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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
/
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)
* * * * *
Books by John Oliver
Killens
Youngblood /
And Then
We Heard the Thunder /
The Cotillion
/
The Great Black Russian
A Man-Aint-Nothin But A Man Adventures of John Henry /
Slaves /
Sippi A Novel /
Black-SouthernVoices: An Anthology
Great-Gittin-Up-Morning: A Biography of Denmark
Vesey
Keith
Gilyard,
Liberation Memories: The Rhetoric and Poetics of
John Oliver Killens (2003)
* * * * *
three:
i chose to be a writer (contd.)
Killens,
Fort Bliss, & Korea
Through
an improbable twist of circumstances, I even got to meet writer
John Oliver Killens whose World War II novel
And Then
We Heard the Thunder
was my favorite piece of fiction. Carleton
started an exchange program with the historically important
Black school, Fisk University in Nashville, Tennessee. As the
administrators reminded me in their attempts to keep me from
going, the program was designed to send "White"
students to Fisk in exchange for accepting Black students at
Carleton. I reminded the administrators that the program
guidelines said nothing about the race of students, besides who
could better benefit from comparing the two. During the two
weeks I was at Fisk, I went to a writing workshop conducted by
John Killens. Years later, Killens choose to include my work in
an anthology of Black southern writers which was posthumously
completed by my friend Dr. Jerry Ward of Tougaloo college in
Mississippi after Mr. Killens died.
The
major benefit of going to Carleton however was that the
experience forced me to self examine myself in a challenging
setting. At that point I was predictably confused.
When I quit Carleton, I returned to New Orleans and
literally surrendered to the army. It was 1965, the height of
the Vietnam draft. I had turned 18 but had not registered.
Finally, as a result of my mother's insistence, I went down to
the draft board. I can still hear this elderly White woman
shrieking about how I had broken the law, could go to jail, and
had better report there the next day at noon. I don't volunteer
for executions, so I went to the recruiting offices downtown and
volunteered to go anywhere but Vietnam. The recruiter said he
couldn't promise to send me to a particular place, but if I did
well on a battery of tests, he would get me into an "mos"
(occupational service area) that they didn't use in Vietnam.
I
never returned to the draft board and in fact didn't receive my
draft card until after I was in boot camp at Fort Polk,
Louisiana. I ended up in electronic repair of the "nike
hercules nuclear missile" which meant a nine month training
period at Fort Bliss in El Paso, Texas. I served a year in Korea
and finished out my army stint back at Ft. Bliss. Throughout
this period, I was into photography and music as well as
writing. Most of my writing was fiction and poetry.
When
I returned to Bliss I was a sergeant and had lots of free time.
I lived in the darkroom, the music practice room and the
library, in that order. Because of my rank I didn't have to make
roll calls and also had my own room. I would be the first at the
USO, check out a set of drums, go into a practice room and
practice playing drums for an hour before any of the other
musician/soldiers arrived. After three or four months of
intensive practice, I became good enough to jam with the other
musicians, and later I developed into an in demand drummer. I
played in a soul band, as well as in a rock trio as a sub when
their regular drummer couldn't make it, and eventually in a
small band which played both jazz & R&B.
By
then the photography was mainly on the weekends and I would go
back to my room and write at night. I didn't read as much as I
had in college, partly because the army library was predictably
conservative. The three journals I read and subscribed to were The
Liberator magazine, Negro Digest, and the Village
Voice.
By 1968, my fiction had developed to the point that I was
good enough to get a publisher strongly interested in my work. I
had sent a set of short stories, Easy Rider, Dark Rider,
to William and Morrow (because that's where Leroi Jones was
published) and to Dial, (because of James Baldwin). Phil Petrie
wrote me back encouraging me to send him more. He noted, perhaps
if I added two or three stories, then I would have a collection
they would be interested in discussing. I was so ignorant of the
publishing process that I took this to mean that he wanted me to
do something else other than what I had written.
