Monday, November 5, 2018

Marvin X new poems: Ignut Nigga and other poems

 Harlem New York reception for Marvin X at the home of poet Rashidah Ishmaili, 2014. Marvin X was in NYC to speak at the New York University memorial for poets Jayne Cortez and Amiri Baraka.

Maestro Marvin X with the Black Arts Movement Poets Choir and Arkestra, including David Murray, Earle Davis, Val Serrat, et al., Malcolm X Jazz/Art Festival, Oakland CA
photo Adam Turner/Gene Hazzard


Talkin' Ignut poem




Would you prefer a black Communist or black Capitalist regime
Black Muslim
Super Sunni
Iranian Shia
Saudi Arabian Israeli ISIS
Yoruba
Hebrew
Voodoo
Hoodoo 
Doodoo
Gay lesbian trans
Jesus saves Saviours
Social Democratic Republican gangsta
Scientology Farrakhan
Back to Egypt back to the moon
Back to back
Wakanda multicultural
Me too him too
Ho's tricks too
Priests boys too
Women dogs too
What a wonderful world
Can't we all just
Have some Pizza
--MARVIN X
11/5/18

Can I hear some black music 

Can I hear some Black music
Not fusion Miller Lite
Mexican soul music
Mi corazon
Black music
Not white hippie hip hop
Black jazz 
Coltrane Billie Bessie
Blues
Cotton field blues
Cane field
Rice blues 
Chicago pain
Urban blues
Fillmore Street 7th Street Oakland Blues
Hammond B 3 Blues supreme
Jimmy Smith
Earl Father Hines jazz blues
Josephine Baker Slim Jenkin's blues
John Singer Pullman Porter Union Hall Blues
No water down blues
Give me national anthem 
Lift every voice and sing blues.
--MARVIN X
11/5/28

Love Letter to Ann Williams

Ann
can you believe a nigger can love you for fifty years
in silence
from 1962 til now
your black beauty was supreme then and now
your intelligence
quiet character in the midst of madmen supreme
your partner turned out to be the maddest of all
Beyond Donald/Khalid
beyond Huey, Bobby
Ken Freeman, Isaac Moore, Ernie Allen, Maurice Dawson Judy Juanity
Ann
I won't call his name because he honored me
first to recognize me as writer
introduced me to Huey Newton

you were cool through it all
black velvet beauty
sustained years of terror death betrayal 
jealousy envy
Was it your West Oakland spirit
like mine
codified in Harlem of the West
Defermery Park
McClymonds
New Century
Lincoln Theatre
John Singer's Pool Hall/Bar
upstairs
C.L. Dellums  and the Pullman Porters Union
Nephew Ron Dellums
sometimes we can't come close to elders
we try we try
I thought I was better than my father
what a fool
people told me I sounded like my father
Thought I was a Garveyite Black nationalist
on my own
Paul Cobb told me my dad used to attend Garvey meetings
at his grandfather's house in West Oakland
Ann 
cool quiet woman
called upon to listen
Donald Warden ranted on and on in your ear on telephone
He loved your quiet black beauty
unsurpassed unequal
even today
last days of Babylon
you are here
standing tall
royal african beauty and intelligence
queen of the bay
quiet storm
I love you 
just know that
warrior woman
West Oakland Queen
Ann Williams
Better  ax somebody!
--Marvin X
11/5/18

