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Wednesday, July 26, 2017
Muslim Mental Health Crisis Line
The Wisdom of Plato Negro by Marvin X: Parable of the Haters Club, Parable of the Mad Poet, Parable of a Real Woman
Reader Comment on the Wisdom of Plato Negro
The Wisdom of Plato Negro is for the forty something up. No persons who haven't lived a few years can appreciate the things Marvin X says in The Wisdom of Plato Negro. You need to be at least forty to understand, and even then, this is not a book to read in one setting, even if it is easy reading. It is a book to read in a relaxed situation, and then only read one or two of the parables at a time. They must be carefully digested, each one.
Think about them, what was the real meaning? Again, if you haven't lived a few years, there's no way you can appreciate some of the things he says. For example, the Parable of the Real Woman. A young man who hasn't had many experiences with women cannot possibly understand this parable. If a woman comes to his house and cleans it out of love, a young man cannot appreciate this. He will tell her thanks, then go get a flashy woman who is never going to clean his house, mainly because she doesn't know how. But the dude will go for her because she is cute, but the real woman he rejects, the one with common sense and dignity, who may not be a beauty queen.
--Anon
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Parable of a Real Woman
Parable of A Real Woman
The Sharecropper by Elizabeth Cattlett Mora
There was a man who had many women in his life. They had come and gone, with himself at fault most of the time. But he wouldn't give up, he continued his self improvement and search for that special woman. He talked with elder women about what he should do. One told him he'd never had a real woman! If so, she would still be with him, no matter what, through thick and thin, up times and down times. Well, he asked, how would he know when such a woman was in his presence. First, clean up your own act, she said. Scoop your own poop. Rid yourself of defects of character. Make amendments to all those you have harmed in life. It takes humility to do this.
Still, how will I know the real woman? The older woman answered, you will know because when she comes over your house and sees something amiss, she will take authority to correct the situation. If your house is dirty, she will immediately ask if she can clean it as a favor to you, as an act of love. She will not want any money for her services. And she will clean your house as it has never been cleaned before because she knows what she is doing. Yes, she is a pro, not only with house cleaning but with every thing she does, including her love making. She will make sure you are satisfied and herself as well.
She will demand respect and will respect you. She will demand freedom and give you freedom. She will speak in the language of love so smooth that it will be like a razor cutting to the heart. You will be bleeding to death but not know you are cut.
You will do what she suggests and do it willingly because it will not be a demand but a request said so subtle you won't recognize it for what it actually is: a demand. And you will love doing what she requests.
When you need space and time to yourself you won't need to explain, she will pick up the vibe.
And you will do the same for her.
She will not be jealous and envious of your talent and skills or how handsome you are to other women. She knows she has you in her pocket because she is confident of herself, and not worried about some other woman taking her man.
If you are taken by another woman, it must be the will of God that you go. She knows God will replace her emptiness with someone even better than you. But she will give you time to get a grip on yourself and find your way back home. Just don't take too long and when you come home don't be asking about what she was doing while you were gone.
A real woman will put her resources at your disposal if you are worthy of them, as the prophet Muhammad was treated by the wealthy trade woman Khadijah. There is no selfishness in love. All is for the beloved, but a wise woman ain't no fool. As the song says, the greatest thing you will ever do is love and be loved in return.
The man thanked the elder woman for her wisdom and departed on his search.
--Marvin X
3/11/10
Parable of the Haters Club
There was a club for haters. All the haters from all around had membership in the haters club. And the haters all had an evil vibe or no vibe at all and they also had a bad smell that went along with their vibe or no vibe at all. They had no vibe at all because they were dead inside. AB said where the soul's print should be there was only a cellulose pouch of disgusting habits.
Their hatred was usually based on jealousy and envy. The haters never hated their enemies but their friends. The haters were so sick they loved their enemy but hated their friends. No matter how often their enemies crushed them into dust, the haters preferred to be with them rather than with their friends who loved them.
Yes, the haters were sick puppies and beyond redemption. They would never grow into dogs because hatred stunted their growth. The worst part of the haters was not jealousy and envy but their behavior as busters. Yes, their hatred made them want to bust up their friends good fortune. The haters could have good fortune too but consumed their time hating. When told it takes the same energy to hate as to love, they laughed, because their addiction to hatred was so deep they had no desire to jump out of the box into the land of love. They preferred to remain in the box of bitterness and wickedness, plotting and planning to bust their friends at every turn, making sure their friends would not obtain the good fortune due them as righteous people.
Membership in the haters club grew because times were so bad the people started hating themselves and loved to be around other members at the club house where hated came to socialize, to drink, wink and blink at each other and plot the downfall of those with good fortune. In the end the haters were like pigs who got drunk on their own slop. The haters drank their own vomit until they were consumed and overcome with their evil that developed into cancers of the worst kind.
