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A Community
TESTAMENT
in Memory of Rich Bartee I ran into
Bartee on the uptown 'A' train during the Poettential Unlimited
days. I was three-pieced, pinstriped, buttoned down, early on
home from my corporate do. Rich entered the car and announced,
“The Poets are coming, the Poets are coming,” Karma-style;
he introduced himself and let the riders know that the 3:30
poetry reading was about to begin. He eyeballed me in the
middle of his first piece and nodded. Then, when he was done,
Bartee announced to the audience that another poet was on the
car. He then pointed me out and asked me to share the
“stage.”
I stood up and
waved a little, begging off the performance opportunity, being
conscious of the contradiction of the opportunity and my attire.
Later, I reflected that being a poet meant that if you were true
to the muse, most times, the work would strip you naked.
Ron Bascombe (poet)
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* * * *
Bartee. Man, I
have thought about that brother periodically and often. The mark
of great artists may be (among other things) how deeply their
work seeps into your consciousness, to be invoked whole at
unexpected moments. His song, "There Will Always Be A
Time,..." has echoed in my mind for ages, at moments when
his simple inspirational words were needed. Bartee certainly
loved what he was doing, and he did it with much heart and a
passion that was infectious. I'm not even in New York and
haven't seen the brother in many a moon, but I am certainly
feeling his loss out here in the Windy City.
Dawoud Bey (photographer)
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* * * *
Sifa Zote
Zende Kwa Mumba, Asante Sana (All praises due to the Creator),
and much thanks for Rich Bartee. He has been a positive part of
the poetic scene in the Big Apple for over three decades. He
brought with him a positive, serious issue, a humorous and
spiritual aura to The Word. His was a poetic essence as he
created poetic slogans.
I met Rich Bartee at his Poettential Unlimited Poetry Theatre in
Harlem in the early 70's, and our relationship has flourished
and grown since that time. We, at the Afrikan Poetry Theatre,
will miss his physical presence but will bathe in the essence of
his spirit for years to come.
John Watusi Branch (Arts Administrator, writer)
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* * * *
I met Rich
Bartee only once and that was at Sistas' Place. What I remember
most was his genuine enthusiasm and his smile; he just had one
of those infectious smiles that made you feel better than you
may have been feeling. He will be missed.
LeRonn Brooks (Ph.D candidate)
*
* * * *
Just heard
about Brother Bartee's passing and it's still
unbelievable to me. He was the very first person I met
shortly before publishing African Voices.
I remember sharing my concept for the magazine and he
immediately embraced me and my fellow writers. In a way,
he is responsible for shaping the course of the
magazine's history as a home for poets. Richard is the
one who introduced me to Louis Reyes Rivera, Layding
Kaliba, Atiba Wilson and countless other artists,
writers, publishers. It's this circle that has kept the
magazine moving forward and continuing Brother Bartee's
vision of bringing artists together to work and build a
conscious nation.
Carolyn Butts (publisher) |
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*
* * * *
I remember
that on September 22, 2002, SPIN (the Africana Caucus of the
National Writers Union) had presented a tribute to writer June
Jordan at St. Peter's Jazz Ministry. The memorial went well and
lasted a few hours over the allotted time.
As we were leaving the church, an elderly white woman about
5" tall, made a remark to a young black girl in full
hearing of the child's mother. Although I didn't hear what was
said to the child, I did hear her mother's response. "Don't
say that to my daughter," she told the older woman.
To my surprise and to the mother's dismay, the elderly lady
began arguing loudly and apparently out of proportion to
whatever was happening. The girl, who was visibly frightened,
started to cling to her mother. Some of the mother's friends
began to form a circle around her and her daughter. Obviously,
they felt she and her mother were being threatened.
The white woman raised her voice a few more decibels. Passersby
and people leaving the church noticed this and looked at her
askance. She was destroying the spiritual and "meditative
mood of the gathering."
As she launched into another or maybe the same tirade, Rich
Bartee strode over and stood next to her. Then he put his arm
around her shoulders, bent over a little so that they were
almost facing each other, and said, "Hello."
