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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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Both Water & Bridges
(for
Staceyann in the space/time continuum)
By
Kalamu ya Salaam
a fear expressed is
a fear reduced
don't let anxieties about the future,
curdle
the sweet of tasting in the present
every "now" has its
own joys, its own
sorrows. every lived moment is now. it
is
not the water but the bridge that ages
precisely because
the water is
constantly renewing . . . and so, keep
running
be water, renew and run, run and renew
and
where ever, whom
ever you touch, build
build bridges, links, one to the other
whomsoever the other is, we should
create
a crossing, a way
to connect, a bridge
built by each of us to the other of us
as we flow on and follow our own paths
and so to be whole
is to be both:
be water constantly running
be bridges constantly built
life is
motion/movement. keep going.
share the beauty of your flowing, the
beauty
of your bridges connecting everywhere
howsoever old you
grow, share your beauty,
build more bridges. be both water and
bridge, flow & connection—a luta
continua . . .
11 May
2010 |
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Old
Water/Running
By Staceyann Chin
Eleven-thirty-one
in the morning
and my day is already done
dog walked
breakfast had/I am back in bed
home with the green wall and the
treadmill
staring at the muted TV
the ceramic turtles sitting pretty on
bursting bookshelves
My New York routine has become old/water
running
under a tired bridge
having built a fortress around my
celebrated survival
my palms tap out a known rhythm
dum da dumb
my mouth never opens wide enough to see
teeth
my grandmother is gone
my mother may well be dead
I don't know anything anymore
dogs needs stability
babies require constants not variables
a house
a car
regular/bills/safe love
real passion is never predictable
never safe
I want to hurl my four corners over an
abyss
hiss the name of some new war into the
black sky
resurrect the battle-scars of the fights
I left behind
jump
I want to jump like I'm fifteen and
fierce
the thirties have brought
quiet
listen the elders said
I heard my own heart slowing
my blood simmered down
I pulled my limbs in and waited
all this listening has made me antsy
all the fires I hold in my fist are
still burning
I'm afraid my arms will fossilize into
the statuesque
tongue is holding steady
against wooden coins
and foolish dreams
I always dreamed I could change
something
even if it was only hubris
I wanted to be a part of something
bigger than just my drive to live
forever
I craved something harder than the core
of me
broken in childhood
I've spent my life building it tougher
than any man
any woman who thinks she could crack me
by throwing me into a radiator
is a fool
I'm a granite motherfucker/diamond
without the shine
these days nothing gets by me
not kind words
nor soft appreciation
these are ten things people do not know
about me
1. I hear everything
but I am not always listening
2. I don't ever love with all my heart
only the parts I know will survive you
3. I never get drunk
no matter how much I drink
I always know who did what/when/whom
4. The everyday of life bores the fuck
out of me
5. I want to go back to school
but I do not know how to admit how much
I do not know
6. My body aging/frightens me
feminist freak who loves the lines on
her flesh
I mourn the folds increasing the width
of me
7. I love fucking, but it scares me
when my lover knows too much about me
I withdraw/fast
8. Half the things I own weigh me down
I want to give away my bed/toss my couch
and move to Morocco
9. Intimacy unnerves me
makes me think of to-do lists
10. I want to take a road trip. A long
one. No apparent destination.
No schedule. No deadlines. Nothing but
me and sky.
All this
and I am still so afraid of falling
on my face
on my fists
coward
the word grows angry in my nostrils
coward/why can't you just follow your
gut/coward
fail or flight the magic is in the doing
coward/what about your forties?
your fifties
what about those years no one wants to
hear an old woman rant
what will you do then
when your legs won't bend like they used
to
the time to move is now
while your pussy still gets a little wet
so much water done pass under this old
bridge
what you mean you afraid of drowning
coward
if you do not go now
the heart of you is likely to turn
from pulsing sinew to everlasting stone
Source:
Facebook |
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Weathering Depression: Surviving the
S.A.D. Blues
By Staceyann
Chin
When I was growing up in Jamaica I never understood
why white people on TV talked so much about the
bloody weather. Little old ladies exclaimed to other
little old ladies, “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” and I
was perplexed by the question. Outside my window the
bright, hot sun shone everyday and all day long, no
matter what time of the year it was. When it rained,
it did so for only a few warm minutes. Then the sky
was immediately blue again. My British pen pal wrote
pages and pages about the cloudy London sky. I read
the perfect penmanship and was bored beyond measure.
