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A Life Won with Blood
& Tears
A review of Mona Lisa Saloy's Red Beans and Ricely Yours
By Rudolph Lewis
I
wore loneliness like / your hand me-down skirts.
Mona
Lisa Saloy, "This Poem is for You My Sister"
In “Word
Works,” the first poem of
Red Beans and Ricely Yours
(2005), educator and poet Mona Lisa Saloy says, “I’m about
how words / work up a gumbo of culture.”
Within the next 100 pages or so, that is what is accomplished,
she replicating the life as known by her (as child
and adult) through family and neighbors of the 7th
Ward in downtown New Orleans. These poems are quite excellent. I gobbled
them up in one day. Though I've known her and her poetry for twenty
years, most of these poems were a discovery, revealing Saloy's love
affair with the city of her birth. This book is
genuine in sentiment and extraordinary in its music and
storytelling.
Readers of reviews are always suspect of
superlatives used to praise a literary work. In this instance,
Saloy is deserving, at least, for three sections of the book:
“Red Beans and Ricely Southern,” “Shotgun Life,” and
“Red Beans and Ricely Creole Quarters.” The third section
"Red Beans and Ricely Creole Quarters"
is
the longest (19 poems), mostly about her Creole father and
including poems like “Villanelle for Voodoo” and “The
Ballad of Marie Leveau.” This third section is concluded with a poem
“On Writing,” which opens with these lines, “I knock on
white space to speak / pour Black ink like blood”— here we
have the image
of a conjuror or mambo at her craft and responsibility.
The other two sections—“Black Creole
Love” and “Red Beans and Ricely Black”—are not quite in
the same class of excellence as the first thirty-six poems; the
latter sixteen poems are good, very good and in some other
setting would be quite wonderful. But they fall off from the
heights that are reached in the first three sections.
The final section contains “For My Brothers,” which
is at least twenty years old, for I published it in my
short-lived little magazine Cricket: Poems
& Other Jazz, back in
the mid-80s. The poem “The N Word” is a performance poem par
excellence; and though I don’t care for it, it is quite
inventive and humorous. The book ends with a religious
sentiment, “We’ve come this
far by faith.”
There are two poems, however, in the fifth
and last section—“Song for Elder Sisters” and “
Mother with Me on Canal Street, New
Orleans"—that recall the previous heights. Saloy excels at storytelling. In this latter poem, we get
a unique peek into the New Orleans of her childhood, its
culture, an extraordinary sense of place, custom, and humanity.
Her mother was “jet black”; her father “high yellow” and
could pass for white. And she was “yella.”
They are on a St. Charles Avenue street car: a
“gray-haired lady asked us, / 'You keeping her for a white
family uptown'.” That’s New Orleans. I can’t imagine this
scene happening in any other place.
But that’s the thing about Saloy’s
Red Beans and Ricely Yours
(2005). There’s this extraordinary
sense of place. It is the dominant theme: the importance and
significance of place caught up in and creating identity and a
sense of being. For New Orleans is a way of life—a religion, a
way of being, a unique and extraordinary cultural way of
existing within the context of racial oppression and poverty.
This phenomenon is probably more unique and expressive in New
Orleans than any large city in the Union, at least, from the
black hand point of view.
Place, in this instance, is more than space
(that too!) but cultural history (French and Spanish, Indian,
African, American, and others), exotic foods, dance, music,
customs, religions (Baptist, Catholic, Voodoo—all mixed
together), dream books and numbers, family, barbecues, and
kitchens, neighborhood, and burying places—enjoyed and
sustained by generations. In "Daddy Poem III," she
remembers, "Mother says I was born at home / on the four
poster I sleep on still." In “Shotgun Life III: Today”
she says, “We are a people of this place.” In “Word
Works,” “This, my birthright, / gives a sense of
place / that gets under your skin.” In “Nat King Cole Babies
and Black Mona Lisas,” “I was born Black / on a Black
block / in the 7th ward / on the back side of New
Orleans.”
She goes on and on providing object by custom
of every little detail that makes the life that was the Big
Easy. In “I Had Forgotten the Loud – for Alice Walker,”
“New Orleans leaves a honey taste in my mouth. / The
cracked boulevards and weeping willows / shade bare front
porches / and call her children home.” And in “Back on the
Block,” “This is semitropics, / where green lizards
squeeze through door jams.” People always together: "our
home/was everybody’s home, cousins with aunts/uncles who kiss
as they enter each time.”
It was also a place of “jim crow,” a
place outside and apart one is forced to escape, because one
“wore loneliness” like “hand me-down skirts.” Life was
tough but bearable. Her father says, “there’s no place like
New Orleans, / no where yeah! / Cawains used to crawl out
the swamp / into my black iron pot.” That’s how it used to
be. But she asks, “Where’s the Black community now?” So
New Orleans filled up not only external space but that which was
in the heart and soul of the people that transformed the space
into a people.
Mona Lisa’s poems are concrete. They are
filled with objects (cats, mosquito hawks, word sounds, music
and musicians, oaks and mums, colors, houses (shotgun), yards,
etc.) and actions (talk, dance, more talk, touching, eating,
bereft of abstractions like good modern poems ought to be. These
objects and actions are not metaphors anymore than any other
word. They are what they are and what the people have made them
“crawfish, cawain, mint love,” and “gumbo, as new
with no regrets.” They are cultural objects (maybe they are
totems), but in the mind and soul a “dance.” In that life rendered in these poems will never reconstitute
itself after the 2005 Katrina flood, Saloy’s poetic
documentation makes the book exceedingly more precious,
especially for those persons displaced who lived in such
communities as the 7th Ward.