Friday, November 2, 2018

Imagine a nation of north american africans


Note# 22 Imagine A Black Nation
In Memory of Imari Obadele, Republic of New Africa
What happened to Nation Time, the dreams, visions, revisions, disillusions -- a time of hope
unfulfilled, “Driftin’ and Driftin’,  like that Charles Brown blues tune, no more imagination
beyond a return to ancient Kemet, the land we fled four thousand years ago, thus an impossible
return, for who can go home after four thousand years except a mad Jew, and we see what
terror he has caused upon return--Jewish nationalism, white nationalism, black nationalism,
La Raza nationalism, Chinese nationalism, revolutionary black nationalism,et al.
Black nationalism  is a mental drift, the most terrible kind because it tears at the heart as well
as the mind, thus we are drenched in sweat upon awakening from the nightmare of imagination
and must face the bright sun of reality: we have no nation, want no nation, satisfied to be lost
and turned out on the way to grandmother's house (Whispers, Olivia).
Shall we drift from here to eternity, for how can we avoid synchronizing our dreams with
reality, finally and forever, standing on solid ground as we move into the future of a thousand
tomorrows.
Imagine a nation, a land of soul people who are healing their wounds from centuries of terror,
who blame no one except themselves for the terror, for the ship and whip, the cross and
lynching tree, yes, the strange fruit of the last supper in paradise, before entering the door
of no return.
Imagine a nation, somewhere in the South where our people died, where we can honor their
bones and blood, shed in the sun and night, where their spirits still dance in the swamp
and river bottoms, the plantations and huts still standing, where spirits go wild in the wind
and in the stillness of summer.
Imagine a nation, perhaps Up South in the wicked cities that defied the hope and dreams
of generations, maybe there we shall declare ourselves free and claim sovereignty, a place
called the Republic of Pan Africa, like Brooklyn. where we have gathered for the first time
in four thousand years, de facto capital of the Diaspora,  coming from Mississippi, North
and South Carolina Africans, Jamaica and Haitian Africans, Nigerian, Ghanaian and
Senegalese, bound together again, this time forever on Fulton Street and streets too many
to name.
And yes, there is pain and rivalry,  jealousy and envy, love and hate in the night, but we are
there in the sun, in the snow, a nation not yet standing, not fully sensing our power, strength,
the full strength of a mighty nation forced together again, not since fleeing the pyramids and
pharaohs, the murders for succession, the flight of queens with sons and daughters who did
not assume the throne. And there was drought and famine forcing them up the Nile,
the mighty Congo and Niger.
Imagine, the Republic of Pan Africa, not the nationalism of fools, but the product of
engineers, planners and builders who began with a thought centuries ago in the cane,
cotton and rice fields, the woods of Nat Turner, Gabriel Prosser, Denmark Vesey, the
railroad of Harriet Tubman, the womanhood of Sojourner Truth, but caught, yes, as
Rev.James Cone (RIP)  said, between the cross and lynching tree.
But it was the thought that refused to die, yet resurrected every season like the Nile,
the dream of the homeland where we must be taken in once again. Have we not paid for
this land with sweat, blood and tears? It is ours so claim the portion we desire, stand upon
the ground and cry liberty or death, but have we not died a million times, even now at this
hour we crucify ourselves for failing to stand tall as full men and women, our children
annihilate themselves like Buddhist monks on fire in Vietnam, only because we have not
passed on ancestor tales of liberty and freedom, discipline and work.
Imagine a nation, days of absence from our animal selves, and the donning of our divinity,
wherein we hate each other no more, never again, the jealousy, the Willie Lynch syndrome,
Yacoub’s children playing with steel, some genetic defect in our divine nature.
Imagine a nation, removed from those we cannot live with in peace, thus we part from them
and their wickedness, taking with us only the genius of our minds, for look at the fruit of our
labor under the sun, surely we can do the same for ourselves as we did for the master,
transcending the pyramids with our original creations in the now and tomorrow.
But the question is not if but when America falls, what is the post-American plan for North
American Africans? Will we finally acquire sovereignty as a nation of self-determined people,
will we secure a land base with access to the sea, and minerally rich for our centuries of free
and nearly free labor under the sun? Or will we sit with while other ethnic groups secure the
division of this stolen property called the united snakes of america..
Native Americans will want equity for thievery,  their fair share, along with Latinos, Asians
and poor whites—will the so called Negro sit around waiting for the Master to return, or
will he go about, finally and without hesitation, doing for self, reconstructing his fallen cities,
getting control of the infrastructure, water, electricity, roads, schools, workplaces, airports,
taxes, security? We have done it for the white man, 2019 shall be the 400 year celebration of
our landing in this wilderness of North America. Are we prepared to report to God, ancestors,
elders, adults, children on our condition after being kidnapped 400 years ago, 1619.
Long ago we called for Black Power, but with the coming fall of America, we shall have the
opportunity to fulfill our dreams. Oh, it cannot happen? America is too strong. Firstly, you
have no real idea how strong America is just as you have no idea how strong you are—you
are so full of fear you cannot and never have been able to think straight. Every thought
you ever thought has been wrong simply because it was not thinking outside the box of
Americana,                                              because you have been confined to the box and never
had a chance to consider the configuration of your society except for your 19th century
thinkers and dreamers, and your 20th century thinkers and planners. Garvey and Elijah
Muhammad. Imari dreamed of the Republic of New Africa.
Nations come and go, where is Egypt, Rome, Greece, Great Britain and the Soviet Union?
Does the Chinaman have a chance today--you haven't heard that racist remark recently,
for the Chinese have a very good chance to rule the world. so why do you think America
shall remain forever and forever in its present condition?
It will absolutely change because its ethnic minorities shall soon become the majority.
Why are not your leaders planning for the future and our well-deserved fair share?
If and when  America, as did the Soviet Union, falls apart, what do you want? A job?
A job, a job!
You mean after 400 years of free and nearly free labor, you only desire a job? Are you crazy,
are you totally insane or just lazy, like a whore awaiting marching orders from her pimp—
not knowing the pimp is dead, he was killed in a shootout with rivals. Your leaders, why are
they running around licking the behinds of the the Democratic and Republican parties rather
than establishing an independent political entity that will take us into the future?
They shall be charged for their shortsightedness, their myopia of the mind.

