, not male) are the ones with the ‘issues’ and we look to you to tell us what they are.

Read the rest over at Christopher's blog Outside the Lines. Thanks for the opportunity, Christopher!

The Question of Space

Image from the Loyola University, Chicago's Advocate website

Lately, I've noticed an increased number of LGBTQ and 'non-gender-conforming' young people in our libraries here in B-more. Last week a couple of kids were even vogueing in the hallway leading to the African American Department of the Central Library downtown (I mentioned this to a friend who asked 'where was the music?' The answer was 'in their own heads'). Perhaps I don't mind a pose or two at the library, but when one of them dropped to the floor to do a few moves, I had to step in and remind them they were not in a club.

Libraries have always been safe spaces. We always complain about the parents to drop their children off and expect us to baby sit for them, but it seems to come with the territory. We too would rather have them with us in our buildings than out on the streets. The first branch I worked at on joining the library, on the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and North, was and remains a veritable oasis in a sea of dispair, with both drug trade and drug treatment, and working girls literally around the corner from the building. Well lit, with security and helpful, non-judgemental staff, the library is probably one of the few places young people and others can go and feel truly free.

I remember, too, years ago, seeing a young man on the main floor, very furtively reading a copy of one of E. Lynn Harris' early novels. He would read a few paragraphs, then look up to see if anyone was watching him, trying to see what he was reading. My heart went out to him. Who knows what his life was like that he felt he had to worry about others seeing him reading that particular author.

Many of the young people I see now are rather 'obvious' in the expression of their sexual orientation. Many of the girls are very 'butch', and they guys are rather 'fey' in style and attitude (I'm sure a number of others who are often called 'straight acting' are, in fact, Family as well). They use our computers for research, play games, or to go on Facebook and My Space (and in some cases, I'm sure, try to get around our filters to access hook-up sites as well) -- just like the straight kids. Also like their straight counterparts, the library is a place to meet and socialize with their friends. So long as they are relatively quiet and non-disruptive, we leave them alone.

There are very few places for 'queer youth' to meet and relax with each other here. They are not supposed to be in bars or clubs, our Community Center has a few youth programs, mainly on Saturdays, and -- sorry to be stereotypical -- but I somehow doubt the young people I saw vogueing would be interested in going to a rec center or gym, unless they had dance classes there, and even then might be concerned about taunts from the more sports-oriented young people there.

So, again, it falls to us, the local library, to be the default community center for these young people -- and others, not that I'm complaining (much). I'm very glad we're here, and that they're here and not on the streets, in the parks, or whereever.It may even be possible that we are some of the few adults these young people come in contact with who are not judging them, or asking them to conform or 'straighten up.' Also, too, since there are a number of gays and lesbians in the profession, we might be one of the few places where they see 'out' gay men and women 'live' and in a professional capacity. Again, we're happy to provide them with our services. But I wonder if we should be doing more for them -- and as a gay man I'm haunted by thinking about what if anything I personally can do for them, to let them know that "I'm one too" without being seen as trying to take advantage of them.

Libraries say we are community centers by default, and really don't want to be in the business of raising other people's kids. But....well...in many cases that's exactly what we're doing/what we are. Perhaps its time for us to think of ourselves that way, and actually attempt to provide more services to our young charges while they're hanging out in our buildings.

"We miss you, man!"

Many thanks to John for highlighting this news item from Cleveland (Emphasis mine)

Troy Smith does juvie

When Heisman winner and Baltimore Ravens quarterback Troy Smith stopped off for an inspirational speech at the county juvenile detention center last week, his odds of success weren't good. Row upon row of teenagers in blue jumpsuits slumped in cold metal chairs in the center's dismal gym, conducting silent warfare with their eyes. A guard noted that not all the kids could attend, since the center is overcrowded and authorities worry about gang problems.

But then something incredible happened. Smith attacked his audience with an unusual weapon: kindness.

"We miss you, man!" he began. "We need you guys to be future doctors. We need you guys to be future lawyers . . . We don't need you to be here your whole lives."

His voice rose and tears stained his cheeks as he defined Cleveland's deepest need: "We are starving for men."

The audience was hooked. Heads nodded, eyes were glued to the podium. "It's incredible to me how many beautiful young men we have in this building right now," Smith said. "I come here today as a humble servant to you guys."

One by one, he listened as the teenagers stood up to introduce themselves and ask polite questions. There were no jokes, no snide remarks. When Smith asked for their help in defending his hometown, most hands rose in the air.

"My long-term goal is making Cleveland a better place," he told them. "You can call me a hypocrite if it doesn't happen, but I guarantee you it will."

