Preview #9, Journal of Pan African Studies, Poetry Issue

Preview #9, Journal of Pan African Studies, Poetry Issue

Askia Toure, Boston, Ma

AFRICAN DIVA: AN ELEGY AMONG THE RUINS

(for Kamaria and our sisters)

I hadn’t wanted to venture down certain

avenues, exploring startling aspects of

inhumanity and ruin. I hadn’t desired

to confront infamy face to face.

I longed for gentler things: your delicate

face illumined by love’s tranquility, or

spiritual ecstasy; your sepia arms enfolding

a child. Yet, Mosetta, this century,

of primal savagery, this era of death’s

bizarre mockery sickens the soul.

I am awed by your perpetual strength

and certitude. You seem to blossom like

a lotus in mire. Your mellow calmness

inspires miraculous hope—my empress

of a thousand battles, mistress of celestial

vistas, imagination’s jasmine diva.

In a grander age, when mystics reigned,

sages would astound the World with tales

of women like you: Sheba, Nefertari, Tiye,

and thousands more. Alas, today, as barbarism

stalks ruined capitals, and life violates

the breath with endless rot, your supreme

virtues are mocked by surly thugs, high on

misogyny’s vicious cocaine. And yet,

to aspire towards the ultimate, sublime

Unity of Being, to exalt beauty

and excellence remains a beacon of any

time and place. And, because that striving

heart belongs to a woman of the African race,

the clouded day is suffused with glorious

rays, as we move together, striving always

to resurrect the visionary heart.

--Askia Toure

Askia M. Toure', poet, activist, Africana Studies pioneer, is an award-winning poet,
and the author of eight books, including "DawnSong!, winner of the 2003 Stephen Henderson Award in Poetry. He is also an American Book Award Winner, 1989,
he lives in Boston, and is a member of the African-American Master Artists-in-
Residency Program (AAMARP) in African-American Studies @ Northeastern Univ.,Boston. He can be contacted at: askia38@yahoo.com.

Neal E. Hall, MD, Philadelphia PA

for black Americans,
9-11 is 24-7,
a labyrinth of terror buried beneath shallow
words on revised pages of America’s iniquities
dating back four hundred years,
when blacks were snatched and kidnapped,
ship jacked and hijacked to America’s labor and
concentration camps to be bought and sold
into unspeakable servitude on land we would
come to lose ground to some
lesser place and foreign cause.
For black Americans,
9-11 is 24-7,
… an endless cycle of America’s weapons of black
destruction crashing and imploding, 24-7, into
towering black hopes and aspirations…
… a viciousness finding continuous
momentum in prescribed brutality,
administered 24-7, to infuse in us
enough terror to keep us in a lesser
place for economic gain.
For black Americans,
9-11 is 24-7,
Four hundred years and more of
democratic sleight of hands,
jiving and conniving, slipping and sliding across
smoke and mirrors…
… Jeffersonian poker face democracy
bluffing its hand of freedom,
always with the ace of tyranny
concealed up its white sleeve
to place race-based road blocks
strategically on unpaved roads to
nowhere to ensure that blacks get there…
… discriminating mercenary legislative, judicial
homicide beheading black men from the souls
of black homes and families; cutting short the
lives of one out of twenty black men
imprisoned ten times the rate of white men’s
crimes as a means of genteel 1 genocide to keep
us from finding from among us a deliverer to
lead us from this lesser place…
… a good old boy network of
murder, rape and intimidation,
torture, beatings and mutilation,
social isolation and economic decimation to
keep us enslaved children of slave children
ripped from the breasts of slave mothers sold
into tortuous misery by those first families
hooded in democracy.
For black Americans,
9-11 is four hundred years and more
of America crashing and imploding,
24-7, into our towering black
hopes and aspirations.
Four hundred years and more of
no reprieves, no parity, no sign of mercy,
no justice, no relief in sight for us…
… no world coalitions proffering UN resolutions
for economic restitution…
… no international peace keepers
amassing at these plantation shores to destroy
America’s weapons of mass black destruction…
… no search and rescue teams to search and
rescue us from the ruins of America’s racial
injustice and exploitation…
… no gathering dignitaries to raise our tattered
black flag half-mast, found buried deep
beneath the shallow hypocrisy on revising
white pages of America’s history.
… no 9-11 commission to investigate the
disposition of 36 million 2 holocaust victims
swept quietly and anonymously under white
stars and stripes forever.
… no day and time set aside to memorialize
four hundred 9-11s, each with nine thousand
black men, women and children stacked black
side up, black high to make easy America’s
economic climb…
… no marked graves black with names
to fare - thee - well to distant sounds of tolling
bells…
… no heaven or hell to turn back or put back
black hopes and aspirations snatched and
kidnaped, ship jacked and hijacked.
For black Americans,
9-11 is 24-7.
______________
Human Rights Watch - United States, Punishment and 1
Prejudice: Racial disparities in the War on Drugs;
www.hrw.org/campaigns/drugs/war/key-facts.htm
African American History, Melba J. Duncan, Ch. 3, p. 31 2
Copyright © 2009 by Neal Hall, M.D.

Neal E. Hall is a physician-poet. His current book is Nigger For Life. According to Dr. Cornel West, “Dr. Hall is a warrior of the spirit, a warrior of the mind…an activist, a poet.”

Jeannette Drake, Virginia

SLAVE SONG

Leh us carry on da sa

da sa da sa

da sa of who do

not so few who do

da wind snake comes

send him away

all dey songs de buried

heah, heah, heah

in sacred ground who do

who do

death awaken

death awaken

Paul and Silas

Paul and Silas

Paul and Silas

come through heah

who do who do

not so few

I wants none of dis nonsense

gon on befo’

don’ been in de house far too long

no use to holler now

whuppin time don’ past

for me, who do

who do not so few

de massa rose

de massa rose

de massa rose

and come through heah

wind snake come back

dis time who do who do

who do come through heah

da sa da sa da sa

of sunshine

sunshine

sunshine ovah who do

not so few

who do stand ovah de pot

de cast of iron pot

stirrin’ stirrin stirrrin’

de stain away

de blood de mud de sweat

away away away

stir de massa stain away

upon ma lips

upon ma brow

the scent of dead chullens

flowers now

who do not so few

come by heah

to run and cry

and rot away

beneath de cracklin’ flame

de singin’ of de mulberry tree

de branches was once free

da sa da sa da sa

of sunshine blowin in ma hair

da sa da sa da sa

of darkest night

dere ain’t no place to hide

Lawd Sweet Jesus

where is you at

come stem dis bruisin’ tide

de massa rose

de massa rose

de massa rose

wind snake blowin’

round de cabin door

Lawd Sweet Jesus

where is you at

help me find de other shore

da sa da sa da sa.

