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Books by Kalamu ya
Salaam
The Magic of JuJu: An Appreciation of the Black Arts
Movement /
360:
A Revolution of Black Poets
Everywhere Is Someplace Else: A Literary Anthology
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From A Bend in the River: 100 New Orleans Poets
Our Music Is No Accident /
What Is Life: Reclaiming the Black Blues Self
My Story My Song (CD)
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Another Duke Ellington Story
By Kalamu Ya Salaam
The dance had ended forty-some minutes ago but no one seemed to be in any
rush to go anywhere. Though they usually clamored to be on the road, quickly
gone from these hick towns after they played, tonight the musicians were
casually strewn backstage; some even cradled their still warm horns,
occasionally sounding a very soft note or two. Duke grinned inwardly.
Collectively, these men were his instrument and it made Ellington feel good when
they felt good.
As always there was a coterie of jazz aficionados, aspirant entertainers, and
non-music-related hopefuls who lingered in the hallway that led to the rear
parking lot in which a bus waited to take the band back to the train depot where
Duke's private pullman car was parked, well-stocked with appropriate food and
other road comforts almost unknown to most musicians who crisscrossed America.
One gentleman stood at the end of the slow moving queue crawling along the
wall outside Duke's dressing room. This small farmer recently turned salesman
patiently awaited his turn to thrust the evening's printed program into Duke's
hands so that Mr. Ellington might grace him with the gift of an autograph and,
hopefully, also a flash of that fabulous love-you-madly signature smile. A
stone-faced woman stood stiffly at his side. She had had a long day, was tired,
and was the only audience member not displaying a beatific expression.
Unfurling the seduction of his whiskey-tinged baritone, Duke graciously
received this last couple. "I am Duke Ellington. With whom do I have the
pleasure of making an acquaintance?"
"Ah, Squire, Joe Squire. You can just put: To Mr. and Mrs. Joseph
Squire. Please, I mean if you don't mine."
"Mister. And madam. Joseph. Squire. Thank you so very much for gracing
us with your appearance tonight. You, your lovely wife, and all the other
audience members made each of us feel at home." Duke shook hands cordially
and paused to sign the program that Joseph Squire had tentatively proffered. As
Duke finished his inscription with a flourish, he turned to the woman who
remained starkly still looking as though it would have pained her to move.
"Mrs. Squire, I'm sure you have a lovely first name. Might I inquire what
it is?" Duke held his gracefully manicured right hand waist high in front
of Mrs. Squire.
Mrs. Squire was slightly taken aback by the man's forwardness. She had not
touched many negroes before and though she appreciated his musicianship she was
not interested in any personal contact with this mister Duke Ellington. But he
spoke with such manners and deference in his tone, and he bent at the waist
slightly in sort of a half bow, and his smile seemed so sincere; her hand
floated forward more drawn by Duke's personal magnetism than guided by her own
will.
"Her, her name is Rosemary," Joseph Squire spoke up on behalf of
his silent wife. Joe knew that Rose was past ready to go home and she had
begrudgedly accompanied him backstage in his quest for Ellington's autograph.
Now that Joseph's search had been successful, they should go.
But, she hesitated: Ellington's handshake was so smooth, so warm, so tender
as he courteously held Rosemary's farm-roughened palm. "Mrs. Rosemary
Squire would you please allow me to show you something stunningly beautiful
which I have just recently discovered? Please indulge me. It won't take but a
small moment of your time."
Duke gently released Rosemary's hand after slowly guiding it back down to her
side. He turned to the small group of people surrounding him. "Excuse us
one moment please." Without hesitation Duke cleared a path with a regal
sweep of his left arm. He touched no one, instead everyone instinctively melted
back like butter retreating from the radiance of a heated knife. With his right
forearm Duke smoothly pushed open the dressing room door.
The first object Rosemary admiringly focused on was Duke's stage shoes: a
pair of gleaming patent leather pumps which sat languidly atop the dresser table
next to a half drunk demitasse of tea--between two slivers of lemon a chamomile
tea bag lay beside the china. Had Rosemary glanced at Duke's feet she would have
spied black lambskin loafers, but at that moment Rosemary's nostrils flared as
she inhaled the fragrance emanating from a spray of cut flowers which freshened
the atmosphere as the bouquet lay beneath the over-sized dressing room mirror.
Duke sensibly had left the door wide open. At a discreet distance Joseph
Squire and a few other people peeped into the room hoping to also see whatever
was the beautiful something Ellington had promised to show the tight lipped
woman.
"Rosemary Squire," Duke guided her forward with the faintest touch
to her waist, "regard. Behold something beautiful." She turned to look
at Duke. What was he saying? Duke nodded toward the mirror. She turned again.
Duke stepped sideways so that he was out of the reflected line of sight.