Our goal should not be to achieve parity with white Americans (which is mediocrity, at best),
but with India and China. We should forget about equality with Americans and see the global
picture and imagine our role in it. But we are so blinded by white supremacy that all we see is
white, white, white. Look around, the world is no longer white. Power will not be white in the
not so distant future—can you look ahead a few days and plan accordingly or shall you sit on
your behinds awaiting the crumbs from the fall of America?

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Time poem by marvin x





Time
final monster in our midst
unconquerable no matter what
time
master all things
living waters rivers oshuns
we follow tides
high tide
low tide
you know tide coming
no stress
tide come soon
moon time
predators
snake wants
raccoon bold
fight dog
kick dog ass
time
Gullah time family time
Gullah family love
Family compound love
Gullah child


sun moon stars
time
before time
beyond time
history mystery
time
nano time
yesterday time
love time
war time
time
no stress time
know thyself time
a time to love time
mother time
father time
mother father time
time for children time
eternal time
mama children time
beyond time
mama time
fly mama
imagine the new world mama.
imagine the new world.

Time
slipping into darkness
time stuck
no motion
back forward
Michael Jackson Moon Walk
Sun Ra say Creator got things fixed
don't do right thing
can't go backward forward
stuck on stupid
Supper Glue on asses.
--Marvin X
11/1/18

Sunday, October 21, 2018

Excerpt from Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X: Notes #10 and #11

#10 The Politics of Sports





Although Dr. Harry Edwards supposedly pioneered the sociology of sports, Dr. Nathan Hare wrote his PhD thesis at the University of Chicago on sports, and was a professional boxer. Dr. Hare was so radical he was kicked out of a Negro college, Howard University, where he lectured on sociology and taught Black Power radical Stokely Carmichael, aka Kwame Toure'. He was partly ousted from Howard for bringing Muhammad Ali to campus after he had refused to fight in Vietnam, after all, Ali said, "The Vietcong never called me a Nigger!" Later, Howard also found Hare's boxing career unacceptable for one of their distinguished academics, so he landed at San Francisco State College/now University to become the first chair of Black and Ethnic Studies at a major American university, igniting the longest student strike in American academic history.







Today as we replay the political history of athletes such as Muhammad Ali, Tommy Smith and John Carlos, reincarnated in the persona of Colin Kaepernich and now a host of other brothers who have suddenly awakened to the reality of life in racist, white supremacist America, despite their status as muli-million dollar running dogs for professional athletics, we are not shocked at the response of white America, led by the president who has further inflamed the torch of racism by calling the mostly Black athletes “sons of bitches.” Oh, shit, that white nationalist motherfucker Trump truly crossed the line of propriety by playing the dozens. Now you know Homey don't play dat, not with sacred holy Mother (Of God).

For sure, the politics of American sports has reached a level never seen before, not even when Jack Johnson ignited one of the worse race riots in American history after becoming the Black heavy weight champion of the world , and after Muhammad Ali refused to serve as a running dog for American imperialism or when John Carlos and Tommy Smith gave the Black Power salute to protest American racism at the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City.

It is indeed wonderful to see the Black athletes unite with the suffering masses of North American Africans. These brothers (and sister athletes as well) have put their careers on the line for social justice. We salute them and welcome them home.