Jeannette Drake, writer of poems, short stories, and essays is an artist and Licensed Clinical Social Worker (retired) who holds an MFA in creative writing from Virginia Commonwealth University. Occasionally, she conducts dream work and expressive art workshops. The author of Journey Within: A Healing Playbook, her writings appear in Callaloo, Obsidian, The Southern Review, Xavier Review, Honey Hush! African American Women’s Humor, Go, Tell Michelle: African American Women Write to the New First Lady, www.disabilityworld.org, Tough Times Companion III, Richmond Free Press, The Book of Hope and The World Healing Book, The Sun Magazine, Coloring Book: An Eclectic Anthology of Fiction and Poetry by Multicultural Writers and ChickenBones: A Journal, at www.nathanielturner.com among others. She has received awards and fellowships from the Virginia Commission for the Arts, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, the Hurston/Wright Foundation and a scholarship award from the Leonard E.B. Andrews Foundation for visual art. She is currently working on a novel.

Al Young, Berkeley CA

The Emmett Till Blues

What they use to just do and just done it to me,

they doing it directly to all yall now, doing it

and doing it and doing it to the world.

Shoot and cut and smash my head in,

take me to the river, sink me down –

you call that religion? Yeah, yeah!

It hadn’t of been for my mother bring

my busted body back up to Chicago and let

Jet get pictures for the world to look at,

nobody would of known. I’m long time gone.

Nowadays wouldn’t be no way I’d get to say

this on television, no way yall would even see

a picture of me. Do yall even know who this is

talking to you? This is Emmett Till. I died

and died and died. Soon as yall figured

America was saved, here come Guantánamo

and Abu Ghraib. Here come greed and

here come grief. The Thief of Baghdad

make they own commandments. Geronimo,

wouldn’t of paid them no mind. What you think

they might pull next? Talk to me. I been done died.

--Al Young

--Al Young

Widely translated and acclaimed, Al Young’s 22 books include poetry (Something About the Blues: An Unlikely Collection of Poetry, Coastal Night and Inland Afternoons: Poems 2001-2006, The Sound of Dreams Remembered: Poems 1990-2000, Heaven: Poems Collected 1956-1990), fiction (Seduction By Light, Sitting Pretty, Who Is Angelina?), and musical memoirs (Mingus Mingus: Two Memoirs, Drowning in the Sea of Love, Kinds of Blue, Things Ain’t What They Used to Be, Bodies & Soul). From 2005 through 2008 he served as poet laureate of California. Other honors include NEA, Fulbright, and Guggenheim Fellowships. The Sea, The Sky, And You, And I, a poetry & jazz CD (featuring bassist Dan Robbins), came out last year from Bardo Digital. He currently teaches at California College of the Arts, San Francisco. Exhaustive information about this Berkeley-based author may be found at www.AlYoung.org

Susan Lively, East St. Louis IL

King

His eyes reflected:

dignity, respect, love, hope,

sadness, despair and loss.

Somehow he is still alive,

he lives on in my head.

Somehow he is still alive,

he is not truly dead.

He speaks to me from pages,

he speaks to me with more than words.

He speaks to me from pages,

and love is all I’ve ever heard.

His posture was studious:

a study in perseverance, in patience,

in steely, stubborn, self-determination,

in peaceful disobedience, a rebel is born.

He is alive in me,

I feel his fire, his spirit,

he is not truly gone.

He speaks to me from TV screens,

he speaks to me with more than words.

He speaks to me from reel to reel,

and love is all I’ve ever heard.

His smile

was a rare gift:

wise and beautiful and never resigned,

to the pain his heart knew,

to the fear within his mind.

His hands, so unassuming,

held us all,

held the fate of the world.

He speaks to me from history,

and love is all I’ve ever heard.

Do we ever know

how truly powerful we are?

Our words and deeds live on,

long after we are gone

--Susan Lively

SUSAN MARIE LIVELY

Born in Belleville, IL, Susan Lively is a poet, spoken word artist, host, and author. She performs in the bi-state area under the name “Spit-Fire” and has performed at and hosted literary events at local colleges and universities. She created and hosts the show “Open Mic Night @ The Inn” at The Cigar Inn and is a member of The Eugene B. Redmond Writer’s Club of East St. Louis, IL. Susan’s spoken word performances have been featured on internet, radio, and television and her poetry has appeared in Head To Hand, The East St. Louis Monitor, and The PEN.

Seeks Visiting Professorship

Subject: Seeking Visiting Professorship

Marvin X is author of 25 books.He is one of the founders of the Black Arts Movement and the father of Muslim American literature. Bob Holman calls him the USA's Rumi, Hafez and Saadi.Ishmael Reed calls him Plato teaching on the streets of Oakland.

Marvin X (b. 1944), poet, playwright, essayist, director, and lecturer. Marvin
Ellis Jackmon was born on 29 May 1944 in Fowler, California. He attended high
school in Fresno and received a BA and MA in English from San Francisco State
College (now San Francisco State University). The mid-1960s were formative
years for Jackmon. He became involved in theater, founded his own press,
published several plays and volumes of poetry, and became increasingly
alienated because of racism and the Vietnam War. Under the influence of Elijah
Muhammad, he became a Black Muslim and has published since then under the
names El Muhajir and Marvin X. He has also used the name Nazzam al Fitnah Muhajir.