His voice was a little loud but very soothing. It sounded like
the voice adults use to comfort irritable children. The old
woman stopped ranting in mid-sentence and gave him a look like
he was her new best friend. Then he very gently began walking up
the block with her encircled in his embrace. Apparently, he had
sensed danger too, because, as the two of them walked away, one
of the women in the circle said to the mother, "I was just
about to slap her," meaning the elderly lady.
However, everybody in the circle and out of it was noticeably
relaxed once Rich had removed the woman.
When she and Rich got to the corner, he stopped. They
began to talk, still a little loudly. I could hear him saying
stuff like, "Of course, we all need to respect each
other's opinions... Your point of view has value."
All the time, he was using this very soothing voice and looking
very intently into the woman's eyes. Suddenly, she began to
harangue him. Her voice was rising to a shout, when Rich said,
even louder and very clearly, "I have to go. My wife wants
to talk to me."
Then he literally did this military about face and dashed away
from her. For a few seconds, she looked bewildered. Then she
went over to some homeless people who were sleeping near the
church and began screaming at them.
I had been watching this scenario and was curious about this
woman. So I asked Rich what was up her. Was she crazy? Was she
drunk? He said he didn't know her. But then he said something
that I remember him saying in our Steering Committee and SPIN
meetings. "We don't have time for that [meaning,
'foolishness']! We're about building a community. We can't have
people coming in and messing with what we're doing."
I will use that as my personal
Mantra.
Loretta Campbell (writer)
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* * * *
I still have
the Love Nut Bartee gave me some twenty years ago. I'll
cherish it even more since, after all these years, he recently
told me about how they came into existence and how some
folks wanted them so much, they offered to pay for them!
But there was no charge for the Love Nut. So if you have one,
hold onto it. It's a piece of Bartee's prayer for all of
us.
Brenda Connor-Bey (writer, educator)
*
* * * *
I was shocked
to get the news that my wonder-full friend of 32 years, Richard
Bartee, has joined the ancestors. Known throughout the New York
metropolitan area as the founder of Harlem's Poettential
Unlimited Theatre and famed for his "More Hugging/Less
Mugging" slogan, Rich Bartee spread cascading beams of Love
and Light on whatever Pathway he trod. He was/is a Love Warrior
ever in the forefront of causes for African descendants,
writers, musicians and youth.
He launched into a decades-long career of writing, singing,
ministering, promoting and motivating other writers, artists,
musicians and good folks in general. If there was a noble cause
afoot for mental, physical, spiritual and racial well-being,
Bartee would devote countless hours of time, talent and
resources to assist however, wherever, whenever he could. He was
always sharing information, contacts, and referrals to motivate
others to move to the highest possible level in a life, like
his, of love and service. Bartee was and continues to be a life
of enduring love and service. I cannot begin to express how much
I will miss my friend, but I regale in his joy in being welcomed
home by the Christ, the ancestors and the poets and writers from
our circle who preceded him to that beyond-lovely Space.
Linda Cousins (writer, publisher)
I will miss the
energy of this marvelous poet-activist. He was always a force
for creative encouragement, for artistic realization and for a
better world. He has been a large marker in my cultural life, a
beacon of example to follow the craft where it leads. Gatherings
of wordsmiths will be the less for the absence of this cultural
activist.
Rasul Dorsai
*
* * * *
Rich Bartee:
poet, preacher, prophet and humanitarian with a husky voice
possessed the spirituality and Machiavellian acuity to
"read" you inside out to determine how real you were
about the difference between your promise, intentionality, action,
and delivery. If you were not a poet or activist of serious
conviction, stay out of his way!
Bartee was also a serious scholar who knew that the gift of poetry
was not enough, particularly when it came to community
empowerment, civil and human rights, or the rights of poets and
artists to receive their artistic and economic due. He fought
strong and hard to balance his poetic ability to say it like it
is/was, while at the same time putting some flesh and blood into
convictions and commitments that indeed made a positive difference
in peoples' lives.
A man of great spiritual strength and poetic veracity, Rich Bartee
will certainly leave an immense gap in our lives. He will be
missed, like an ocean evaporating out of nowhere, leaving all who
loved and respected him in oblivion.