--Marvin X

9/29/17


#11 Confession of an Ex-basketball Player

What I am about to tell you  may shock you beyond belief as I shocked DJ Davey D when I told him I was writing this essay. But it's true. It is a story of how one can transcend the illusions of life, things we thought were priority, vital to our breath of air, yet, Solomon told us when I was a child I did childish things, when I became a man , I put away childish things. Elijah Muhammad taught all his followers, including Muhammad Ali, the world was not made for sport and play. HEM's sole focus was our liberation into a nation of our own. But we must take a break, R and R, sometimes. My mentor Sun Ra asked, "Where can Black people go for R an R, i.e., rest and relaxation? Nowhere!" The best we can do is the escape of sports and entertainment to "assuage our social angst and shattered cultural striving, " said Dr. Nathan Hare.

With all wars, even in the low intensity national liberation battle of North American Africans in their childhood and young adulthood, soldiers find sports a necessary diversion from the real world of dread, make believe and conspicuous consumption, the one trillion five billion illusions of the monkey mind Guru Bawa taught us about.

Some of us budding soldiers came to realize sports was/is indeed a diversion from the real world that  would otherwise drive us to the brink of suicide or homicide. Like music, sports soothes the wild beast in us while stimulating our tribal instincts in athletic prowess and competition..

As a child, teenager and college student, basketball was my life, a way to get away from home in a safe space satisfactory to my parents.  Shooting basketball probably saved me from descending totally into the precipice of juvenile delinquency, although my high school coaches bet I would fuck up before the season was over. For sure, although an A student and athlete, several times I found myself in Juvenile Hall for stealing from the snack shop at White's Theatre in Fresno CA where all Blacks went on Sundays, or barely escaped  GTA, i.e., grand theft auto, after we stole keys from cars in auto dealerships and siphoned gas so we could joy ride weekends to meet with country girls in Madera or Hanford, or attend the country fairs in Visalia and Tulare where we snatched purses from screaming white girls.

But the question is how did I get so far away from basketball, something I loved? My basketball career began at New Century Recreation Center, next door to McFeely Elementary School, where I spent the 3rd and 4th grade in West Oakland, Harlem of the West coast. New Century's gym was my home away from home. Soon I was addicted to basketball. It became my drug of choice as a youth. FYI, at New Century I saw a dance teacher that my elementary school mind told me was a beautiful queen. I could not say she was an African queen because I knew nothing about Africa except Tarzan and Jane that I learned from movies at drive in theaters with my parents or at Whites Theatre in Fresno and the Lincoln Theatre on 7th Street in West Oakland, across the street from my parent's florist shop, where we lived in the back. Lincoln Theatre was owned or managed by a Black man, Mr. Freeman.

The Dance teacher was Ruth Beckford who looked royal with her short natural--, yes, a natural in the 50s when we were Negroes and niggas. Black was a fighting word.
But Ruth Beckford was black and beautiful to me. And I relished seeing her come and go from her dance classes.

But my primary interest was basketball. When I got to Lowell Junior High, I made the team and a cheerleader tongue kissed me and scared me to death. I knew nothing about tongue kissing but she taught me. I ain't telling you her name!

On the Lowell Junior High team was Joe Ellis who went on to play for the SF Warriors. At a basketball clinic, I won a trophy for hitting 9 of 10 at the free throw line. McClymonds star and future NBA player Paul Silos was there. I don't think he hit 9 of 10 from the free throw line!
The Defermery Park, now Bobby Hutton Grove, basketball court separated stars from wannabees, after all Bill Russell played there, Paul Silos, Joe Ellis, Jim Hadnot, the Aliens brothers and the Pointer Sister's brothers, et al., from McClymonds, the School of Champions, pride of West Oakland and the City at large for producing so many State champions in all sports. Let me acknowledge my homeboy from Fresno, the legendary McClymond's Coach Benny Tapscott.


In Fresno my basketball career continued at Frank H and Frank White rec centers on the West Side. We used to play at Frank White on the outside courts. Benny Tapscott was there,  along with Odell Johnson, who later starred at St. Mary's and became President of Laney College, Billy Hicks, my neighbor in the projects, Leroy Mimms, who became President of Contra Costa College in Richmond.