Marvin X and Ed Bullins founded the Black Arts/West Theatre in San Francisco in
1966, and several of his plays were staged during that period in San Francisco,
Oakland, New York, and by local companies across the United States. His one-act
play Flowers for the Trashman was staged in San Francisco in 1965 by the drama
department at San Francisco State University, later at Black Arts West
Theatre, and was included in the anthology Black Fire (1968); a musical version (with
Sun Ra's Arkestra), Take Care of Business, was produced in 1971. The play
presents the confrontation between two cellmates in a jail—one a young African
American college student, the other a middle-aged white man. Another one-act
play, The Black Bird, a Black Muslim allegory in which a young man offers
lessons in life awareness to two small girls, appeared in 1969 and was
included in New Plays from the Black Theatre that year. Several other plays,
including The Trial, Resurrection of the Dead, and In the Name of Love, have been successfully staged, and Marvin X has remained an important advocate of African American theater.

In 1970, Marvin X was convicted, during the Vietnam War, for refusing
induction and fled to Canada; eventually he was arrested in British Honduras,
was returned to the United States, and was sentenced to five months in prison. In
his statement on being sentenced—later reprinted in Black Scholar (1971) and
also in Clyde Taylor's anthology, Vietnam and Black America (1973)—he argues
that

Any judge, any jury, is guilty of insanity that would have the nerve to judge
and convict and imprison a black man because he did not appear in a courtroom
on a charge of refusing to commit crimes against humanity, crimes against his
own brothers and sisters, the peace-loving people of Vietnam.

Marvin X founded El Kitab Sudan publishing house in 1967; several of his books
of poetry and proverbs have been published there. Much of Marvin X's poetry is
militant in its anger at American racism and injustice. For example, in “Did
You Vote Nigger?” he uses rough dialect and directs his irony at African
Americans who believe in the government but are actually its pawns. Many of the
proverbs in The Son of Man (1969) express alienation from white America.

However, many of Marvin X's proverbs and poems express more concern with what
African Americans can do positively for themselves, without being paralyzed by
hatred. He insists that the answer is to concentrate on establishing a racial
identity and to “understand that art is celebration of Allah.” The poems in Fly
to Allah, Black Man Listen (1969), and other volumes from his El Kitab Sudan
press are characterized by their intensity and their message of racial unity
under a religious banner.

Marvin X has remained active as a lecturer, teacher, theatrical producer,
editor, and exponent of Spirituality. His work in advocating racial cohesion
and spiritual dedication as an antidote to the legacy of racism he saw around
him in the 1960s and 1970s made him an important voice of his generation. One of
his current projects is Academy of da Corner, downtown Oakland at 14th and
Broadway. According the Ishmael Reed, "Marvin X is Plato teaching on the
streets of Oakland. If you want to learn about motivation and inspiration,
don't spend all that money going to seminars and workshops, just go stand at
14th and Broadway and observe Marvin X at work."

Bibliography
* Lorenzo Thomas, “Marvin X,” in DLB, vol. 38, Afro-American Writers after
1955: Dramatists and Prose Writers, eds. Thadious Davis and Trudier Harris,
1985, pp. 177–184.
* Bernard L. Peterson, Jr., “Marvin X,” in Contemporary Black American
Playwrights and Their Plays, 1988, pp. 332–333. “El Muhajir,” in CA, vol. 26,
eds. Hal May and James G. Lesniak, 1989, pp. 132–133
--Michael E. Greene




poet; playwright; educator; activist

Personal Information

Born Marvin Ellis Jackmon on May 29, 1944, in Fowler, California; married; five
children
Education: Oakland City College (now Merritt College), AA, 1964; San Francisco
State College (now University), BA, 1974, MA, 1975.

Career

Soul Book, Encore, Black World, Black Scholar, Black Dialogue, Journal of
Black Poetry, Black theatre, Negro Digest/Black World, Muhammad Speaks and
other magazines and newspapers, contributor, 1965-; Black Dialogue, fiction editor, 1965-; Journal of Black Poetry, contributing editor,1965-; Black Arts/West Theatre, San
Francisco, co-founder (with Bullins), 1966; Black House, San Francisco,
co-founder (with Bullins and Eldridge Cleaver), 1967; Al Kitab Sudan Publishing
Company, San Francisco, founder, 1967; California State University at Fresno,
black studies teacher, 1969; Black Theatre, associate editor, 1968; Muhammad
Speaks, foreign editor, 1970; Your Black Educational Theatre, Inc., San
Francisco, founder and director, 1971;

Teaching Career:
University of California, Berkeley,
lecturer, 1972;
Mills College, lecturer, 1973,
San Francisco State University, 1974-5,
University of California, San Diego, 1975,
University of Nevada, Reno, 1979,
Laney and Merritt Colleges, Oakland, 1981,
Kings River College, Reedley CA, 1982.

Recent Reading and Speaking engagements:

San Francisco State University
University of California, Berkeley
Laney College, Oakland
Merritt College, Oakland
Contra Costa College, Richmond CA
Morehouse College, ATL
Spelman College, ATL
University of Texas, Houston
University of Arkansas, Fayetteville
University of Virginia
University of Penn, Philadelphia
Temple University, Philadelphia
Medgar Evers College, Brooklyn
New York University
Berkeley City College, Berkeley
California College of the Arts, San Francisco
Howard University, Washington DC
San Francisco Theatre Festival
Schomberg Library, Harlem NY

Life's Work

Formerly known as El Muhajir, Marvin X was a key poet and playwright of the
Black Arts Movement (BAM) in the 1960s and early 1970s. He wrote for many of
the leading black journals of the time, including Black Scholar, Black Theater
Magazine, and Muhammad Speaks. He founded Black House with Ed Bullins (1935--)
and Eldridge Cleaver (1935-1998), which served for a short time as the
headquarters of the Black Panther Party, the militant black nationalist group,
and a community theatrical center in Oakland County, California. Always a
controversial and confrontational figure, Marvin X was banned from teaching at
state universities in the 1960s by the then state governor, Ronald Reagan
(1911--). When asked in 2003 what had happened to the Black Arts Movement,
Marvin X told Lee Hubbard: "I am still working on it...telling it like it is."
Marvin X was born Marvin Ellis Jackmon on May 29, 1944, in Fowler, California,
an agricultural area near Fresno. His parents were Owendell and Marian
Jackmon; his mother ran her own real estate business. Details about when and
why he changed his name are scarce, but he has been known as Nazzam al Fitnah
Muhajir, El Muhajir, and is now known simply as Marvin X. Marvin X attended
Oakland City College (Merritt College) where he received his AA degree in 1964.
He received his BA in English from San Francisco State College (San Francisco
State University) in 1974 and his MA in 1975.

