8:52 - eastern Standard Time

So I'm back in NYC, and that's all right with me, digging the wonders of project-style heat where you actually have to open the window in mid-winter in order to be comfortable. that's what I'm talking about...

This is the review (more or less) that i wrote for Sonia Sanchez's new CD "Full Moon of Sonia". In addition to what i say in the review, when you get the CD, check out the way in which she converts even the subject matter that has come to be cliche to us; to something new and more incisive. Examine the way in which she imbues everything with the complexity it deserves. She is still Big Dog in any pound we try to run...

Full Moon of Sonia

It is refreshing to see a legend, a respected artist, come forward and show all of us how to do it right. Full Moon of Sonia does more than give us good poetry set to music; it galavants through an amazing formal and stylistic range that reminds us all how Sonia finally got to this place.

From the CD’s opening line “What to say to you now / in the soft afternoon / as you hold us all / in a single death”, her lines are surprising, and as is signature Sanchez, refuses to stay away from either the topic or the form that is difficult. In particular “Poem to Some Women…” is guaranteed to bring goose bumps to the listener if he/she can even sit through the persona piece about the woman who takes her seven year old to the crack house and leaves her there for a week in exchange for a fix. Still, Ms. Sanchez is as celebratory (Haiku #11) as she is raw, as uplifting (Catch the Fire) as she is rebellious, as she is compassionate. Tupac explores complexity, forces us in looking at this controversial icon to examine the whole of everything. Her ability to reach in and find the necessary compassion (without being saccharine) are testament to her talent… “the day I heard the sound of your death / my brother… I remember the poems in your mother’s eyes…” .

Good Morning Sex reminds us that the personal is political; that what is the fun-loving, cut-loose poem is no less necessary or important than the overtly political. Further, the music and vocals which accompany the pieces are smartly thought out, and make brilliant use of the poly-rhythms in both. The choices for musical accompaniment are as surprising in some instances - e.g. Poem for Some Women, I Have walked a Long Time – as the turns in the poems themselves. Full Moon of Sonia is more than a good poetry CD. It is a must have of exquisite work from a literary legend. Get it now.

4:05PM - Central Time

So it's a little warmer now, like 29 degrees or something such. i went to the Green Mill last night (Chicago's first Poetry Slam Venue), read a poem, had a coupla drinks etc. On the way back from Lake Geneva last night, with Marty asleep on my lap, and it being dark, i could only reach into my bag to find the Book of Cheese Sandwich recipes - to write in - and so, on the back flap of the book scribbled in the dark, the first draft of this poem. Needless to say, it was interesting to try to decipher it to type it this morning, but here it is. Have at it as you all will:

Goliath is dying

- Are you ready to die?
- Since the day I was born…
(from Blade Trinity)

I hesitated
only for a moment really

the boy
was a lamb tender
raised on song and prayer
a singer a dancer
I heard

At his age
I was already wrestling
my father’s friends
to the ground

strong enough fast brave enough
I had no time for young maidens’
songs bells on their ankles
and hips

I was soldiering providing
bringing game back
to my hungry family
placing the future of Palestine
on my broad back

I was never ready to die
never occurred to me
too much depended on my living

so when the lad replied
since the day I was born
I paused

gave him enough time
to load up sling

doubt felled me
not the boy

I’d never considered death
so now
behind me a silent army
a dead Palestine

the dying sound of bells
on my sisters’ hips

I head back to NYC tomorrow - Doubtless there'll be more to report before then...

4:45AM - Central Time ... well it's the regular early awake business. it is as silent as you possibly imagine 5AM being. Lake Geneva, WI is Mid-West classic small town with some money America and through the window (in the daytime anyway), you can see the lake going on for what seems an eternity of white.

i still haven't been outside in 48 hours and i believe cabin fever is taking hold. There is a warping kind of sensation taking place in my head, that is coming from the anxiety of being enclosed and absolutely far from the possibility of being able to go outside and breathe.

Still Christmas has been good. Marty's immediate family is always wonderful to me and around them i feel comfortable mostly. if only i could figure out what's with this continued insomnia over the last coupla months, it'd be groovy...

i'm reading Calypso Callaloo. Marty gave it to me for Christmas and it is fascinating. it traces the history of calypso in Trinidad and the Caribbean; giving weight to the socio-cultural context within which it was developed and includes a CD of rare and not-recorded-elsewhere tracks from the old old days. It has revealed things about calypso culture to me that i had no idea of (and i'm fairly certain i've studied the history of Trinidad and its culture more than most Trinidadians my age). Of course, this is even more fascinating to me given the sort of poems i've been writing lately and given my MASQUERADE show. I wish i could tell folks to go check it out, but it came from Strand's rare books section and i believe it is out of print. However, try to get hold of it (author Donald Hill). It will even give some insight into the sort of cultural evolution that birthed the blues and jazz here, other revolution music in other countries and point to a collaboration amongst these forms that you might have though impossible given the time period.

word! lemme see if i can get back to sleep now...

1:24PM - Central Time

Let me clarify (in response to Rich's facetiousness). I love Alicia Keys' work in R&B. Lyrics as written for music MUST be critiqued differently from poetry. While song-writing is its own poetic form, the weight of communication does not rest solely on the words. Indeed, in many cases, the weight is even greater on the music. As such, it is fine (and often desirable) that the lyrics in song-writing be more simplistic. As such, Alicia Keys writing for R&B is good, and more than adequate; her poetry however... not so much. Still my problems with folks like Keys and Antwone Fisher etc putting out poetry collections is that i feel that many people trat poetry as though it is not something that one works at, necessarily. I doubt that Ms. Keys would attempt to hold a painting exhibition, let's say, because she did a few cancasses in her spare time. Yet folks seem to feel time and again that that's okay for poetry. Poets, to get to the top of their fields (however you define that), work hard at it; often their entire lives, and often out of respect for their craft, will not put out a work for public consumption, because they understand that not enough work has gone into it yet or that it doesn't approach a standard with which they are comfortable. Indeed, i practice the harmonica and the djembe at home (no laughter) in the comfort of my house for my own entertainment, but there is no way i disrespect master drummers or harmonica virtuosos by thinking i should cut an album. It appears that generally folks have no such qualms about poetry.

