|
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
/
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)
*
* * * *
Six.
The Reconstruction Of A Poet
(contd.)
In 1989
I produced and recorded "A Nation Of Poets" featuring
Amiri Baraka, Pearl Cleage, Haki Madhubuti, Wanda Coleman,
Kalamu ya Salaam, Mari Evans, Askia Muhammad Toure, and Sonia
Sanchez. A CD of that event was released by the National Black
Arts Festival in 1990. I also self published A Nation Of
Poets, a small book of poetry featuring all of the poems I
presented.
I
made no serious attempt to distribute or directly sell A
Nation Of Poets. I did not view the book as a written
document but rather simply as a set of lyrics to accompany the
recitation. At that time I was still struggling with figuring
out how to compose my poetry so that it worked as both speech
and text. But more than the technical questions, there was the
fact that I absolutely abhor self promotion.
All of my adult life as a professional writer had been
spent in a context within which we pushed the collective rather
than any one individual. After twenty-five years of functioning
in one way, to suddenly begin self promotion as an individual is
not only very, very difficult, it is also distasteful.
Although
the seemingly simple work of pushing my book was not my speed,
serving as the producer (conceiving and coordinating all of the
activities and supervising the recording) for the NBAF poetry
program was both acceptable and arduous but relatively
uncomplicated for me to see through to successful conclusion.
Similar
programs at the Schomburg Library in New York (in February of
1990) and for the Caribbean Cultural Center (in October of 1990)
in New York followed. I also produced and recorded New World
Poets for the Houston International Festival in April of
1991. The New World Poets were multicultural: African
Americans Jayne Cortez, Haki Madhubuti, Thomas Meloncon and
Kalamu ya Salaam; Asian American Genny Lim; Chicana Evangeline
Pinon; Native American Jack Forbes, and Puerto Rican
Tato Laviera. All of us worked out of a strong oral tradition. I
coordinated and recorded a poetry night in New Orleans featuring
Amiri Baraka from Newark, Jimmy Santiago Barca from New Mexico,
John Sinclair from Detroit, and myself from New Orleans.
In
November 1991 I produced Bright Black Words, a special two
nighter at the Contemporary Arts Center. The program featured
New Orleans poets Labertha McCormick, Arthur Pfister,
Mona Lisa
Saloy along with myself and the Word Band and a workshop
production of my verse play, "Malcolm, My Son." In
March of 1992 "Malcolm, My Son" won an award from
Rites and Reason Theatre at Brown University. This two-person
play deals with the definition of manhood in the context of
young, gay male coming out to his mother.
Writing
it in verse was not a premeditated act. I was not trying to make
a sentimental statement. I wanted an overtly political
statement. But I realized this was an emotionally charged issue
and as I got started, I also realized that poetry was easier to
do than dialogue. For one thing, I was not trapped into using
"realism" nor even "chronology." Once I got
started it took only four or five days to complete. Here is an
excerpt in which the mother, Amina, responds to her son's
questioning about the uniqueness of his condition.
| MALCOLM: Were there ever any other gay men in our
family?
AMINA:
If you open the closet in the hall,
If
you root around in the corners of the attic,
If
you dig in the crevices of basements,
Go
to the old picture books
And
look into the eyes of our blood...
The
felt hat worn across that great aunt's eye
With
a man's tie dividing her breasts,
The
big-eyed youth hiding on the edge of the picture
His
hands clasped in his lap staring with terror
At
something way beyond the camera...
In
the tear-strewn trail
Of
all those still-missing ones
Who
left home and disappeared
Somewhere
across the Rockies or into
The
soft belly of Europe,
The
cousin you never heard from again
After
he reached fifteen and left the church choir
And
had the beautiful voice
That
broke your heart to hear him
Reluctantly
sing goodbye,
Or
the one you only heard from through
Occasional
phone calls at odd times
During
some randomly selected decade...
Like
I said, this is nothing new.
We
just keep pretending we've never
Dealt
with all this before, pretending.
But
we are now no more sick
Than
we've ever been during this sojourn
In
the wilderness of being forced to make do,
Striving,
although often valiantly failing,
To
create wholeness from the twisted scraps
Of
what's left after labor rape
And
racist assault on our human selves.
(Pauses.)
Do
you understand?
|
The
Word Band was a poetry performing ensemble which I directed. We
had Kenyatta Simon, a percussionist, and two vocalists/reciters
Maria "Gingerbread" Tanner and Anoa Natambu.
The
Word Band, now in hiatus, was my most advanced articulation of
poetry as music. Most of the poems were my own, although we also
had "Answers In Progress" by Baraka and a Mari Evans
poem in our repertoire. What was sweet about The Word Band is
that I figured out a specific musical reference for each piece,
and then did specific arrangements. The idea was to function as
a band playing specific charts but also to maintain, indeed, to
require improvisation. Each arrangement had cues so that the
band members would know when to make the changes. While the
poems were always in the foreground, they were recited as music.