While at college Marvin X was involved with various theater projects and
co-founded the Black Arts/West Theater with Bullins and others. Their aim was
to provide a place where black writers and performers could work on drama
projects, but they also had a political motive, to use theater and writing to
campaign for the liberation of blacks from white oppression. Marvin X told Lee
Hubbard: "The Black Arts Movement was part of the liberation movement of Black
people in America. The Black Arts Movement was its artistic arm...[brothers]
got a revolutionary consciousness through Black art, drama, poetry, music,
paintings, artwork, and magazines."

By the late 1960s Marvin X was a central figure in the Black Arts Movement in
San Francisco and had become part of the Nation of Islam, changing his name to
El Muhajir and following Elijah Muhammad (1897-1975). Like the heavyweight
boxing champion Muhammad Ali (1942--), Marvin X refused his induction to fight
in Vietnam. But unlike Ali, Marvin X, along with several other members of the
Nation of Islam in California, decided to evade arrest. In 1967 he escaped to
Canada but was later arrested in Belize. He chastised the court for punishing
him for refusing to be inducted into an army for the purpose of securing "White
Power" throughout the world before he was sentenced to five months'
imprisonment. His statement was published in the journal The Black Scholar in
1971.

Despite his reputation as an activist, Marvin X was also an intellectual, and a
celebrated writer. He was most concerned with the problem of using language
created by whites in order to argue for freedom from white power. Many of his
plays and poems reflect this struggle to express himself as a black
intellectual in a white-dominated society. His play Flowers for the Trashman
(1965), for example, is the story of Joe Simmons, a jailed college student whose
bitter attack on his white cellmate became a national rallying call for many in
the Nation of Islam and other black nationalists. Marvin X's own poetry is
heavy with Muslim ideology and propaganda, but it is supported by a sensitive
poetic ear. Perhaps his greatest achievement as a poet is to merge Islamic
cadences and sensibilities with scholarly American English and the language of
the black ghetto.

Like his close friend Eldridge Cleaver, in the late 1980s and 1990s Marvin X
went through a period of addiction to crack cocaine. His play One Day in the
Life (2000) takes a tragicomic approach to the issue of addiction and recovery,
dealing with his own experiences with drug addiction and the experiences of
Black Panthers, Cleaver, and Huey Newton (1942-1989). The play has been
presented in community theaters around the United States as both a stage play
and a video presentation. He discusses his relationship with Cleaver in
Eldridge Cleaver, My friend the Devil, a memoir, 2009.

After emerging from addiction Marvin X founded Recovery Theatre and began
organizing events for recovering addicts and those who work with them. His
autobiography, Somethin' Proper (1998) includes reminiscences of his life
fighting for black civil rights as well as an analysis of drug culture. Drug
addiction and "reactionary" rap poetry are two areas of black culture that he has argued have "contributed to the desecration of black people."

In the late 1990s Marvin X became an influential figure in the campaign to have
reparations paid for the treatment of blacks under slavery. He organized
meetings, readings, and performances to promote black culture and civil rights.
He has worked as a university teacher since the early 1970s, as well as giving
readings and guest lectures in universities and theaters throughout the United
States.

Marvin X has also received several awards, including a Columbia
University writing grant in 1969 and a creative writing fellowship from the
National Endowment for the Arts in 1972.

Awards

Columbia University, writing grant, 1969; National Endowment for the Arts,
grant, 1972; Your Black Educational Theatre, training grant, 1971-72.
Recovery Theatre received grants from San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown's
office, Grants for the Arts, Marin County Board of Supervisors, Sacramento
Metropolitan Arts Commission.

Works

Selected writings

Books

* Somethin' Proper: The Life and Times of a North American African Poet,
Blackbird Press, 1998.
* In the Crazy House Called America, Blackbird Press, 2002.
* Wish I Could Tell You the Truth, essays, BBP, 2005
* How to Recover from the Addiction to White Supremacy, a manual based on the
12 Step/Pan African model, 2006.
* Beyond Religion, toward Spirituality, BBP, 2007
* Eldridge Cleaver, My Friend the Devil, a memoir, 2009
* The Wisdom of Plato Negro, Parables/fables, 2010
* Hustler's Guide to the Game Called Life (Volume II, The Wisdom of Plato
Negro, 2010
* Mythology of Pussy and Dick, toward Healthy Psychosocial Sexuality, 2010
* Pull Yo Pants Up fada Black Prez, essays on Obama Drama, 2010
* I AM OSCAR GRANT, essays on Oakland, 2010

Plays
* Flowers for the Trashman (one-act), first produced in San Francisco at San
Francisco State College, 1965.
* Come Next Summer, first produced in San Francisco at Black Arts/West Theatre,
1966. Pre-Black Panther Bobby Seale played leading role in Come Next Summer.
* The Trial, first produced in New York City at Afro-American Studio for Acting
and Speech, 1970.
* Take Care of Business, (musical version of Flowers for the Trashman) first
produced in Fresno, California, at Your Black Educational Theatre, 1971.
* Resurrection of the Dead, first produced in San Francisco at Your Black
Educational Theatre, 1972.
* Woman-Man's Best Friend, (musical dance drama based on author's book of same
title), first produced in Oakland, California, at Mills College, 1973.
* In the Name of Love, first produced in Oakland at Laney College Theatre,
1981.
* One Day in the Life, 2000.
* Sergeant Santa, 2002.