--Marvin X
11/9/14
Parable of the Madpoet
And I'm the great would-be poet. Yes. That's right! Poet. Some kind of bastard literature...all it needs is a simple knife thrust. Just let me bleed you, you loud whore, and one poem vanished. A whole people of neurotics, struggling to keep from being sane. And the only thing that would cure the neurosis would be your murder...
--Amiri Baraka, The Dutchman
He was a man who lived on the razor's edge, like a tight walker about to fall into the chasm, a false step, a slight loss of balance and he would surely fly headlong into the precipice.
He wrote to keep from killing, from slaughtering the guilty and innocent. In his warped mind, the choice was society's, not his. For in his selfishness, either let his pen flow or blood shall flow upon the land because he felt wronged, the constant victim of theft, even by his friends or so called friends.
He had taught at the greatest universities in the land, but was often escorted off campus by police for violating the law of political correctness. He was deported from countries for the same reason, marched onto the plane at gunpoint, the hatch door slammed behind him. If madpoet returned, the prime minister said he would leave.
His writings were so outrageous people threw them on the ground in the north and dirty south. He told a man who threw his writings on the ground that he was dumber than the dumbest mule in Georgia. The man went away but came back to ask him if that was a line from a movie. Madpoet told him, "You the movie, nigguh!"
Even though he hadn't sought employment in decades, he believed he was banned from employment for life because of his deranged thoughts, that he was not invited to events to celebrate life or art, even events his peers organized, though he invited them to his productions without fail.
People wanted him to be rich by saying the right things so the public could accept his writings. But his doctor told him to remain poor so he could be truthful and free. Another friend told him not to worry about money because on the day he died he would surely be rich and famous. He was praised by word of mouth because nobody was going to talk about his writings out loud, but they hush hushed about it. It was very straight and plain. Youth told him he was very blunt!
Some people thought he liked to whine, snibble and was ungrateful because whenever he put on events they were unique and classical extravaganzas, though sometimes long, drawn out affairs without thought of intermission or length of time. Another mad friend named Sun Ra had taught him about infinity.
He had been confined to the mental hospital four times, but each time he had taken himself. He enjoyed the mental ward, especially since it was full of artists like himself who had crossed the line from creativity to insanity. Other than drugs, the doctors found nothing wrong with him so when he refused to leave, they threw him out onto the street. The police jabbed him in the ribs with their night sticks as they escorted him off the grounds of the mental hospital.
So please let his pen flow and do not disturb him for any reason, especially some menial chore, a mundane exercise, just leave him alone in the silence of his room. Let him ponder thoughts beyond the box, beyond the pale of tradition. Let him consider the finer things of life, what words to configure, what metaphors, psycholinguistic turns of the mind, the sociology and historiography of a people, or else there shall be chaos in the land and blood shall flow like a river, for his spirit shall be suppressed and shall seek an outlet in blood from the misery of his mind.
Yes, he is a killer in disguise, who appears in the persona of a poet for the good of society, but continue to oppress him, suppress him, and he shall strike out in a moment of black madness and those who have wronged him shall see your guts spilled, your head smashed against the concrete sidewalk.
Believe it, it is only a matter of time before the madpoet shall seek revenge and come upon those who have wronged him. He shall strike like a panther in the night, and you shall cry in horror as his knife enters your throat and from thence to the spilling of your guts upon the ground.
He shall walk away with a laughter and joy only the devil himself shall understand and appreciate.
--Marvin X
4/17/09
Gullahland, South Carolina
Revised 4/3/10
New York Poetry Festival
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Poet E. Ethelbert Miller speaks
American Poet and African Culturalist but Bespoke and Ambient
Literary Activist and National Dean of Poetry E. Ethelbert Miller Speaks Thoughtfully of Our Times
“Ethelbert Miller is an amicable, eloquent, Ambassador of The People’s Poetry. His voluminous knowledge of literature is only matched by his voracious appetite for verse and his seemingly endless desire to share The Word with all humanity. We’re fortunate to have such a Griot in our midst.” 2017 Pulitzer Prize Winning Poet Tyehimba Jess
“Consider the person who decides to secure a box, place himself in it and mail himself out of slavery. The ability to make a way out of no way is perhaps imprinted on the souls of black folks.” E. Ethelbert Miller
Want to talk about poet Langston Hughes? Maya Angelou? Want to speak with a beloved friend of June Jordan’s? Want to speak with one of those direct living legacies of poet and griot Amiri Bakara? I mean who gives deference to the Def Poetry Dean but Mos Def? Yes, Call the Dean of American Poetry, E. Ethelbert Miller. He’ll hear you out. Yes, talking with E. Ethelbert Miller is like listening to the cosmos: they hear you - an elegant vacuum of black knowing, eternity in a body that is knowing and all encompassing. After nearly 30 years of teaching, poetry speaks, lecturing, the Dean of American Poetry does not just speak of ideas, poetry and justice, He has transformed his very being into an instrument of, for and to those higher ideas. E. Ethelbert Miller is an American poet and African culturalist but bespoke and ambient.