Easy
Rider contains six stories comprising about seventy double
spaced, typewritten pages. The first five stories are written in
the first person from the point of view of the protagonist. The
last story is in the third person and makes a jump of about
twenty years.
I
know now that Mr. Petrie was simply asking for at least one more
story to bridge the chasm of years. Had I done that and the book
have been successfully published, I may have chosen to pursue
fiction rather than poetry as my main voice. As it was, in 1971
I had a story published in
Young Black Storytellers
edited by Orde Coombs, and in 1973 another story was published
in
We Be Word Sorcerers edited by Sonia Sanchez. On a
national level, I was more successful with fiction than with
poetry.
I
frequently tell people that fiction is the hardest form for me
to write, but that's not entirely true. What is true is that in
Black publishing circles there was an extremely limited number
of publishing opportunities. After I got out of the army, except
for anthologies, I had no desire to pursue publishing with
mainstream publishing companies and looked exclusively for Black
outlets. Looking back at my work, I recognize that fiction was
actually the bulk of what I wrote before joining the Free
Southern Theatre (FST).
So,
why didn't I continue fiction? The real answer is I don't really
know. I suppose this is sort of like asking John Coltrane why
didn't he continue to play alto rather than switch to tenor
saxophone. Who knows?
Even
though I wrote two novels early on, the novel has never appealed
to me as a professional writer. Short stories, yes, but the
novel, no. I have theorized about the novel being a bourgeois
Euro-centric genre. I have made up off the wall arguments about
fiction in general. I have even avoided writing fiction for a
long time, but none of that addresses the central issue. For me,
fiction lacks the oratorical element.
Both
poetry and drama are recited, spoken aloud, or sung before an
audience. I think those of us engaged in the Black aesthetic
movement gravitate to the orated as opposed to the textual
partly out of personal taste and partly because, as currently
demonstrated by rap music, our community responds more
forcefully to the orated rather than the textual. Given our
community's "church" and "street corner"
orientation, each of which places a high value on oratorical
abilities, the preference for spoken over written text is
natural, i.e. grows organically out of our environment.
Additionally,
for us, text is like lyrics separated from music. One can not
appreciate rap at all if one never hears rap and only reads the
text of a rap. On the other hand, even if you don't or can't
understand every word that a rapper says, you still can
appreciate and be moved by the rap once you hear it.
Of
course, in early 1968, looking forward to getting out of the
army, playing music professionally, and writing at night, I had
not come to any of these conclusions. I was writing fiction
constantly and I was not writing that much poetry. I was a
closet writer. My writing was so deep in the closet, that I
never hesitated to focus on my music at the expense of time
spent writing. My writing was going no where but in a drawer, a
box, a folder, a closet. But my music, that was another story.
By
the time I mustered out of the army, our band had all kinds of
gigs lined up and we had become very popular. I promised my band
mates I would return after I visited my family for a week or so.
"Yeah, I'm coming back. I'm leaving my drums here and you
know I'm not going to abandon my drums." I never saw those
drums again.
I
heard drummers in New Orleans who made my fingers and hands deny
ever, ever holding a drum stick. Those cats beat me into a
serious "inadequacy" crisis. No matter how hard I
practiced, I would never be able to play as well as they did.
They nullified any aspirations I had to be a musician. I was too
realistic to fool myself. On the one hand, I knew Zigaboo
Modeliste of the Meters, Smokey Johnson of Fats Domino's Band,
and David Lee, who eventually was snatched up by Dizzy
Gillespie, plus "beaucoup" (a bunch, almost too many
to count) other New Orleans drummers could drum circles around
me. On the other hand, I didn't know or know of any New
Orleanians who could write better than me.
Right
then and there, I gave up music as a profession. I had not yet
definitely decided to try writing as a profession, however my
realistic choices had been narrowed considerably. I did
recognize, however, that writing, like music, would always be a
part of my life.