Poetry, Proverbs, and Lyrics

* Sudan Rajuli Samia (poems), Al Kitab Sudan Publishing, 1967.
* Black Dialectic (proverbs), Al Kitab Sudan Publishing, 1967.
* As Marvin X, Fly to Allah: Poems, Al Kitab Sudan Publishing, 1969.
* As Marvin X, The Son of Man, Al Kitab Sudan Publishing, 1969.
* As Marvin X, Black Man Listen: Poems and Proverbs, Broadside Press, 1969.
* Black Bird (parable), Al Kitab Sudan Publishing, 1972.
* Woman-Man's Best Friend, Al Kitab Sudan Publishing, 1973.
* Selected Poems, Al Kitab Sudan Publishing, 1979.
* (as Marvin X) Confession of a Wife Beater and Other Poems, Al Kitab Sudan
Publishing, 1981.
* Liberation Poems for North American Africans, Al Kitab Sudan
Publishing, 1982.
* Love and War: Poems, Black Bird Press, 1995
* In the Land of My Daughters, 2005.
* Sweet Tea, Dirty Rice, poems, 2010 (late)

Other
* One Day in the Life (videodrama and soundtrack), 2002.
* The Kings and Queens of Black Consciousness (video documentary), 2002.
* Black Radical Book Fair, San Francisco, DVD, 2004
* Love and War (poetry reading published on CD), 2001.
Further Reading
Periodicals
* African American Review, Spring, 2001.
* Oakland Post Newspaper
* San Francisco Bay View newspaper
On-line
* "Chicken Bones: A Journal," www.nathanielturner.com/marvinxtable.htm (April
13, 2004).

* "El Muhajir," Biography Resource Center, www.galenet.com/servlet/BioRC (April
16, 2004).

* "Marvin X," Biography Resource Center, www.galenet.com/servlet/BioRC (April
16, 2004).

* "Marvin X Calls for General Strike on Reparations,"
www.frontpagemag.com/Articles/ReadArticle.asp?ID=4714 (April 13, 2004).

— Chris Routledge

The Marvin X archives are at the Bancroft Library, University of California,
Berkeley.

Tentative Contents of Poetry Issue

Journal of Pan African Studies

December 2010

Marvin X, Guest Editor

Itibari M. Zulu, Senior Editor

Special thanks:

Louis Reyes Rivera

Eugene Redman

Bruce George

Gwendolyn Mitchell

Askia Toure

Rudolph Lewis

Amiri Baraka

Dedication to Jose Gancalves, Publisher/Editor, Journal of Black Poetry

List of contributors to JBP

Photo Essay of JBP Poets

Notes on the Poetry issue of Journal of Pan African Studies

A History of the JBP and publications during the 60s, compiled by Rudolph Lewis

A Forum in Response to Marvin X’s Poetic Mission, Rudolph Lewis

Mary Weems

Jerry Ward

Leigh McInnis

The Poetic Mission, Haki Madhubuti

The Poets

Amiri Baraka, Newark NJ

Kalamu ya Salaam, New Orleans

Kola Boof, Southern California

Louis Reyes Rivera, Brooklyn NY

Ayodele Nzingha, Oakland CA

Askia Toure, Boston MA

Marvin X, Berkeley CA

Neal Hall, MD, Philadelphia PA

Hettie V. Williams

Phavia Khujichagulia, Oakland CA

J. Vern Cromartie, Richmond CA

Jeannette Drake, Virginia

Dike Okoro, Chicago IL

Tracey Owens Patton, Wyoming

devorah major, San Francisco

Anthony Mays, Korea

Bruce George, New York City

Itibari M. Zulu, Palmdale CA

Renaldo Ricketts, San Francisco

Nandi Comer

Al Young, Berkeley CA

Ghasem Batamuntu, Europe

Mona Lisa Saloy, New Orleans

Susan Lively, East St. Louis IL

Eugene Redman, East St. Louis IL

Fritz Pointer, Oakland CA

Gwendolyn Mitchell, Chicago IL

Felix Orisewike Sylvanus, Lagos, Nigeria

Tariq Shabazz, Newark NJ

Rudolph Lewis, Maryland

Kamaria Muntu, United Kingdom

L. E. Scott, Aotearoa, New Zealand

Chinwe Enemchukwu, Florida USA

Mabel Mnensa, South Africa

Kwan Booth, Oakland CA

Rodney D. Coates, East St. Louis IL

Ras Griot, Washington DC

Tureeda Mikell, Oakland CA

Ramal Lamar, Oakland CA

Everett Hoagland, New Bedford MA

Charles Curtis Blackwell, Oakland CA

JACQUELINE KIBACHA, Tanzania, East Africa

John Reynolds III, Washington DC

Gabriel Shapiro

Darlene Scott, Delaware MD

Jimmy Smith, Jr., Chicago IL

Sam Hamod, Princeton NJ

Opal Palmer Adisa, Oakland CA

Amy ”Aimstar” Andrieux, New York City

Lamont b. Steptoe, Philadelphia PA

Avotcja Jiltonilro, San Francisco CA

Tantra Zawadi, New York City

Anthony Spires, San Francisco

Benicia Blue, Chicago IL

Neil Callender, Boston MA

Tanure Ojaide, Nigeria

Pious Okoro, Chicago IL

Nicole Terez Dutton, Boston MA

Iris Tate

Kilola Maishya

Niyah X, Oakland CA

Adrienne N. Wartts, St. Louis MO

Reviews, Views, News

Reviews

Kamaria Muntu, review of Askia Toure’s Mother Earth Responds: green poems & alternative visions

Views

Afro-Arab Dialogue on Col. Qaddafi’s Apology for Arab Slavery:

Kola Boof, Sam Hamod, Rudolph Lewis, Marvin X

A Pan African Dialogue on Cuba:

Dead Prez, Carlos Moore, North American African Intellectuals/activists, Pedro de la Hoz