I responded in tedious kind about the sunny skies in
Montego Bay, all the while wondering why the strange
girl was so interested in matters as mundane as
clouds.
Then I moved to New York City and the weather report
became my lifeline as I dressed for the day. There
is nothing to describe the journey from the tropics,
where we never think about the weather except to
complain that it is hotter than usual, to a place
that freezes over for months at a time every year.
And for years I couldn’t understand why every
September I would fall into an inexplicable,
unshakable depression, why verses and verses of
tragic, dark (badly written) poems filled my
journals, why I wouldn’t answer my phone, or go
outside, or eat very much. Every time the sun went
away I wanted to crawl under my covers and go to sleep
forever. And for months I had minimal contact with
the world beyond my apartment, and I became tacit
and sharp with those close to me. Many of my
relationships ended under the strain. For half a
decade, periodically and sporadically I was a wreck
and I had no idea why.
One week, in the year I turned 30, it rained for
days and days running in New York. The skies
remained black from dawn to dawn. I almost slit my
wrists. The only thing that kept the razor from my
skin was worrying about who would find me and how it
would affect them. And suddenly, it got warm, and
the urge to harm myself disappeared. I decided that
it was time to have a closer look at what was happening
to me. Like any good self-indulgent writer, I
started reading the journals I had kept over the
years. It took me two journals to discover that
though my bouts of sadness were often informed by
difficult events in my life, they were completely at
the mercy of the weather. If something slightly
disappointing happened in the spring, I could brush
it off as unimportant and easily bounce back from
the disappointment. But if the same thing happened
in the fall, it would push me down into a pit of
sorrow. Every fall, for the first five years I lived
in New York, this pattern of behavior ensued. As
soon as it got cool, I started pulling into myself.
The colder it got, the more intractably depressed I
became.
I talked to friends about the phenomenon and found
that many immigrants from the continent of Africa,
from all the different islands of the Caribbean,
even people from the South and California had
similar tales of the cold-weather blues. And when I googled it, I found a term, seasonal affective
disorder (SAD), a disease where people who
experience normal mental health during the rest of
the year become depressed in the wintertime. It’s
some kind of negative response to the lack of
sunshine and warmth. I suppose there are varying
degrees of it, and I don’t imagine I had the worst
version of it. Because as soon as I knew what was
happening to me I felt better. Even though I don’t
know why it happens, knowing that it was not some
imagined condition made it easier to navigate. I
talked to my therapist about it, and thousands of
dollars later, when my mood plummets, before I do
anything, I check the color of the sky. If it is
gray, I know that what I feel may be driven more
by the weather than anything else. Now, my life
feels less crazy in the cold months, less hopeless,
and more in control of my moods. That means I manage
my day to day, my year to year much better than I
did before.
Today, it is raining. Hard. The sky has been morose
for days now. The temperature outside falls a little
every hour. I am cooped up in my Brooklyn apartment,
snuggled down under the sheets with one of the most
brilliant minds of our time. She is sleeping. I am
working, blogging, trying to make art of my
afternoon. The wall in my bedroom is painted the
color of a summer sky.
Everyday I try my best to navigate the delicate
balance between my flawed psyche and my less than
ideal environment. And I suppose have found a way to
be happy. Years ago I would have scoffed at the
hippie-like quest for something so elusive as
happiness. But, happiness, or the absence of
discontent, I have found is not something you search
for in the heavens. It is simply the feeling that
sustains you as you dance along the continuum of
grief and anger and disappointment and change. It is
the ability to feel the sun’s rays caressing your
face, even with the threat of the darkest skies
hanging angry overhead.