Jose Angel
Figueroa (poet, educator)
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* * * *
Rich Bartee was
the warmest and "real" people I've ever met. I
first encountered him at the Baby Grand when we had the most
talked about poetic forum in the city and I was only beginning to
"go public" with my poetry. He taught me how to hug! To
this day, I can visualize his hugging lesson, and it made so much
sense to hug heart-to-heart. He was also someone I knew and
felt was very spiritual, and he shared his spirituality equally
with anyone who accepted it. I still have his "Less Druggin',
More Huggin'" tee shirt. It has now become an important
reminder of our friendship. He is most certainly in the arms of
the heavenly spirits.
CD GRANT (publisher)
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* * * *
The Creator
wanted a real hug... Richard's life was a blessing.
Asantewaa Harris (activist)
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* * * *
I can remember
my first trip to the Club Baby Grand for the Wednesday night
poetry reading (they weren't called 'slams' yet); it was 1978. My
friendship with Louis Reyes Rivera extended back to the days of
the Black & Puerto Rican Student Community and Utambuzi (our
first Black publication on campus), and later "The
Paper" at City College. We had run into each other somewhere
and Louis inquired if I was still writing; when I responded
affirmatively, he, in his inimical manner, insisted that I come
the next week.
And so there I was riding
the train from Brooklyn to Harlem and then walking into the bar
and feeling fairly stupid, asking the bartender about a
"poetry reading." He directed me to the back room.
Thanking him, I walked past the drinkers and gabbers, would-be
players and the soon-to-be played, and the juke box and that
absolutely ravishing dancer in her G-string and bra, and entered
the back room where Louis greeted me and introduced me to Richard
Bartee who smiled broadly and then immediately asked if I were a
poet or a writer. Lacking confidence, especially since it
had been a long time since I had written anything, I tried to
avoid committing myself by mumbling a reply, and then Louis butted
in, saying, "Yeah, he's a writer and a damned good one
too." And Richard Bartee smiled and then insisted that I read
and I tried to demur, but he somehow conned me into committing to
read the next week.
And so I
returned a week later to recite two poems -- one by Langston and
the other by Dunbar -- and then Bartee insisted that the following
week I read something of my own. The confidence both of them
seemed to have in me and Richard's insistence brought me back the
next week and the week after that, and we formed a relationship
that grew over the next three years at the Baby Grand. And I found
in Richard a gentleness and power and warmth and a friendship that
I thought would last forever.
The last time I saw Richard was at City (how ironic) this past
Fall, when Elaine (my wife) and Lindamichellebaron and I went to
see Sekou Sundiata perform. And we fellowshipped afterwards and I
offered to drop Bartee off in Brooklyn, but he insisted on taking
the train, 'cause he had a "few other stops to make."
We always ran into each other in the oddest times and places, and
it was always like seeing my brother. Once Richard asked to speak
at our church's Men's Day program, which he did. And I almost
forgot about 'Bama. Whenever I think of him, I always smile,
remembering riding the train with Bartee and 'Bama, and Richard's
'love nuts' and the way he could sing spontaneously and
always had some kind of flyer or card or something to give to you
and I will miss him and carry him with me always.
Gregory S. Holder (customs official)
* * *
* *
Rich Bartee and
his Poetree Theater is one of New York's hidden treasures. He was
always both the roots and the wings for poetree. I can't and won't
believe he's gone.
Bob Holman (poet, arts administrator)
*
* *
I first met
Brother Bartee at an open poetry reading hosted by poet-at-war
George Edward Tait. There I was sitting in a small Harlem
storefront filled with fold-down chairs, listening to Brother Tait
tell the audience of about twenty poets that there was a two poem
limit, no exceptions. I sat in the far corner of the last row of
seats, nervous as hell. This would be the first time I'd be
reading my words in front of anyone. The reading was coming to a
close, everyone had read but me. That's when Brother Bartee stood
up and announced that there was one more poet to read. He turned
and looked in my direction, his eyes pulling me up to the front.
I don't remember
what I read that day or how I was received. I just remember
afterwards walking across 125th Street with Brother Bartee. We
were on our way to another open reading on the West side. During
the journey, he looked at me and said, "You know something,
brother? Your poettential is unlimited."