Muslim American Literature as an emerging field,

Dr. Mohja Kahf

News

Chinua Achebe Wins Prize

Bay Area Writers Celebrate Baraka’s 75^th

Photo Essay by Kamau Amem Ra

Letters to the Editor

How does it feel to be a nigger

How Does it feel to be a Nigger

How does it feel to be a nigger
to be hunted
wanted
watched
betrayed
to be the cause of original sin
sub prime scam
fall of wall street
crime in the night
terrorism
immigration
teenage pregnancy
ignorance
sloth
fall of white house
fall of america
fall of russia
cause of it all
niggers
end of capitalism socialism communism
fall of jerusalem
caused nazism
fascism
he's why the sea rising
caused katrina
gulf oil spill
castro
chavez
bush I and II
nixon
caused korea vietnam world war I and II
niggers
wouldn't sit in back of bus
would not eat in the colored section
sleep in colored section
wouldn't take lynching with smile
wanted freedom
wanted justice
wanted equality
just a problem
inconvenience to the world
we could have peace
if the niggers would behave
leave our women alone
stop stealing our music
our jazz
our blues
our rock and roll
our bar b que
our chitlins
our greens
our corn bread
dirty rice
sweet tea
niggers
we created all this
not niggers
how can sagging pants create
can't even walk
we created rap
they didn't
they lie
like a nigger
like tom
like nat turner
like gabriel prosser
like denmark vessey
like toussaint
like bokman
nigger lies
nigger knives
nigger flies
why won't they leave us alone
we want peace
they make us fight
trillion dollars a year for guns
to keep them niggers at bay
they keep coming
over the border
out the woods
out the allies
through the jungle
bringing diamonds
gold
uranium
cobolt
copper
bauxite
plutonium
zinc
where do they get it from
niggers
they rich but poor
why do they still
have babies
we don't want babies
we gay, lesbian
niggers need to be like us
we told the preacher to tell them niggers be gay, be lesbian
he said ok
niggers.
will the world be free
niggers still in slavery
wanting a job
didn't we work them enough
four centuries
they still want a job
they crazy
insane
stupid
ugly
sloth.
when will they wake up
see the light
ain't the sun shining on a nigger's behind
--Marvin X
10/6/10

Preview #8, Journal of Pan African Studies, Poetry Issue

Preview #8, Journal of Pan African Studies, Poetry Issue

Guest Editor, Marvin X

Anthony Mays, South Korea

OBAMA

Articulate, dreamy, foreign child

The classic mulatto, infectious smile

Malcolm and Martin rolled into one

Mandingo’s scrapping bastard son!

Obama!

Styled his Gullah wife in a corporate blouse

Did a buck dance for bankers to the White House

Bailed out greedy bankers with a juicy treat

Did a Negro’s tap dance for Wall Street.

Obama!

Denounced his father, forsook with his preacher,

Praises robber barons and his Harvard teacher*

A tragic mulatto with blemished past

Wasn’t the first and won’t be the last!

Obama!

“Change” he preached - for “Change” people wait

More bailouts, tax and police state!

More of the same but in black face,

Just another national disgrace!

Obama!

Rescued the gangsters in private planes

While the jobless and homeless felt the pains

Silly voters he never meant to serve!

He’s the house Negro for the Federal Reserve.

Obama!

Ward Connally would say “amen!”

Stepin Fechet would call his act a sin!

A perfect puppet to deceive and pretend!

Obama!

Begs a bailout with tin cup in hand

Around his neck, a golden band

Dislikes elephants, but claims the donkey,

Begging like the organ grinder’s monkey!

Obama!

-------------

l Barack Obama’s instructor in university was none other than Zbigniew Brzezinski, globalist, Trilateral Commisssion, Council of Foreign Relations, etc.

--Anthony Mays

I'm presently living in Korea for the past twelve years, my "soul on ice," as Cleaver wrote. I've read your poetry and was inspired by it, along with the writings of previous masters like Aime Ceasaire, Damas, Claude McKay, Baraka, Frances W. Harper, etc., etc.... God willing, I hope to shake your hand, Marvin X, before I surrender the ghost.

Felix Orisewike Sylvanus, Lagos, Nigeria

Farewell… to Lagos

Mother,

Leaving assumes the hope

This night is too long

I do not know when the sun will rise

But the sea breeze, the sea breeze being so

Friendly came to tell me always to stay a few day

I have to rush to the top hill

Do not mind the heavy night

I have torchlight I can trace my dream

If moon too refuses to come

The drum is rolling already, the drum

That dance tomorrow around is rolling already

I have to rush there and pick my part

Do not say I should stay till dawn; dawn

Cannot come rain has covered the heaven

O’ home, give me no pet; not this time

I will be happy without you

Father,

I’m glad I would never part a tear

No time for tear either

My feet is out there waiting for the journey

O’ brother – sister, friend of my green day

None knew you but to love you

--Felix Orisewike Sylvanus

I am Felix Orisewike Sylvanus by name. I live in Lagos, Nigeria where I’m currently running a degree programme in English language. I was born in Akure, Ondo State of Nigeria in 1982 I have written two anthology of poetry awaiting publication. I also write in other genres of literature.

Kamaria Muntu , United Kingdom

Life Expectancy
for Abdul

Daryl Grigsby's question: is 55 old age for a Black man?

Start with this
there are no fritters on the burner
there will never be smells
ripe and holy as Sunday morning
corn muffins, kidney stew, tomato slices
on a Mingus morning

there will never be you on the porch
a fly brush of early red sun against your locs
the rustle of crisp newspapers
quicksilver like an Eagle’s span of wings
as you pause to peer through an October sky
just a grinnin

you should not have come back
you said it yourself
there was still the itch of soda lake
beneath the thin cloth of your shirt
in your sweat
you missed the coffee trees and waterfalls
the wetlands and the women

you were no romantic though
said you often heard the booming blue wail
days, nights, years of a people’s torture
riding the Pangani coast
ghost children in the salt pans
blood curdling on cliffs
fringing palms and waterbirds
still you missed Tanzania
you had found a place there
some peace

there will never be a memory
like a snapped cord
that says I could have been with you then
me with my small babies
and younger than you
my own impossible struggles and plans

could have been the cigarettes you smoked
or some dream flamed to ashes
black man you were trying so hard
only wanting a little kindness in your life
a house of certain meal and brick
cashmere horns in the midnight hour

at 45 your legs wobbled
and yellow diamonds shattered to dust
underneath black and white keys
that ushered in your last call
again the heart not outdistancing the heart
the medicine beyond the grasp
the elder women gathering to bury another son

and I don’t know if I could have turned your pain
into something we could have lived with
because there was one more call
and then no more
and when I heard
some part of life slipped dark and heavy from my soul

start with this
there is comfort in the way of things
hiccups of breath then quiet then breath again
Abdul, you are in the marketplace
you are wind and color
dancing with the women of Mulala

Women of Mulala: Tanzanian market women

Kamaria Muntu is an African-American Mother, Poet and Writer with extensive experience as a political organizer throughout the Southern United States. Her writing experience includes plays, essays, press releases, research reports and grants. Her activist experience focuses Black liberation and human rights. She recently founded her own production company; Rightimb films. Muntu currently resides in the United Kingdom.