More so than hearing Langston Hughes while in eighth
grade, more so than quitting college and going into the army, my
decision not to pursue music as a profession coupled with my
strong desire to participate in the Black power struggle,
defined the way ahead.
<---At Carleton College
Freshman at SUNO--->* *
* * *
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John Oliver Killens: A Life of Black Literary
Activism
By Keith
Gilyard
“I congratulate Keith Gilyard
for bringing to life, in the pages of this absorbing
book, a figure of genuine importance who certainly
deserves a full-scale biography.”—Arnold
Rampersad, author of Ralph Ellison: A Biography
John Oliver
Killens is a genius of the South, and Keith Gilyard
has honored this youngblood, civil rights and union
activist, novelist, dramatist, and screenwriter in a
superb biography. Gilyard’s engaging written voice
draws us into a dramatic and important life, and his
deep commitment to the highest standards of research
inspires our trust and admiration. John Oliver
Killens ably documents and brings to life the
yearnings and accomplishments of a major figure in
our national literature.—Rudolph
P. Byrd, Goodrich C. White Professor of American
Studies, Emory University |
 |
AALBC.com's 25 Best Selling Books
For July 1st through August
31st 2011
Fiction
#1 -
Justify My Thug by Wahida Clark
#2 -
Flyy Girl by Omar Tyree
#3 -
Head Bangers: An APF Sexcapade by Zane
#4 -
Life Is Short But Wide by J. California Cooper
#5 -
Stackin' Paper 2 Genesis' Payback by Joy King
#6 -
Thug Lovin' (Thug 4) by Wahida Clark
#7 -
When I Get Where I'm Going by Cheryl Robinson
#8 -
Casting the First Stone by Kimberla Lawson Roby
#9 -
The Sex Chronicles: Shattering the Myth by Zane
#10 -
Covenant: A Thriller by Brandon Massey
#11 -
Diary Of A Street Diva by Ashley and JaQuavis
#12 -
Don't Ever Tell by Brandon Massey
#13 -
For colored girls who have considered suicide by Ntozake Shange
#14 -
For the Love of Money : A Novel by Omar Tyree
#15 -
Homemade Loves by J. California Cooper
#16 -
The Future Has a Past: Stories by J. California Cooper
#17 -
Player Haters by Carl Weber
#18 -
Purple Panties: An Eroticanoir.com Anthology by Sidney Molare
#19 -
Stackin' Paper by Joy King
#20 -
Children of the Street: An Inspector Darko Dawson Mystery by
Kwei Quartey
#21 -
The Upper Room by Mary Monroe
#22 –
Thug Matrimony by Wahida Clark
#23 -
Thugs And The Women Who Love Them by Wahida Clark
#24 -
Married Men by Carl Weber
#25 -
I Dreamt I Was in Heaven - The Rampage of the Rufus Buck Gang by
Leonce Gaiter
Non-fiction
#1 -
Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention by Manning
Marable
#2 -
Confessions of a Video Vixen by Karrine Steffans
#3 -
Dear G-Spot: Straight Talk About Sex and Love by
Zane
#4 -
Letters to a Young Brother: MANifest Your Destiny
by Hill Harper
#5 -
Peace from Broken Pieces: How to Get Through What
You're Going Through by Iyanla Vanzant
#6 -
Selected Writings and Speeches of Marcus Garvey
by Marcus Garvey
#7 -
The Ebony Cookbook: A Date with a Dish by Freda
DeKnight
#8 -
The Isis Papers: The Keys to the Colors by
Frances Cress Welsing
#9 -
The Mis-Education of the Negro by Carter Godwin
Woodson
#10 -
John Henrik Clarke and the Power of Africana History by Ahati
N. N. Toure
#11 -
Fail Up: 20 Lessons on Building Success from Failure by Tavis
Smiley
#12 -The
New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by
Michelle Alexander
#13 -
The Black Male Handbook: A Blueprint for Life by Kevin Powell
#14 -
The Other Wes Moore: One Name, Two Fates by Wes Moore
#15 -
Why Men Fear Marriage: The Surprising Truth Behind Why So Many Men
Can't Commit by RM Johnson
#16 -
Black Titan: A.G. Gaston and the Making of a Black American
Millionaire by Carol Jenkins
#17 -
Brainwashed: Challenging the Myth of Black Inferiority by Tom
Burrell
#18 -
A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose by Eckhart Tolle
#19 -
John Oliver Killens: A Life of Black Literary Activism by Keith
Gilyard
#20 -
Alain L. Locke: The Biography of a Philosopher by Leonard Harris
#21 -
Age Ain't Nothing but a Number: Black Women Explore Midlife by
Carleen Brice
#22 -
2012 Guide to Literary Agents by Chuck Sambuchino
#23 -
Chicken Soup for the Prisoner's Soul by Tom Lagana
#24 -
101 Things Every Boy/Young Man of Color Should Know by LaMarr
Darnell Shields
#25 -
Beyond the Black Lady: Sexuality and the New African American Middle
Class by Lisa B. Thompson * *
* * *
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1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus Created
By Charles C.