I sent the Dean of Poetry, a few poems and he sent me back comments that were basically: start over, it doesn’t sing. What Black? They were final words, knowing too. They were kind and temperate but definitive. Because what’s the point in arguing with a Panamanian septuagenarian, Black Arts Movement devotee, a scion of the Harlem Renaissance, a friend of June Jordan’s, the Def Jam poet trumpeted by Mos Def, he who critiques not only Ta Nehisi Coates but his daddy, Paul? He who moderatesChimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Author of nine books of poetry, two memoirs and the editor of three poetry anthologies? The one after whom September 28, 1979 was declared forthwith E. Ethelbert Miller Day by Marion Barry, the mayor of Washington D.C. American Poet and African Culturalist, “E. Ethelbert Miller Day” edited me? Naw Black. That’s blessings. Benedictions. So, I take the blessings and I absorb them into my being. In doing so, I am refined. Long live the Dean of American Poetry.
“Well it looks as if we’ve elected a child to lead us into 2020. Fear is real. Might we go to war with North Korea before we celebrate Kwanzaa again? Such darkness seems too real these days.” E. Ethelbert Miller
In this back and forth, we communicate in the spirit of the brotherhood that informs our work after the midnight hour – you know from 12 to 3, in the blackness of our time, when we poets are just vessels for the spirits communicating by biological means of our physical; when we are just mediums for the ancestors attempting to make a communication known, a new age uncovered – the Black Panther Constitution.
Forget Harvard – Howard University, the Dean’s Alma Mater, is the refinement, the highest manifestation of America’s homecoming. Our finest destination, the final call, the place from which a new century derives leadership as 2020 presidential candidate Kamala Harris and our Panamanian Dean of Poets. Yes,
When we sit still with the music of the ancestors soul sound prompting spirit finger tips, beating hearts into a symphony of djembe, the rain’s pitter patter and kettles drums. And you know what I found E. Ethelbert Miller? On this brotherhood of the Dean of American Poetry to a nation of poets? I found as Mos Def, Freedom:
Freedom
after word spread
about emancipation
some of us went to
the end of the
plantation and looked
for our children to
return. freedom don’t
mean much if you can’t
put your arms around it.
By E. Ethelbert Miller, the Write Way
”Hopefully, the material I saved will be of use to future scholars.” E. Ethelbert Miller, Dean of American Poetry
But let’s talk with the Dean of American Poetry and see what he has got to say about the current state of global affairs. He is former chair of the Humanities Council of Washington, D.C., and has served on the boards of the AWP, the Edmund Burke School, PEN American Center, PEN/Faulkner Foundation, and the Washington Area Lawyer for the Arts (WALA). His speak is quiet and respectful, pregnant with all the possibility of the bright new age birthing from the old decrepit hierarchy. So speaks the Dean:
When we spoke earlier this year, after you had presented on poet June Jordan at the Medgar Evers college in Brooklyn, you said something that struck me and prompted this article. You said, and I am quoting as best I remember, that African Americans are some of the most creative spirits on the planet. What did you mean by that?
The ability to overcome oppression, to pursue freedom, to survive daily in a hostile environment often requires a considerable degree of resiliency as well as creativity. Consider the person who decides to secure a box, place himself in it and mail himself out of slavery. The ability to make a way out of no way is perhaps imprinted on the souls of black folks. To the extent that America “invented” the Negro, black survival in America has been dependent on invention.
This is evident in our cultural footprints. Our art, especially our music and literature has at times been difficult to define. Consider the inability of music critics to define and understand the first notes of bebop. How does an ear prepare for the coming of Charlie Parker or Ornette Coleman? Didn’t August Wilson change American theater? Where does one place the contemporary literary genius of Olio by Tyhimba Jess. His collection of poems this year was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. The intellectual heft of this book represents the brightness of a new black literary generation. One could see this coming from simply measuring the arching reach of the Cave Canem organization founded in 1996 by Cornelius Eady and Toi Derricotte. Today, we see African American poets beginning to dominate the genre of poetry as if it was the NBA.
“Black people are no longer the children of Ellison. In many ways Barack Obama was our George Washington. Now comes the flowering of a new America and for some -the fear of a black planet.”
In just the last few years American literature has been “spiced” by the work of Natasha Trethewey, Tracy Smith, Greg Pardlo, and Terrance Hayes. In film, as well as the visual arts we find not one but many African American artists changing the landscape. It is also impossible to place all these artists inside one silo. This is not a rebirth or renaissance. It is simply the removal of the veil that was once placed over black culture in America. Our artists have more visibility as a result of social media; in much the same manner we are able to document more incidents of police brutality because of a cell phone. Black people are no longer the children of Ellison. In many ways Barack Obama was our George Washington. Now comes the flowering of a new America and for some -the fear of a black planet. Today’s creative black artistic energy must protect us from what Langston Hughes prophetically called “the backlash blues.” This is what now stands between Trump and a hard rock.