L. E. Scott, Aotearoa/New Zealand

GOING TO THE VILLAGE

My brother

Nobody speaks of you

You sleep now in earth dust

A mound covering you

With no earthly name

You left the city

To hide your death in the forest

Even the witch-doctor

Will not harvest your bones

Village women wailing of your death

From across the road

Fearing what could escape from your death hole

Songs of sorrow hide in fear

Of your return from the city

My brother

Nobody speaks of you

Your death has turned love upside down

No animals will be sacrificed

For your journey home

Your father’s door has been marked

With signs of witchcraft

There is talk of burning fire with fire

Even in death

Fear makes you unsafe

The villagers are gathering stones

Not to mark your grave

It is not safe here for you

They say your death

Is as a thief at night

Coming among them in their beds

My brother

Nobody bathed you in death

They feared the wetness of you

Those who gathered

Came only to bury you

Their silence like your death

We have been shameful

And even now

We cannot speak your name

My brother

Forgive us for our fear and ignorance

In time

Your name will be spoken

My brother

On AIDS Day

The world will hear your name

--L. E. Scott

L. E. Scott is an African American jazz poet, currently based in
Aotearoa/New Zealand. He is on the staff of "Tu Mai", a magazine for the
indigenous people of Aotearoa/New Zealand. Scott has had a number of
books published, the latest being a collection of poems entitled "Bones",
published by Five Islands Press of Melbourne University, Australia. He
has also had work published in two recent anthologies, "Fingernails Across
The Chalkboard" and "Gwendolyn Brooks and Working Writers", both published
by Third World Press.

Chinwe Enemchukwu, Florida USA

Diasporans

Sizzling like whistling kettles

Running out of steam,

Despite the heightened heat

from the stoked fire beneath.

Fire stoked daily by bad winds

Hurling from the homeland.

Deadly winds, brutal as the harmattan

Fanning the fire and scorching the skin

of diasporans already double stretched thin.

The whistle, now a mournful whine

Emitting from once courageous souls

Weary from encompassing hopelessness,

Warding off hardship in the host land,

Terrified by surrounding wickedness.

Saddened by frequent untimely passing.

Plain finding it ever harder to stand

The whirlwind life of foreign lands.

Still they struggle to increase the pace,

Trying much harder to transform the race,

Straining daily to get it in stride,

And by so doing, surely control the tide,

And with that success, make it to shore,

From all indications, having tried for sure.

They beat themselves to messy pulp

Taking more than possible in a gulp.

They whistle and sizzle wildly, blowing

Twirling steam in an urgent puff,

Scorching white puff, nothing more.

Like whistling kettles working ever so hard

To give more steam, scorching steam, words

Useless for the problem on hand

But ever so harmful nonetheless.

--Chinwe Enemchukwu

Chinwe Enemchukwu is a pharmacist by profession, and a mother of six adult children. I am a Nigerian immigrant and have lived in the United States, by way of Florida, for over thirty years. I count myself as part of the Nigerian and Igbo Diaspora and participate in numerous activities involving these groups. My poems reflect on the current socio-economic and political situation in Nigeria.

Mabel Mnensa, South Africa

Mamlambo’s Helping Hand

Deep down

at the bottom of the motherland

it rolls out its hand

and says devil I be

rolls out the woman I should be,

canned and proud.

Rips out my heart that dare protest

the arms, legs that dare contest

what remains of me

is little grains so close to the sea

build into female perfect humility.

A big vast emptiness

where my heart once was

I try to find the answer to my sores

but the great Mamlambo roars over my calls

and sings

“hush little one now gone are your flaws

now we can find you a man

to feel up all your holes”.

--Mabel Mnensa

I am interested in the inherent power that poetry, especially performance poetry, has. My Masters dissertation, Speaking Out: African Orality and Post-Colonial Preoccupations in Selected Examples of Contemporary Performance Poetry examines the common preoccupations that emerge in South African and American poetry. Sarah Jones and Gil Scott-Heron were among the American poets whose work I explored in the paper that I completed last year.

Submissions accepted until October 15. Send to: jmarvinx@yahoo.com, include brief bio and pic. MS Word attachment

Preview #7, Journal of Pan African Studies, Poetry Issue

Preview #7,
Journal of Pan African Studies
Poetry Issue

Guest Editor, Marvin X

Bruce George,

New York City

I’m in a world

I’m in a world

of concrete and steel

of mace and riots

of endless talk

of endless plots

of prison politics

of taking orders

of giving orders

of recycled dreams

of letters gone unanswered

of funerals unattended

of lock-downs

of beat-downs

of testosterone

of claustrophobia

of anger

of no love

of no hope

of no peace!

I’m in a world

where you look through and not at

where you cry on the inside

where you die on the inside

where you take no prisoners

where you are taken prisoner

where time stands still

where time passes by

where you are forgotten

where you are not forgiven

where you lose your mind

where you lose your soul

yet I’m still a man

yet I’m still human

yet I’m a child of God

yet I’m free!

--Bruce George

Co-founder of Def Poetry Jam.

Amy ”Aimstar” Andrieux, New York City

Birth of aimstar

you left me..

fertilized

with unhatched dreams

full of your broken promises

i wanted to burst

run

hide

sleep for a long time

i even wanted to die

but god, life, and the ancestors wouldn't let me

they had great plans for me

so with bleeding heart & burnt fuses

i cried

in vain

in awe of our deconsumated union

handslapped bruises was all that was left behind

of this fingerpainted we...

and baby fertilized me

so i walked home separated

mind mad

body weak

my heart with you

and exasperated was i

with trying to force myself to meditate

contemplate

tweak the trivialities of us fools

so i could possibly move on without u?

still impregnated

and in 4 months due

spirit began to wrestle

cuz home wanted to make me brand new

whole.

home.

free from hell on some neverending story type shit

hatched unbroken circles

no more cracked eggshells

and finally met myself in the mirror of unattainable miracles

reflecting thoughts of unmet heroes

i ached for you

and i bellowed...

my heart bellowed

and i gave birth

with my hate subdued.

barely aware of my great victory

my tremendous dream unblurred

i arose

fully awake in consciousness

yes, i remembered..

the smells,

the sounds,

the tastes,

the nostalgia overcame me when i gave birth to she

i remembered breathing.

i remembered life.

i remembered me.