I looked over at
him and smiled. From that day on, I was on a quest to fulfill my
poettential. It wasn't long after that first meeting that I found
out he told all wouldbe writers the same thing. Bartee believed
that there was a poet in all of us.
To many people,
Bartee was known as the "D Train Poet." To me, he will
always be the Harlem Poet. Harlem is where his heart was; the D
Train was just the transportation he used to get here everyday.
Brother Bartee was the heartbeat of Harlem; he loved it more than
almost anything. But Harlem has changed so much; all the old
poetry spots we used to frequent are gone. Big business and
gentrification have changed the rhythm. I never asked Brother
Bartee how he felt about the changes; all I know is that he loved
Harlem until the end.
I've been
writing poetry now thirty years. And, if you throw in the ten
years of writing song lyrics, that's forty years of pen to paper.
Just the other day a young writer asked me what I thought about
his work. I shared with him Bartee's wisdom-- his poettential was
unlimited.
Cotton done started sproutin' in Harlem
Creatin' a prickly sea of white
Whose po chillin' gon pick dat cotton?
Whose dreams gon bleed tonight?
Whose po' mama gon' work dem fields?
Whose poppa's back gon' break?
Whose granny gon' preach sorrow's sermon?
Who the hell left open the gate?
Layding Lumumba Kaliba (poet)
*
* * * *
Richard Bartee
introduced me to a lot of folks and places in the late 70's and
80's, when I had just begun to read for audiences. Every resource
at his disposal, he offered genuinely. He wasn't about
cliques. He was about unity and harmony, about educating and
equipping the next generation. I count it a privilege to have
known him, especially when I was a young poet needing support and
direction. He gave it freely. He was, after all, the
LOVE Poet with Poettential Unlimited! We can still learn a
lot from the life that he led.
I can almost hear him singing as he often did. In the middle of a
poem, he would sometimes break out into a song, some feel good,
gospel medley of encouragement, something about pressing on! If
any one knew how, he sure did press on, constantly on the go, on
the subway, or anywhere was a forum for him to share everything
and with everybody he knew while traveling this cultural circle.
I know wherever he is, he is singing! We who are here, left
behind, are one gigantic voice short in the Poets' Chorus, but if
we quiet our spirits we can hear the song of his life and pass it
on!
Mildred Keel-Williams (writer)
* * *
* *
Harlem not only
lost a poet who passionately loved Harlem, but lost a proud/humble
Harlemite who lived the warm essence of Harlem by his genuine love
for all humanity. The Schomburg would be a nourishing place
to honor Richard. He has always been Harlem's engaging Good Will
Ambassador.
Yuri Kochiyama (activist)
* * *
* *
I am deeply
sorry to hear about the death of our brother-minister-poet-friend
Rich Bartee. He was an honorable African man who has my eternal
love and respect. The Word lives forever and always! Rich Bartee
is eternal because his poetry resonates on the streets of New York
and the New City of poets where he and Zizwe Ngafua now stand
together, musing over the perils of this earth.
Malkia M'Buzi Moore (poet)
* * *
* *
i do not recall
the first tyme eye met bro. bartee. but it must have been a little
over five years ago. at the afrikan street festival. at boys &
girls high school no less. his first wurds to me were: "are
you a poet?" & before i could generate an adequate
response he had handed me a business card that i ended up tucking
into my back pocket & never responding to. i had no idea who
he was. or the legacy that surrounded him. i would not bump into
him again until louis reyes rivera started organizing meetings
around putting together a cultural workers union.
i had the fortunate experience of sharing the stage with bro
bartee two summers ago at the afrikan poetry theatre in a benefit
to help rebuild the space after the fire. for months we had been
playin phone tag because he taped the whole event. and captured me
doing a spoken wurd freestyle over pharoah saunders' "the
creator has a master plan," compliments of big brother wayne.
he wanted me to have a copy of that.
my most memorable moment shared with bro. bartee occurred at the
tribute to the ancestors of the middle passage back in june. i was
getting ready ta leave the boardwalk with a friend. jocelyn.