A few days ago in the parking lot of a grocery market in Oakland, I recognized a brother I remembered from New Century and Defermery: he always had a braid in his hair. He was sitting at the wheel of a faded gold 1955 classic Cadillac. As I headed into the market I couldn't resist saying something to him, "Hey, bro, I remember you playing basketball at Defermery. Matter of fact, didn't you play at New Century?" He said yes. I said, "Hell, bro., you was old in the 50s as I recall. How old are you now?" He said, "91. I graduated from high school in 1944. Wasn't no Merritt College or Laney so I went to Community College in San Francisco." I was honored to be in his presence because I surely remember him, especially at Defermery as one master of the game.
There were other brothers like Big Joe Johnson who used to use his weight to muscle into the hole at New Century and Defermery; Toliver, point guard who could dunk, AC Scott, Bobby Chapman, et al.

In Fresno, Edison High was the school of champions. I spent my high school years on the team at Edison. I recall we played against Lemoore High School that had one black player, Tommy Smith. With five Blacks on our team, Tommy and his crew of white boys were no match, we beat their asses. I was shocked but honored when Tommy Smith raised his fist in the black power salute at the 1968 Olympics along with John Carlos, Mexico City, 1968.



Having recounted the above, I am shocked at my self for  transcending basketball and never having seen the Warriors play?

They won the NBA championship again tonight in Oakland. Warriors! Warriors! Warriors! Everybody loves winners. I love winners. I salute the Oakland Warriors! Oakland is the City of Warriors, City of Resistance, like Fallujah in Iraq, destroyed yet resistant--Oakland North American Africans, yes, City of Champions, Pullman Porters Union, Black Panther Party and the battle continues....
Let the new generation take the baton, let them not reinvent the wheel but learn from Ancestor and Elder mistakes and avoid them as you move into the world of your making. Khalil Gibran said your children come through you but they are not you. You are the bow, they are the arrow!

No, I have never watched a Warrior game or any other NBA game. I can't believe myself after spending  childhood and young adulthood playing basketball night and day, sleeping and eating basketball. I cannot believe after being on the team at Merritt College, 1962.  At Merritt my main problem was my West Oakland brothers from McClymonds, John Aikens, Jackson, Bobby Chapman, A.C. Scott, Toliver, Sunni James Shabazz, et al. I was not going into the hole with those tall brothers from McClymonds, they weren't going to elbow me in the head. After suffering a knee injury on the road, I think it was against Fresno City College, I gave up basketball and started playing tennis. Wasn't many blacks into tennis in 1963. When I beat a tall white boy on the tennis court at Merritt, he threw his racket down and walked off the court. I continued playing tennis until I taught at the University of Nevada, Reno, and my children visited me for the summer, 1979. My son, Darrel, aka Abdul (RIP), a high school tennis champ, beat me set after set and laughed all the way. It was then that I realized youth is superior to elders as per energy and strength. My son ended my tennis career forever.

My athletic interest was rekindled when my oldest son Marvin Keith played college football as defensive end, captain of the defense. I saw him sack the quarterbacks. And this was all right with me until he thought I was the quarterback to sack as abandoned father. I was elated when he tried out for the San Francisco 49s but was cut. He didn't pursue his athletic career but went into computer programming. When he worked for PGE, he said, "Dad, do you know how much I make?" I said no son, he said, "Eight thousand dollars every two weeks." All I could say was wow. He showed me his hand computer  that controlled all the PGE computer stations in Northern California. After my son was cut from the 49rs, I had no further interest in football.
I am happy to report that today, 10/21/18, I attended a soccer match between Cal Poly and Cal State East Bay.

Left to Right: The Marvin X Jackmon Crew: Granddaughter Naima Joy, grandson Jahmeel, daughter Attorney Amira Jackmon, Marvin X, grandson Jordan



Left to right: Grandfather Marvin X and grandchildren Jahmeel, Jordan and Naima
at Cal State East Bay vs. Cal Poly soccer game 10/21/18 

Marvin' s son Jordan, my grandson, is a member of Cal Poly's team. They won 3 to O. Jordan may have rekindled my interest in sports! All power to my grandson and his twin sister Jasmin, also a soccer player at the University of Oregon.
 Jasmin Jackmon

 Jasmin Jackmon
10/21/18