And thank you for leaving.

Peace

--aimstar

4/4/02

Having recently left The Source in the summer of 2010, where Amy served as the general manager and executive editor appointed by prominent entertainment attorney and The Source executive publisher L. Londell McMillan, she is currently keeping urban culture alive via her own creative pursuits via AIMSTAR Media (AM), a multi-media and development company she founded in 2004.

Amy was the former managing editor of TRACE Magazine where she spent five years in various capacities. At international lifestyle entity, which housed TRACE TV, and magazines TRACE US, TRACE FRANCE and TRACE UK she oversaw and writing cutting-edge editorial features from fashion, music, travel, lifestyle and politics centered on the global metropolitan tastemaker, for all three editions. At age 26, she became the youngest Publisher in NYC, managing the finance, marketing, and sales departments of the TRACE brand.

As an entertainment journalist, she has interviewed several key figures in the arts including Kobe Bryant, Pharrell Williams, Spike Lee, Snoop Dogg, Outkast, Queen Latifah, T.I., Jesse Jackson, Ice Cube, Jamel Shabazz, Damon Dash, Shepard Fairey, Michael Eric Dyson, Mister Cartoon, Patricia Field, Jonathan Mannion, Raekwon, among others. Her essays have been featured in Transculturalism: How the World is Coming Together (Powerhouse Books, 2003; Ten Years of Trace (Booth Clibborn, 2006); and EyeJammie’s Hip Hop Encyclopedia (MTV

Ramal Lamar, Oakland CA

Ramal Izza Teacha (circa 1994 when I was 15)

i been teachin all my life (RIGHT!)
clear the way my landin zone is at sight.
i been teachin so much i'm like a nuisance,
but its given to you so you can use it,
for the positive, neva eva negative
i'm flyin heads kid, as i freak competitive,
open your ears, so you may listen,
as i teach on the beat with precision.
the mission? for you to be taught,
so knowledge may be given not sought nor fought for-
public storage, stored an informative mental message -
yet all the suckas guessin-
can you question - i think not -
i ink a lot... about topics, let's talk -
now about the fact why you need to be taught -
we illin out now cuz of the weed that he bought
i sought, awareness in self no one else -
so i could come cool with the creepness of a stealth bomber
i'm droppin bombs - words to grandmoms i'll do it-
i'm mindless and only All knew it -

ramal izza teacha - he izza teacha
ramal izza teacha - he'll neva deceive ya

--Ramal Lamar

Ramal Lamar is a master of ceremonies in the hip hop tradition. He also teaches mathematics and philosophy in the Bay Area's Afrikan Community. He is a graduate of San Francisco State University and California State University East Bay. He has written reviews, "Journey to the End of Islam" (Micheal Muhammad Knight) and " We Will Return in the Whirlwind" (Muhammed Ahmed) for Black Bird Press News. He is an associate professor at Marvin X’s Academy of the Corner, Oakland, California. Ramal is currently writing his master’s thesis in mathematical logic to pursue doctoral studies..

Tariq Shabazz, Newark NJ

8th Wonder of the world—Mr. Wonderful.

The next time they talk about the Beat dudes
Lennon and ‘em, Paulie Mac and the rest
Just think about Mr. Wonderful our fully expressed selves
The greatest of all time, in a class by himself
Ya’ll know Mr. wonderful will rift right pass those little Brits
With their ok pen and light weight voices, who do you know with a more poetic pen than S.W.?
Seeing the world, his world and our world better than we could ever see it because he’s from Saturn.
He sees things clearly, not blinded by the ugliness of bullshit disguised as material life.
But rather he’s lead by vibration; he feels everyone’s heartbeat and he’s hip to the devil that doesn’t have a heartbeat.
Another realm—vibrant colors translated into life’s song.
Always on point, always current with the power of the ocean.
That must be the reason they don’t mention him as much as the less competent, less conscience, less relevant the lesser – us.
How can you ignore the author of one of the greatest love songs, AS*!
But AS always they will find a way.
Amiri B. put us on to the fact that our beloved Mike Jack was a decoy—content lacking.
But we still see you Stevie Wonder [full]
And we know you see us, easier than we see you.
Much clearer as we say “you feel us”, on another level.
Your connection is much deeper than ours because we rely too much on our eyes, never truly seeing.
Blind to the true facts and beauty of life preoccupied with the superficial.
We do have other brothers that can blow but just when they think they’re getting close you blow right pass them with your consciousness.
Singing in that key no one can get quite right.
Singing that Song in the key of life.
Master of the lyric, constanly doing battle with the track.

You let it get away (at least that’s what we thought)
Its pass you Stevie!
And in a blink of an eye you catch it—rift, blow, and run right pass it
Slow down for it, rift around it, grab and subdue it.
Damn, you mastered the track too
So remember, the next time they pull the Beatles out, throw Stevie on their ass!
Go Album for Album and Track for Track
And the winner will be…
We love you Mr. Wonderful

--Tariq Shabazz

Born in Newark, NJ raised between Newark and Irvington, NJ. Always loved to write. Three different high schools, no diploma. Gets GED in '98, enlists in the Marine Corps in '99, honorable discharge in '03 as a SGT. After Marine Corps, comes home, falls into the streets. Shot four times in '05. Afterward, realize being a Blackman is better than being a Negro. Start College, gets associates degree. Currently at Montclair State University as a political science major and film minor, graduating in Dec '10. Now--Family, Activism, and School. That's it.

Deadline for submissions, October 15. Send to jmarvinx@yahoo.com. MS word attachment, include bio and pic.

Marvin X,

Guest Editor