I consciously set out to cover the entire sweep of Great Black
Music -- everything from elemental blues and a cappella gospel
moans to really "out" new music a la late period John
Coltrane, Archie Shepp and Pharoah Sanders.
Many people talk about jazz as a model for their poetry,
most mean simply that they reference the music. Some quote the
musicians, some sing the music, some lists song titles and album
titles, some even describe musical scenes, or do comparatives
between a quality and a known musician ("as blue as B.B.
bringing black blues by stroking the strands of Lucille's
singing hair"). While I share those techniques, I also
believe there is a deeper region.
There
are other possibilities such as using actual music forms: the
AAB or AA'B of classic country blues; the AABA "standard
song" form; and, the more complex forms pioneered by Duke
Ellington which are basically structured on theme-variation (A,
A', A'') within a three or four part development such as A, A'/
BBC/D. This translates into an introductory statement with an
embellishment, followed by a classic blues
statement/statement/contrast or concluding statement, and
finished off by a coda.
Although
theme-variation (A,A') with the A-part established by a specific
word or phrase which is repeated at the beginning or the end of
a line is a very common device in Black poetry, I'm not sure how
many poets consciously work with this form as opposed to simply
using it because it feels like the technique to use.
In
addition to form there is also the use of words as sound and
rhythm devices rather than for a specific meaning. This is
particularly true of non-conventional, slang, and so-called
"curse" words. In Black poetry the word
"shit" is not used solely to literally refer to
excrement. In fact, in the Black lexicon shit is a completely
neutral word in and of itself. It's meaning (if there is a
meaning) is purely contextual and sometimes, even then, used as
a structural device to achieve rhythm, rime or inflectional
emphasis.
Another
option is the employment of "dirty" tones which refers
to playing notes off-pitch or sliding in and out of intonation.
One can alter the spelling to use both the original meaning of
the word as well as a comment on that meaning. One of the more
common examples is spelling America in this way: "Amerikkka."
Another way to use dirty tones would be to repeat the word with
variations such as "America, Amerikkka, A Merry Caw,
A-Murderer." These are just some examples of structural
approaches to poetry based on music.
In
this regard, some of today's rappers are really inventive in
their word play and reflect a musical sensibility in how they
rhyme. Unfortunately, rap is almost entirely a verbal art and
therefore the printed words often don't even make it as lyrics
because so much of the meaning is contained in how the words are
"sounded," i.e. cadence, inflections, intonations,
melody, etc.
My
effort with the Word Band was to go to the next step of using
vocal arrangements. Of course, this group has to be heard to be
appreciated and plans are underway to release two or three
selections by The Word Band as part of a projected CD whose
working title is New Orleans Soire: A Gathering Of The Saints /
Kalamu ya Salaam & Friends. Saints is a collaborative
recording of me working with New Orleans musicians in a wide
variety of musical contexts ranging from a piece called
"Congo Square" performed with Percussion Inc. (this
selection is commercially available on a cassette called America
Fears The Drum, produced by Don Paul out of San Francisco), to
totally improvised poetry performed with Kidd Jordan and Alvin
Fielder's avant garde ensemble, The Improvisational Arts Quintet
(with whom I performed at least once a year at the annual New
Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival). Other musicians are blues
guitarist Walter Washington; legendary traditional jazz
banjoist, guitarist and vocalist Danny Barker; saxophonist Tim
Green; a cameo by my brother, trumpeter Kenneth Ferdinand.
I
had also developed a working relationship with Chinese American
Fred Ho, a baritone saxophonist, composer and political
activist. We called our collaboration the Afro Asian Arts
Dialogue. We did a tour through Detroit, Flint and Lansing,
Michigan. We performed at the Newyorican Theatre in New York
City and at Bandeis University in the Boston area. We performed
for in Atlanta and at the University of Madison, Wisconsin.
Recordings were made of our performances in New York and
Madison.
My
intention is to release this work in recorded form because I
know that the fullest appreciation of poetry in the oral
tradition will not happen unless and until it is heard. This
necessarily requires getting into the "business" of
recording poetry. Although there are a few publishing houses who
regularly record poets, there are no companies currently
specializing in producing, recording and distributing African
American poetry.
I
have served an apprenticeship in the recording business by
working as a producer with All For One Records (AFO), a small
independent jazz label founded by Harold Battiste. I have the
experience but lack an infrastructure and necessary capital.
This is also a major part of my problem: I have the demonstrated
ability to fulfill a variety of required functions.
I am not only a writer, I am also an entrepreneur, an
administrator, an arts producer, a radio personality
and a
father of five. Each of those areas has its own sphere of
influence and expertise. I have developed myself in each and
find myself very often pulled away from my writing and editing
work to function in another area. How else could it be? |