"Notice the elegance of the eyes. The determined jaw line which undoubtedly
reflects a willful and passionate personality. But above all, the clean symmetry
of the facial plane and the...aghhhhh," Duke intoned wordlessly, "but
oh, you can see as well as I." Then Ellington stopped speaking.
Someone nearby gasped almost inaudibly. Rosemary virtually transformed before
their sight. What had once been a cold mask of tolerance warmed into a tender
visage of contentment. And as she started a smile, Duke picked up his pair of
shoes from the dresser and backed out of the room. In the hallway Duke paused
and touched Joseph lightly on the shoulder, " Never forget , your wife is
beautiful. Though youth may leave us, beauty can always find a home within.
Sometimes beauty slumbers but even then requires merely an appropriately gentle
nudge to reawaken."
Then, on padded feet, Duke glided noiselessly down the carpeted corridor just
behind Johnny Hodges who was already blasèly ambling toward the back exit.
Clark Terry had been patiently leaning against the wall opposite Duke's door; he
grinned as he too shoved off to take his leave. Terry had seen the master do
this many, many times before. Duke was casually adept at reading people and
adroitly drawing out their best qualities regardless of how they felt at any
given moment.
Exhibiting a rainbow of diverse complexions, a small knot of people stood
outside the auditorium's rear egress. Sporting their best coats and warmest
hats, the locals huddled in the chilly Indian summer night exchanging murmured
conversations with Ellington's worldly array of well traveled musicians.
"Excuse me, the time of our departure draws neigh and I'm afraid we must
bid you good night." Disappointed but understanding sighs drifted through
the frosty air as Duke strove to extricate himself from the thinning throng. A
lady who would not be denied sought Ellington's attention, an attractively tall
woman, slightly darker than cinnamon. Duke signed her program "love you
madly" and then climbed into the vehicle, the beginnings of a melody
capering in and out of his consciousness.
Suddenly realizing where she was, Rosemary Squire pirouetted in slow motion
searching the dressing room for Ellington. Ellington however, by then, was
reclining aboard the bus. Rosemary's gaze fell directly onto her husband. Joe
was a bit blurry as Rose squinted at him through partially damp but very happy
eyes. He smiled at her. She beamed back. And they walked off hand in hand.
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"Another Duke Ellington Story" (published in Italy; journal?; date?)
-- "it's been published in italy. i don't even know the name of the journal,
but i can find out and get the publication date. the story is about duke ellington, but the focus is on a female audience
member" (Kalamu ya Salaam).. |
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music website >
http://www.kalamu.com/bol/
writing website >
http://wordup.posterous.com/
daily blog >
http://kalamu.posterous.com
twitter >
http://twitter.com/neogriot
facebook >
http://www.facebook.com/kalamu.salaam
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Guarding the Flame of Life
New Orleans Jazz Funeral for tuba player Kerwin
James /
They danced atop his casket Jaran 'Julio' Green
Audio: My Story, My Song (Featuring blues
guitarist Walter Wolfman Washington)
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Ancient, Ancient: Short Fiction
By Kiini Ibura Salaam
Ancient, Ancient collects the short fiction by Kiini Ibura Salaam, of which acclaimed author and critic Nalo Hopkinson writes, ''Salaam treats words like the seductive weapons they are. She wields them to weave fierce, gorgeous stories that stroke your sensibilities, challenge your preconceptions, and leave you breathless with their beauty.'' Indeed, Ms. Salaam's stories are so permeated with sensuality that in her introduction to
Ancient, Ancient, Nisi Shawl, author of the award-winning Filter House, writes, ''Sexuality-cum-sensuality is the experiential link between mind and matter, the vivid and eternal refutation of the alleged dichotomy between them. This understanding is the foundation of my 2004 pronouncement on the burgeoning sexuality implicit in sf's Afro-diasporization. It is the core of many African-based philosophies. And it is the throbbing, glistening heart of Kiini's body of work. This book is alive. Be not afraid.''
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Incognegro: A Memoir of
Exile and Apartheid
By Frank
B. Wilderson III
Wilderson, a professor,
writer and filmmaker from
the Midwest,
presents a gripping account
of his role in the downfall
of South African apartheid
as one of only two black
Americans in the African
National Congress (ANC).
After marrying a South
African law student,
Wilderson reluctantly
returns with her to South
Africa in the early 1990s,
where he teaches
Johannesburg and Soweto
students, and soon joins the
military wing of the ANC.
Wilderson's stinging
portrait of Nelson Mandela
as a petulant elder eager to
accommodate his white
countrymen will jolt readers
who've accepted the
reverential treatment
usually accorded him. After
the assassination of
Mandela's rival, South
African Communist Party
leader Chris Hani, Mandela's
regime deems Wilderson's
public questions a threat to
national security; soon,
having lost his stomach for
the cause, he returns to
America. |
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Wilderson has a
distinct, powerful voice and
a strong story that shuffles
between the indignities of
Johannesburg life and his
early years in Minneapolis,
the precocious child of
academics who barely
tolerate his emerging
political consciousness.