****
!Bravo Troy Smith! A winner on the field and off.

I am very struck and moved by this report. How often have we thought of dealing with the problems of (urban) crime and gang activity in this way? That we NEED the young black men who are getting 'caught up in The Game' and then ground into pulp by the legal system. So often young black men are seen as the enemy, worthless, dangerous, 'scary,' lost. These messages get internalized and becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy: You already think I'm a Thug, so then, I'll be Super Thug!

What if we told these young men (and women) that they were beautiful? That there was no need for them to 'be hard' to be men? That we as neighbors, a community, a nation really need them out on the streets, taking care of themselves and each other and the rest of us? What would happen if more young people were told early and often that they were intelligent, capable, and wanted, that they were reminded that they were loved? What if, to paraphrase this Essex Hemphill poem, we organized to save our own lives? Are we 'man enough' to do that?

FOR MY OWN PROTECTION
by Essex Hemphill

I want to start
an organization
to save my life.
If Whales, snails,
dogs, cats,
Chrysler, and Nixon
can be saved,
the lives of Black men
are priceless
and can be saved.
We should be able
to save each other.
I don't want to wait
for the Heritage Foundation
to release a study
stating Black men
are almost extinct.
i don't want to be
the living dead
pacified with drugs
and sex.

If a human chain
can be formed
around missile sites,
then surley Black men
can form human chains
around Anacostia, Harlem,
South Africa, Wall Street,
Hollywood, each other.

If we have to take tomorrow
with our blood are we ready?
Do our S curls,
dreadlocks, and Phillies
make us any more ready
than a bush or conkaline?
I'm not concerned
about the attire of a soldier.
All I want to know
for my own protection
is are we capable
of whatever,
whenever?

This is a Journey Into Sound...

Do we ever sound they way we think we do? New recordings of your irregular co-respondent now available via Washington DC's indispensable annual Gargoyle, and at the wonderful on-line poetic house party, From the Fishouse. Thanks Richard and Matt -- I'm truly honored!

The Great Not-so-white North

(photo, The University of Minnesota)

Back from a whirlwind trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I guess if Garrison Keillor can come to Baltimore, I can go to Lake Woebegon!

My first time there, and I took an immediate liking to the place. What is it about some places that draw you (me) in automatically? Well, attractions for me....Minneapolis is an Arts town, with a nationally known museum (The Walker), Theater (The Guthrie) and literary arts center (The Loft). And as for music, we all know about it's other favorite son, Prince. I was also drawn to the interesting architecture, general 'walk-ablity' and the feeling of safety on the streets -- and the great food (another visit to Hell's Kitchen is #1 on my return trip To Do List). There's also something (in addition to the chill) in the air there that felt relaxing and even welcoming to me. Quick though this visit may have been, I enjoyed being there, and am eager to return and explore further.

As others pointed out, folks there are not exactly as outwardly friendly as they are here below the Mason-Dixon, but they're not mean or rude. Just reticent or "shy" as Mr. Keillor would say. Get them started, however, and they seem quite ready to talk: we had a very interesting conversation with the van driver on the way to the airport as we left about Minnesota politics, the job market for teachers there, and his support for Barack Obama, among other things.

One thing that struck me immediately was how African the city is! Starting with the support staff in the airport, I was amazed at the number of East Africans I encountered there. 2000 census figures show an 18% black/African American population in Minneapolis (versus a 3.5% total in all of Minnesota). I am not entirely sure that this figure conveys the range of African immigrants there (Africans in America), as opposed to those of us who call ourselves/are now called African-American. In the Twin Cities area there's an African newspaper based in Minneapolis, Mshale, at least a dozen African restaurants, and an Afrifest in August. The Walker also sponsored an art exhibit "Minneapolis and St Paul are East African Cities," by artist Julie Mehretu. I also note that the city's website offers information in Spanish, Somali, and Hmong. And as for "the Other part of me', the Twin Cities hosted the third largest Pride event in the US in 2007.

This is the changing face of Minneapolis, 1990-2000:

• Minneapolis population grew by 3.6% or 14,235 persons.

• Minorities and racially diverse immigrants provided 100% of the city’s gain in people.

• White population declined by 37,781 or 13.8%; Non-Whites increased by 54,016 or 68.0%; an additional 9,710 persons identified themselves as White and some other race.

• Minneapolis has the largest population of Black or African American (68,818), American Indian, (8,378) and Hispanics, (29,175) in the state; and the second largest Asian population in the state.

• The Hispanic population grew by 269.3%, the largest percentage increase for a minority group in Minneapolis.

Who knew!? Now I'm VERY curious about this town, and how the traditional Midwest and African and other cultures interact and mix (or don't). Too bad Mary Tyler Moore isn't still working in the newsroom there to do a special report!