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Clarence Major
(1936- ) Clarence Major, poet, novelist, and
painter, was born in 1936 in Atlanta, Georgia. He received
a B.S. from the State University of New York and a Ph.D. from
the Union for Experimenting Colleges and Universities.
His books of poetry include
Configurations: New &
Selected Poems, 1958-1998 (1999); Parking Lots (1992);
Some Observations of a Stranger at Zuni in the Latter Part of
the Century (1998);
Surfaces and Masks (1987);
Inside
Diameter: The France Poems (1985);
Symptoms and Madness
(1971);
Swallow the Lake
(1970); and Fires That Burn
in Heaven (1954).
He is the author of more than eight novels including
Dirty
Bird Blues: A Novel (1996);
Painted Turtle: Woman with
Guitar (1988);
Fun and Games (1988);
Such Was the
Season (1987);
Emergency Exit (1979), and
Reflex and Bone Structure (1975).
Recent prose offerings included Trips: A Memoir (2001)
and Afterthought: Essays and Criticism (2000). he is also
the editor of many anthologies and books such as
The Garden
Thrives: Twentieth-Century African American Poetry (1995);
Dictionary
of Afro-American Slang (1994); and
The Dark and Feeling:
Black American Writers and Their Work. Among his many honors
and awards are a Western States Book Award for Fiction, a
Pushcart Prize, a Fulbright Fellowship, and a National Council
on the Arts Fellowship. Clarence Major is Professor of English
and Creative Writing at the University of California, Davis
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All-Night Visitors
(1969) Major's
first novel, originally published in an expurgated edition in 1969, is
finally presented intact. The disturbing story, which details the
struggles of a young African American man, is filled with "violence,
sex, and rage, and Major's graphic descriptions are not for the
squeamish."
—Library
Journal
A new, unexpurgated edition of the 1969 Olympia Press novel that made
Major (Dirty Bird Blues, 1996, etc.) a big name in Maurice Girodias's
dirty-book pantheon. A classic autodidact, Major was one of those very
bright young men of the 1950s who had read their way through Rimbaud
long before they’d discovered Shakespeare or heard of Homer; this
defiant opus, judging from its style, seems like the work of someone
whose idea of the novel begins with Henry Miller and ends with Jean
Genet. The book describes the experiences of Eli Bolton, a black Vietnam
vet badly traumatized by the war and utterly disdainful of the white
society he has returned to in America. A great part of the story takes
shape as a succession of Bolton's rants, mostly concerned with his
various conquests: the voracious Anita, the idealistic Cathy, the
intellectual Eunice. Long descriptions of what Bolton does with Anita
and Cathy and Eunice ensue, along with interpolated recollections of
Vietnam and life on the streets in Chicago and New Yorkall written in
the kind of interior patois that even Allen Ginsberg got tired of
eventually (``Yeah, all kinds of battle fatigue monkeys strolling around
here, bad shots hitting psychological maggie drawers all day long; I
just get tired tired I keep a big funky headache all the time; lately I
ain't said nothing to nobody but Dossy O, that's Cocaine which is the
way my man keeps himself together''). Major offers reflections on race,
politics, and society, but these are ultimately as pointless as the
basic narrative and yet less interesting. As fresh and exciting as an
old Red Foxx routine, this is a good period piece for '60s junkies who
don't take themselves too seriously.
—Kirkus Reviews
* * * * *
| Vietnam #4
a cat said
on the corner
the other day
dig man
how come
so many of us
niggers
are dying over there
in that white
man's war
they say more of us
are dying
than them peckerwoods
& it just
don't make sense
unless it's true
that the honkeys
are trying to kill us
out
with the same stone
they killing them other
cats
with
you know, he said
two birds with one stone
*
* * * *
Vietnam
he was just back
from the war
said man they got
whites
over there now
fighting
us
and blacks over there
too
fighting us
and we can't tell
our whites
from the others
nor our blacks
from the others
& everybody
is just killing
& killing
like crazy
*
* * * *
Blind
Old Woman
spots on black skin.
she is dry.
how time, how she waits
here
in her dingy wool,
shabby
the fingers on her cup.
so frail, a woven face,
so oval
such empty charity. how
she remains
so quiet, quiet please.
how the cup shakes, and
it is not straight,
nothing
is.
She does not sell candy
nor rubber
bands. like the blind
man
at the other end. of the
silence. the sounds
of one or more pennies
in the bent up tin. up
her canvas stool
at the end of the
shadows.
how they return before her,
through these 1960
Indiana streets.
as she shuffles into
street sounds.
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