Wilderson's observations
about love within and across
the color line and cultural
divides are as provocative
as his politics; despite
some distracting
digressions, this is a
riveting memoir of
apartheid's last days.—Publishers
Weekly
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Michelle Alexander Speaks At
Riverside Church
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part
2 of 4 /
part 3 of 4 /
part 4 of 4
There are
more African Americans under
correctional control
today--in prison or jail, on
probation or parole—than
were enslaved in 1850, a
decade before the Civil War
began. If you take into
account prisoners, a large
majority of African American
men in some urban areas,
like Chicago, have been
labeled felons for life.
These men are part of a
growing undercaste, not
class, caste—a group of
people who are permanently
relegated, by law, to an
inferior second-class
status.
They can be denied
the right to vote,
automatically excluded from
juries, and legally
discriminated against in
employment, housing, access
to education and public
benefits—much
as their grandparents and
great-grandparents once were
during the Jim Crow era.—Michelle
Alexander,
The New Jim Crow |
Obama's America and the New
Jim Crow (Michelle Alexander)
/ Michelle_Alexander Part
II Democracy Now
(Video)
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The Natural Mystics: Marley, Tosh, and Wailer
By Colin Grant
The definitive group biography of the Wailers—Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, and Bunny Livingston—chronicling their rise to fame and power. Over one dramatic decade, a trio of Trenchtown R&B crooners swapped their 1960s Brylcreem hairdos and two-tone suits for 1970s battle fatigues and dreadlocks to become the Wailers—one of the most influential groups in popular music. Colin Grant presents a lively history of this remarkable band from their upbringing in the brutal slums of Kingston to their first recordings and then international superstardom. With energetic prose and stunning, original research, Grant argues that these reggae stars offered three models for black men in the second half of the twentieth century: accommodate and succeed (Marley), fight and die (Tosh), or retreat and live (Livingston). Grant meets with Rastafarian elders, Obeah men (witch doctors), and other folk authorities as he attempts to unravel the mysteries of Jamaica's famously impenetrable culture.
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Much more than a top-flight music biography, The
Natural Mystics offers a sophisticated understanding
of Jamaican politics, heritage, race, and religion—a
portrait of a seminal group during a period of
exuberant cultural evolution. 8 pages of four-color
and 8 pages of black-and-white illustrations.
Colin Grant Interview, The Natural Mystics
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Life on Mars
By Tracy K. Smith
Tracy K. Smith, author of Life on Mars has been selected as the winner of the 2012 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. In its review of the book, Publishers Weekly noted the collection's "lyric brilliance" and "political impulses [that] never falter." A New York Times review stated, "Smith is quick to suggest that the important thing is not to discover whether or not we're alone in the universe; it's to accept—or at least endure—the universe's mystery. . . . Religion, science, art: we turn to them for answers, but the questions persist, especially in times of grief. Smith's pairing of the philosophically minded poems in the book’s first section with the long elegy for her father in the second is brilliant." Life on Mars follows Smith's 2007 collection, Duende, which won the James Laughlin Award from the Academy of American Poets, the only award for poetry in the United States given to support a poet's second book, and the first Essence Literary Award for poetry, which recognizes the literary achievements of African Americans.
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The Body’s Question (2003) was her first published collection. Smith said Life on Mars, published by small Minnesota press Graywolf, was inspired in part by her father, who was an engineer on the Hubble space telescope and died in 2008.
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Faces At The Bottom of the Well: The Permanence of
Racism
By Derrick
Bell
In nine grim
metaphorical sketches, Bell, the black former
Harvard law professor who made headlines recently
for his one-man protest against the school's hiring
policies, hammers home his controversial theme that
white racism is a permanent, indestructible
component of our society. Bell's fantasies are often
dire and apocalyptic: a new Atlantis rises from the
ocean depths, sparking a mass emigration of blacks;
white resistance to affirmative action softens
following an explosion that kills Harvard's
president and all of the school's black professors;
intergalactic space invaders promise the U.S.
President that they will clean up the environment
and deliver tons of gold, but in exchange, the
bartering aliens take all African Americans back to
their planet. Other pieces deal with black-white
romance, a taxi ride through Harlem and job
discrimination. |
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Civil rights lawyer Geneva Crenshaw, the heroine
of Bell's
And We Are Not Saved (1987), is back in some
of these ominous allegories, which speak from the
depths of anger and despair. Bell now teaches at New
York University Law School.—Publishers
Weekly
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The White Masters of the
World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
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Ancient African Nations
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Negro Digest /
Black World
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Enjoy!
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The Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
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The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
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Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for
Slavery /
George Jackson /
Hurricane Carter
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
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January 1, 1804 -- The Founding of
Haiti
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update
31 July 2012
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