Amazon.com
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The Other Side of Paradise: A Memoir
By Staceyann Chin
A
fresh, forthright, affecting memoir by
Jamaican performance artist Chin finds warmth and humor in her abject, parentless childhood. The
Paradise of the title is the slum of
Montego Bay, Jamaica, where Chin spent
her hardscrabble adolescence, and her
remarkable memoir is framed around her
mother's rejection of her and her older
brother, Delano, and the uncertainty
about who Chin's father really was.
Born to a young, street-savvy girl with
a penchant for distinguished older men
with money (in this case, a local
Chinese businessman who always insisted
he was not Chin's father), Chin spent
her early years along with Delano under
the care of their stern, God-fearing,
illiterate grandmother. |
Early on, the
spirited, defiant youngster learned to lie about her
parentage, while the poverty and neediness of the
siblings rendered them charity cases for relatives
in Bethel Town and Kingston.
Once, their
mother came to visit them from where she lived in
Montreal, Canada, though she quickly foisted them
onto other relatives for good, leaving Chin, at age
nine, to fend for herself in the shack of her harsh
great-aunt whose boys routinely attempted to rape
her. Nonetheless, Chin excelled at school, thanks to
financial help from the man who refused to
acknowledge his paternity, and became an emigrant
success story later in New York. Her courage in
coming out as a lesbian underscores her intrepidity
in making this story her own.—Publishers
Weekly
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A completely
absorbing account of how a girl born into denial and
contempt can grow up resilient, sane, and full of
purpose. She also shows me a culture I knew far too
little about—the everyday life of young people in
Jamaica and the threat of violence looming over
anyone who might be too independent or queer or
outrageous. How wonderful that this outrageous,
talented, determined woman has given us her story.—Dorothy
Allison, author of Bastard Out of Carolina and
Cavedweller
"Staceyann Chin's memoir is a heartbreaking feat of
unflinching memory and language. Set in a Jamaica
far from the tourist brochures, The Other Side of
Paradise is Chin's rich and nuanced story of
family and abandonment, love and brutality, and a
child's struggle to survive and find a home that
will accept her. A remarkable young woman emerges,
whose gift for poetry has been forged by poverty,
religiosity, and a circle of adults who found the
child in their care. This is A Portrait of the
Artist written for our age. I love this book—and I
am completely hamstrung by the feelings it evokes."—Walter Mosley
The human family is a complex ecosystem, a
magnificent experiment of righteous diversity. The
Other Side of Paradise captures the evocative
struggle of one strong but fragile flower. Staceyann
breaks our hearts a little, and then brings us
safely, gratefully, home. —Rebecca
Walker, author of One Big Happy Family and Black
White and Jewish
Staceyann's courage, sensitivity, and bravery are
exposed on these vulnerable pages. Captured is the
fire, passion, and light I experience when she
performs. Liberating, beautiful, and life-affirming,
The Other Side of Paradise is simply incredible.—Russell
Simmons, author of Do You!
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Crossfire
By Staceyann Chin
Staceyann Chin's work, widely known as a co-writer and original
performer in the Tony Award–winning
Russell Simmons Def Poetry Jam on
Broadway, has
received rousing cheers at the Nuyorican
Poets Cafe and in her one-woman shows
Off Broadway. A proud Jamaican national,
she has been featured on The Oprah
Winfrey Show, where she spoke candidly
about her experiences of growing up on
the island and the dire consequences of
her coming-out there. |
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With Crossfire,
Chin collects for the first time twelve years of
writing from a no-holds-barred career that has
fearlessly bridged the divides not only of race,
gender, sexuality, and national origins, but those
of performance and poetry as well. In the author's
words, "I would say I do a mad dance between the
kind of poetry that attempts to clarify detail and
the kind of hurricane that is necessary for
performance." Crossfire combines Chin's most
outspoken and revealing poems, performance pieces,
and personal essays that have earned her an iconic
status among spoken word audiences and beyond.