Mann
I’m a big fan
of Charles Mann’s previous book
1491:
New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus,
in which he provides a sweeping and provocative
examination of North and South America prior to the
arrival of Christopher Columbus. It’s exhaustively
researched but so wonderfully written that it’s
anything but exhausting to read. With his follow-up,
1493, Mann has taken it to a new, truly
global level. Building on the groundbreaking work of
Alfred Crosby (author of
The Columbian Exchange and, I’m proud to say, a
fellow Nantucketer), Mann has written nothing less
than the story of our world: how a planet of what
were once several autonomous continents is quickly
becoming a single, “globalized” entity.
Mann not only
talked to countless scientists and researchers; he
visited the places he writes about, and as a
consequence, the book has a marvelously wide-ranging
yet personal feel as we follow Mann from one
far-flung corner of the world to the next. And
always, the prose is masterful. In telling the
improbable story of how Spanish and Chinese cultures
collided in the Philippines in the sixteenth
century, he takes us to the island of Mindoro whose
“southern coast consists of a number of small bays,
one next to another like tooth marks in an apple.”
We learn how the spread of malaria, the potato,
tobacco, guano, rubber plants, and sugar cane have
disrupted and convulsed the planet and will continue
to do so until we are finally living on one
integrated or at least close-to-integrated Earth.
Whether or not the human instigators of all this
remarkable change will survive the process they
helped to initiate more than five hundred years ago
remains, Mann suggests in this monumental and
revelatory book, an open question. |
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The Persistence of the Color Line
Racial Politics and the Obama Presidency
By Randall
Kennedy
Among the best
things about
The Persistence of the Color Line is
watching Mr. Kennedy hash through the positions
about Mr. Obama staked out by black commentators on
the left and right, from Stanley Crouch and Cornel
West to Juan Williams and Tavis Smiley. He can be
pointed. Noting the way Mr. Smiley consistently
“voiced skepticism regarding whether blacks should
back Obama” . . .
The finest
chapter in
The Persistence of the Color Line
is so resonant, and so personal, it could nearly be
the basis for a book of its own. That chapter is
titled “Reverend Wright and My Father: Reflections
on Blacks and Patriotism.” Recalling some of
the criticisms of America’s past made by Mr. Obama’s
former pastor, Mr. Kennedy writes with feeling about
his own father, who put each of his three of his
children through Princeton but who “never forgave
American society for its racist mistreatment of him
and those whom he most loved.” His father
distrusted the police, who had frequently called him
“boy,” and rejected patriotism. Mr. Kennedy’s father
“relished Muhammad Ali’s quip that the Vietcong had
never called him ‘nigger.’ ” The author places his
father, and Mr. Wright, in sympathetic historical
light. |
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updated 12 June 2008
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