stopping at a book vendor to buy this raw foods cookbook. when he
pulled us into a conversation with a sista clinical psychologist.
as we parted. in true richard bartee fashion. he taught us a
"new" hug. right arm over left shoulder. left arm around
the back. a hug that placed hearts in close proximity. one that
was not casual. surface. superficial. one where the warmth. space.
shared between two people can not be ignored. til this day.
jocelyn greets me this way. everytime we see each otha. as i write
this. eye am realizin too. this is news i shall have to share with
her. i think this is how eye shall remember brother richard bartee.
in that he was a revolutionary. in a wurld. distant & cold.
where we have become disconnected from ourselves. & afraid to
touch one another. he dared to do just that. touch people. the d
train will never be the same.
beluvid ola-jendai (poet)
* * *
* *
The years that
we were friends were bountiful and filled with hugs. He was a
wonderful, warm and loving human being and I'm ever grateful that
he included me in his circle of friends.
Elizabeth Rankin-Fulcher (educator)
* * *
* *
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Back
in 1997, after one of our first shows at the Skylight
Gallery, our "Uncle" saw us perform for the
first time. Later that summer we were chillin'
outside the landmark Brooklyn Moon Cafe, on the pavement.
He sat with us and offered that we needed to change our
name. He remarked that although we were dubbed based
on nostalgia, we were nothing like our predecessors. We
have been Second2Last ever since.
Second 2 Last (poets'
ensemble)
www.second2last.com
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* * * * *
It saddens me
so, every time I hear about the passing of one of our giants. More
than any other people on the planet, we are the least equipped to
recover from such a loss. The boldest and most revolutionary thing
we can do as a people is to take full and complete control of our
physical well being --what we eat, what we drink, the thoughts we
entertain, the company we keep, and even the negative emotions we
allow to take up residence in our spirits.
At a time in the history of humanity where living to 100 plus
years is common place, it borders on criminal neglect for us
to send our young elder to the ancestors at a mere 59 years of
age.
Herman Smalls
*
* * * *
Rich always
encouraged a smile simply because his was such an infectious one.
His Spirit of Soul was happy and he kept himself intensely
involved with the Circle of Love. It is hard to imagine that the
spaces he occupied will no longer be filled like the spreading of
branches from the Sweet Tree of Life.
Tanya C. Tyler (poet)
* * *
* *
I met Richard
one evening in the Village around West 4th Street. I was with a
very nice young lady. Richard offered me one of his "More
hugging, less mugging" cards. After I took the card, he asked
me and my guest to hug. When the hug was over, he asked me for a
dollar, which I gave him. It was a modest investment on what
turned out to be a very nice evening. Whenever I think of Bartee I
always think of that evening.
Bernard White (WBAI broadcaster)
*
* * * *
The following
was published in the Syracuse Post Standard on 4/16/2003.
Richard L. Bartee Patterson
Richard L. Bartee Patterson (Tiger), formerly of Syracuse,
died in Brooklyn, NY, April 2, 2003. A native of Florida, he lived
in Rochester, NY, before moving to Syracuse. He graduated from
Vocational Blodgett High School; he attended Alfred Technical
College. In Syracuse he was in law enforcement. He was a man of
many talents. He was a poet, songwriter, producer, activist and
singer. He was preceded in death by one sister, Shirlynn
Patterson. Survivors: his wife Vivian Skinner Bartee; five
children, Veronica Harris of California, Demetria Gibson, Richelle
Patterson, Richard Bartee Patterson of California, Ilani Bartee of
Brooklyn; ex-wife Edith Patterson of California; adopted sons and
daughters, Homer Woodall, Lynn Woodall, and Pearl Woodall; two
brothers, Robert Callaway of Perry, FL, and Clifford Patterson of
Syracuse; a host of nieces, nephews, grandchildren,
great-grandchildren and friends; two special cousins, Elizabeth
Smith and Linda Mashack of Miami, FL. He was a member of the
Christian Cultural Center in Brooklyn where the services were held
April [7], 2003.
If you like this remembrance consider making a donation
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updated 29 May 2008 |