Staceyann Chin
has been interviewed on NBC, CNN, VH1, BET, LOGO,
and 60 Minutes, and she has performed on the
CBS-aired Tony Awards. Additionally, she has been a
stock feature on the Peabody Award–winning HBO
series Def Poetry Jam. Her memoir,
The Other Side of Paradise, was published by
Scribner's in 2008.—Publisher,
Alyson Books (June 1, 2010)
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Response
I just discovered a bit last
evening about
Staceyann Chin. I had a midnight with my friend
Kalamu.
These chats are not frequent, every now and then. And he told me about
his response to a poem by Staceyann. He was impressed by her poetic
calling out in her fears and miseries. And Voila! There's a poem in all
this, he says, to himself. I had read ... See Morethe poem before our
chat. I was not quite sure who was the author. I thought at first it
might be a Kalamu imitator, for he did not have his name on the poem.
I thought I had read something about
Staceyann Chinbefore.
My initial impression was that she was a wild woman. And at that now, I
was in no mood for a wild woman, a lesbian, a feminist. He said nothing
in responses to the expression of my own fears. So I told
Kalamu
this and told him I'd take his word and take another look at
Staceyann. So I
spent the next four hours at my computer discovering that I too love
Staceyann Chin. .
So I posted
Kalamu's
poem "Both Water & Bridges," a dedication to
Staceyann on
ChickenBones. And I found her on
Facebook and the poem that inspired Kalamu's poem and then I went to
Amazon.com and found more of her work.I spent the rest of the four hours
laying out what my research had uncovered, including the beauty of
Staceyann Chin.
I hope you'll take a second look at
Staceyann as
well. I think you too will come to empathize with her life and her
struggles and come to love her as well.
Loving you madly, Rudy
12 May 2010
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Guarding the Flame of Life
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Audio:
My Story, My Song (Featuring blues guitarist Walter Wolfman Washington)
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The New Jim Crow
Mass Incarceration in the Age of
Colorblindness
By Michele Alexander
Contrary to the
rosy picture of race embodied in Barack
Obama's political success and Oprah
Winfrey's financial success, legal
scholar Alexander argues vigorously and
persuasively that [w]e have not ended
racial caste in America; we have merely
redesigned it. Jim Crow and legal racial
segregation has been replaced by mass
incarceration as a system of social
control (More African Americans are
under correctional control today... than
were enslaved in 1850). Alexander
reviews American racial history from the
colonies to the Clinton administration,
delineating its transformation into the
war on drugs. She offers an acute
analysis of the effect of this mass
incarceration upon former inmates who
will be discriminated against, legally,
for the rest of their lives, denied
employment, housing, education, and
public benefits. Most provocatively, she
reveals how both the move toward
colorblindness and affirmative action
may blur our vision of injustice: most
Americans know and don't know the truth
about mass incarceration—but her
carefully researched, deeply engaging,
and thoroughly readable book should
change that.—Publishers
Weekly |
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Blacks in Hispanic Literature: Critical Essays
Edited by
Miriam DeCosta-Willis
Blacks in Hispanic Literature is a
collection of fourteen essays by scholars and
creative writers from Africa and the Americas.
Called one of two significant critical works on
Afro-Hispanic literature to appear in the late
1970s, it includes the pioneering studies of
Carter G. Woodson and
Valaurez B. Spratlin, published in the 1930s, as
well as the essays of scholars whose interpretations
were shaped by the Black aesthetic. The early
essays, primarily of the Black-as-subject in Spanish
medieval and Golden Age literature, provide an
historical context for understanding 20th-century
creative works by African-descended, Hispanophone
writers, such as Cuban
Nicolás Guillén and Ecuadorean poet, novelist,
and scholar
Adalberto Ortiz, whose essay analyzes the
significance of Negritude in Latin America. This
collaborative text set the tone for later
conferences in which writers and scholars worked
together to promote, disseminate, and critique the
literature of Spanish-speaking people of African
descent. . . .
Cited by a
literary critic in 2004 as "the seminal study in the
field of Afro-Hispanic Literature . . . on which
most scholars in the field 'cut their teeth'."
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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
Browse all issues
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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
/
January 1, 1804 -- The Founding of
Haiti
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posted 12 May 2010
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