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* * * * *
Yictove's spirit
was called up today! Folks gathered around his daughter
in from China and his family and held them fast. Of
course, poetry was read and, of course, we all
acknowledged that, prolific artist that he was, Yictove—and
the word Yictove means "he will write" according to his
fellow Israelites—Yictove was watching, writing yet
another poem to document the moment, making us feel soft
and retrospective in places we had never felt before,
nodding our heads "yes" with a psychological bend to our
collective neck, and that he was doing all of this in
the name of love, without raising his voice, just
raising his pen. One sister sang a blues song.
Zayid Muhammad led
a clapping session . . . "Let us give this great man one
more round of applause." Amiri Baraka blessed him with
words.
Jacque Johnson was there
when Yictove died. Thank God someone was. She described
his death for us at the memorial service, and it sounds
as though he had a stroke (she could not understand his
speech) and a heart attack (after a while he just fell)
and the entire episode took about 30 minutes, I think
she reported. Jacque explained that he died
peacefully, as he lived.
He spoke to her as he was passing over uttering
beautiful words. We should all exit with such grace.
—Sandra West
* * * * *
In future
we be
missin your
sunday evening poems
delivered your careful way
through the long distance line
like a new orleanian midwife
In
Future--Elegy for Yictove |
* * * * *
From the one book of his
I have, a
Blue Print,
of a life seemingly quickly lived but deeply
felt. Yictove became a coordinator of
readings at the Knitting Factory and at the
East Orange Public Library.
Soft spoken, introverted
it would seem, appearing, disappearing, yet
leaving his trace, singular, but like all of
us, leaving traces, prints of our blues our
blues lives. Now the brother follows the 9th
Ward of his native Big Easy, deeply
appreciated but now part of the legend of
what we took for granted some of the things
that made us happy, now gone gone gone.—Amiri
Baraka 8/1/07
* * * * *
I will always remember the artistic genius that lived in
my brother. The way that he made words have new life
from the written to the spoken word was something of an
art in and of itself. As he spoke his voice boomed and
oozed giving words new meaning. The Knitting Factory and
the Library (East Orange Public Library) gave him the
opportunity to help others grow and cultivate in the
arts he so loved. He was a gentle teacher and had a gift
with people of all walks of life. Not long ago he was in
New Orleans and performed with Kid Jordan’s band an
impromptu jam session where he read When the Dewdrop
Drops. Though the performance was not rehearsed
it was amazing in every sense, exemplifying the artist
he truly was.
—Consuello
Battin: Sister
* * * * *
updated 12 October
2007
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