“Being a literary activist means helping to promote other voices. It means encouraging the person who might only have one poem. It means going into senior citizen homes, schools and prisons and discussing poetry and well as listening to it being recited.” E. Ethelbert Miller, Literary Activist and American Griot
In your work, in your teaching and speaking, in your consciousness, there is connectivity, there is peace, a gentleness and a precise relationship with truth. These qualities seem to be absent in our current national discourse, leadership and cultural norms. What is “Literary Activism”, a term you have used to refer to yourself and which has been attributed to you widely, even having September 28, 1979, memorialized as “E. Ethelbert Miller Day.” (in our previous discussion, you noted listening with intent and purpose).
Forty years of working at Howard University turned me into a literary activist. In the early 1970s I was a research assistant to literary critic Dr. Stephen Henderson. I took of couple of classes from him during my senior year at Howard. After I graduated I helped him interview various writers. Among them were Sterling A. Brown, Owen Dodson, Frank Marshall Davis, Julian Mayfield and many others. As director of the African American Resource (starting in 1974) I understood the importance of documenting and preserving history. For decades I conducted video interviews, I also hosted several radio programs that provided me with a way of sharing information with the community of Washington. I coined the term literary activist because it defined the many things I was doing. I was not just a poet or writer. In 1974, I founded the Ascension Poetry Reading Series which gave a generation of poets their first readings and stage.
Being a literary activist means helping to promote other voices. It means encouraging the person who might only have one poem. It means going into senior citizen homes, schools and prisons and discussing poetry and well as listening to it being recited. Today I edit (with Jody Bolz) Poet Lore magazine, which is the oldest poetry magazine in the United States. It was founded in 1889. Editing this magazine for almost 15 years has given me a vehicle in which I can help writers reach an audience. Editing a journal keeps one in touch with the pulse of the national literary community. At one time I sat on the boards of many literary organizations. In a small way I’ve helped shaped cultural policy and strengthen literary institutions. I take pride in having received two awards. On February 27, 2007, I received the Poets & Writers Barnes & Noble Writers for Writers Award and on March 31, 2016, AWP gave me their George Garrett Award for Outstanding Community Service in Literature. Serving the literary community instead of simply sitting down and writing everyday often requires a considerable degree of sacrifice.
As a literary activist I’ve also spent time giving workshops and talks. For several years I was a core faculty member at the Bennington Writing Seminars. Today I teach an online memoir class for the University of Texas, Victoria. But maybe the key aspect of being a literary activist is the emphasis I place on preservation. I’m deeply grateful to George Washington University and their Gelman Library for housing my personal archives. At last count I believe the collection consisted of over 200 boxes. Hopefully, the material I saved will be of use to future scholars.
“That comfort with words came from my father. As a new mother, I see that what we emphasize as important before our children affects their values. In our home my father valued literacy and the ability to both give and receive knowledge from the power of words. Growing up, we frequented trips to the neighborhood library and over dinner were quizzed on current events from articles we read in the New York Times. I grew up watching my father read entire novels in one night, mentor budding poets and lead writing workshops in prisons.” Jasmine-Simone Morgan, Esquire, E. Ethelbert Miller’s daughter and rising activist attorney in Washington D.C.
In 2010, on NPR in a show called, “How Will We Refer to the Next Ten Years“, you offered a meditation on the next 10 years and predicted a decade not unlike the roaring 20’s and the defining talents of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Langston Hughes and Zora Neal Huston. You seem to be saying that we are in these times. Aside from literature and poetry, your industry and keep, where else (what other art forms) do you witness the blooming of this work?
It’s funny looking back at what I said in 2010. I was concerned about those “teen” years of the new century.
Well it looks as if we’ve elected a child to lead us into 2020. Fear is real. Might we go to war with North Korea before we celebrate Kwanzaa again? Such darkness seems too real these days. I want to be optimistic but I don’t want to be a fool. What seems to be blooming is the art of resistance. It’s going to be dangerous if we erase the gains made on climate change or race relations. It would be sad if this decade is defined by Trump’s ego and personality. Who wants the sky to turn a funny shade of orange? If this occurs, may all the willows weep for me.
ETHELBERT—MU MEMOIR TALK—PHOTO TAKEN BY HESAM NOROUZZADEH / PICTURE TAKEN AT MARYMOUNT UNIVERSITY
Right now E. Ethelbert Miller is completing work on his forthcoming book -If God Invented Baseball. It is a collection of baseball poems that will be published in February 2018.
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