The book is primarily autobiographical. One
senses that the book itself, the writing of it, changed the
person, that the writer has risen to some higher state of being,
beyond that of the young writer who returned to her community
after being away on the West Coast a decade or so—a woman
rediscovering her roots, appreciating and reevaluating that life
she lived as a child, a woman who has come to grips with that
life she tried to escape—its harshness and its sadness. Her
mother died in 1966; her father, she nursed when he was in his
80s and near death. We sense a very sensitive and delicate
sensibility coming finally into its own, into maturity,
discovering what wonders she has inherited and realizing what
resources and abilities she commands, “as the burnt sky
folds.”
In some ways,
Red Beans and Ricely Yours
(2005) reminds me of Jean Toomer’s Cane; in other ways,
Baldwin’s Go Tell It On the Mountain. Toomer felt that
there was a way of life, of which his grandmother schooled him, that was
dying and Toomer sought to capture it in words, stories. Well, that
is what Mona Lisa has achieved wonderfully, but much more
coherently, and maybe much more lovingly. Baldwin’s Mountain
I see as a book that was his first and best piece of fiction in
which he liberated himself and became his own man. Dr. Mona Lisa
Saloy has achieved a similar liberation and transformation with
this new book of poems. Such personal victories always deserve great
applause, especially when they are achieved so wonderfully.
No writer or group of writing comes to mind
of Black New Orleans that captures the New Orleans life in so
wondrous a painting, musical composition—not Kalamu ya Salaam,
not Brenda Marie Osbey, not even Marcus Bruce Christian. None
expresses such love and devotion, none so realistically and
approachable, none so fully and delightfully as we find in
Red Beans and Ricely Yours(2005). These fifty poems or so of a
life murdered by human neglect and disregard are insights won
with blood and tears.
I remind you the book should have been the
first three sections (36 poems), except for a few other poems in
the other two sections (16 poems). Whatever flaw the book may
have, one delights even in them. All the poems are well done and
will be enjoyed. Folks, we have a classic here that will make an
excellent gift for any occasion. I have the hardback edition. One
on your shelf, everybody’ll know you have good taste, New Orleans
style.
A final note: I’m told that Louis Armstrong
used to sign all his letters
Red Beans and Ricely Yours.
This is a recent discovery. Mona Lisa has also signed her email
notes with such endings for some time.
* *
* * *
Rudy,
I read your review of Mona Lisa's Red Beans and clicked
on the highlighted poems. Your review is excellent and
that girl can write her tail off. I plan to get her book.
Miriam
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Contents
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|
| Red Beans and Ricely
Southern |
|
|
Word Works |
3 |
|
Back on the Block |
6 |
|
This Poem is for You My Sister |
8 |
|
My Mother's the Daughter of a Slave |
11 |
|
For Frank Fitch |
12 |
|
Southern Sisters |
14 |
|
Frontliners |
15 |
|
Louisiana Log |
17 |
|
A Few words on My Words |
19 |
|
I Had Forgotten the Lord |
20 |
|
Shotgun Life I: Home |
23 |
|
Shotgun Life II |
25 |
|
Shotgun Life III |
26 |
|
Shotgun Life IV: Section 8, 2003 |
28 |
|
Shotgun Life V: Remembering D |
29 |
|
Shotgun Life VI: Roots, 200 years,
Louisiana Purchase |
30 |
|
Shotgun Life VII: Old school, Circa 1960 |
31 |
|
|
| Red Beans and Ricely Creole Quarters |
|
|
Nat King Cole Babies and Black Mona Lisa |
35 |
|
My Creole Daddy I |
39 |
|
Daddy's Philosophy II |
41 |
|
Daddy Poem III: New Orleans Then |
42 |
|
Daddy Poem IV |
44 |
|
For Daddy V |
45 |
|
On My Block |
47 |
|
Heritage |
48 |
|
Parochial Product |
49 |
|
My Cousin My Brother |
50 |
|
French Market Morning |
52 |
|
French Market Friend |
53 |
|
Recycling Neighborhood Style |
55 |
|
Villanelle for Voodoo |
57 |
|
The Ballad of Marie LeVeau |
58 |
|
The Last Mile |
62 |
|
A Taste of New Orleans |
66 |
|
Summer in New Orleans |
68 |
|
On Writing |
|
|
This Afternoon . . . |
73 |
|
Email: Hey Now |
74 |
|
When We . . . |
76 |
|
The First 30 Days |
77 |
|
Charm Fails Death |
78 |
|
Deuces Running Wild |
79 |
|
Telling Poem |
80 |
|
Like Langston Hughes Did |
82 |
|
|
| Red Beans and Ricely Black |
|
| Glossary |
103 |
|
|
| About the Author |
107 |
* * * * *
Published by Truman State
University Press --tsup.truman.edu / Hardback $2495 /
Paperback $14.95
posted 26 October 2005
 |
Mona
Lisa Saloy is associate professor of English and Director of
creative writing at Dillard University (before Katrina). She won
the 2005 T.S. Eliot Prize for Poetry for this collection. She
has also won fellowship from the National Endowment for the
Humanities and from the United Negro College Fund/Andrew W.
Mellon Foundation. Her poems have appeared in anthologies,
magazines, journals, and film.
She received her PhD in English
and MFA in creative writing from Louisiana State University and
her MA in creative writing and English from San Francisco State
University. Displaced by hurricane Katrina, Saloy is a
visiting associate professor of English and creative writing at
the University of Washington for the 2005/2006 academic
year. Mona Lisa Saloy Bio |
* * * *
*
Dillard University's Creative
Writing Program
Study with Published Awarded Writers
Mona Lisa Saloy and Dedra Johnson
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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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