Now, i encourage everyone to write. I think it is an invaluable way in which to clear one's head; examine one's own politics; indeed, educate oneself. Further, one could argue that i've had some ill-advised publications of my own work. Granted - but i was working real hard at trying to become a good poet and i knew full well that there was no way i could take any of that work to an actual press. Poetry is a marvelous beautiful way in which the conscience of the world is healed; even in its attempt; and of course, i respect everyone's right to publish what they want. After all, some 13 year old in chain-mail named Aaron Carter is singing about being in love and Snoop gets to say "If a pimp in ya crib, Ma, Drop it like it's hot..." but at least they're both doing this stuff in some field they respect enough to work hard at before they go to the world with their product.

I'm done kvetching. The wind chill is minus 15 now!!! It's going to be a severely indoors kinda day. I'm even working out indoors. The furthest out i've got is the garage, with the garage door closed, and that was to jump rope. More updates later...

1:24PM - Central Time

Let me clarify (in response to Rich's facetiousness). I love Alicia Keys' work in R&B. Lyrics as written for music MUST be critiqued differently from poetry. While song-writing is its own poetic form, the weight of communication does not rest solely on the words. Indeed, in many cases, the weight is even greater on the music. As such, it is fine (and often desirable) that the lyrics in song-writing be more simplistic. As such, Alicia Keys writing for R&B is good, and more than adequate; her poetry however... not so much. Still my problems with folks like Keys and Antwone Fisher etc putting out poetry collections is that i feel that many people trat poetry as though it is not something that one works at, necessarily. I doubt that Ms. Keys would attempt to hold a painting exhibition, let's say, because she did a few cancasses in her spare time. Yet folks seem to feel time and again that that's okay for poetry. Poets, to get to the top of their fields (however you define that), work hard at it; often their entire lives, and often out of respect for their craft, will not put out a work for public consumption, because they understand that not enough work has gone into it yet or that it doesn't approach a standard with which they are comfortable. Indeed, i practice the harmonica and the djembe at home (no laughter) in the comfort of my house for my own entertainment, but there is no way i disrespect master drummers or harmonica virtuosos by thinking i should cut an album. It appears that generally folks have no such qualms about poetry.

Now, i encourage everyone to write. I think it is an invaluable way in which to clear one's head; examine one's own politics; indeed, educate oneself. Further, one could argue that i've had some ill-advised publications of my own work. Granted - but i was working real hard at trying to become a good poet and i knew full well that there was no way i could take any of that work to an actual press. Poetry is a marvelous beautiful way in which the conscience of the world is healed; even in its attempt; and of course, i respect everyone's right to publish what they want. After all, some 13 year old in chain-mail named Aaron Carter is singing about being in love and Snoop gets to say "If a pimp in ya crib, Ma, Drop it like it's hot..." but at least they're both doing this stuff in some field they respect enough to work hard at before they go to the world with their product.

I'm done kvetching. The wind chill is minus 15 now!!! It's going to be a severely indoors kinda day. I'm even working out indoors. The furthest out i've got is the garage, with the garage door closed, and that was to jump rope. More updates later...

9:56PM - Central Time

It is indeed colder in wisconsin than it is in Chicago, and tomorrow the HIGH is going to be 4 degrees.

4 degrees

yep - 4 degrees

there'll be some reading and at least two new poems coming out of this weekend because there'll be a lot of indoorsing. i also have to write the review for Sonia Sanchez' new CD so i'll have time on my hands. It's called Full Moon of Sonia. Go get it now, rathr than that Alicia Keys poetry collection you been fiendin'

2:30 Central Time

So I'm in Chicago; and while i left NYC at 60 degrees, it is 15 degrees here. The wind chill is another matter. We're going to Marty's parents' house in Wisconsin in a moment. yes, Wisconsin. It'll be a bit colder, i surmise, so there'll be a lot of indoors this Christmas. Last Christmas, i was in Trinidad. The difference - let me tell you - is stark!

I'm not really a Christjmas person. I don't do the tree thing. I don't put up lights and i give gifts to very few folks. I don't dislike it per se. I just haven't ever really been into it too much. I've been arguing with folks, that should i have a kid someday, I'm not perpetrating the entire Santa Claus fiction. I can really see no point to it, and i'm not sure that it adds anything really to the sense of wonder and joy in the world that a child might experience. Now, i believed in the existence of Santa Claus until damn near puberty. I was mad as hell when i found out that he didn't exist; so this is not just some bah-humbug perspective based on not having experienced the "wonder" myself. But i have come across many children (and stories of children) who believed themselves unworthy of affection, or respect or praise, because no one in their families could afford to put gifts beneath a tree and tell them Santa Claus had brought them. I want to be able one day to give my children gifts at Kwamastukkah (yeah i said it) and say, your father loves you, your mother loves you and you are a wonderful human being so this is to say at the end of this year, that we appreciate your having chosen us... now go stack some firewood and sweep the garage...

What the holiday season does allow us (if we're not caught up in the frenzy of consumerist fantasies that warp everything that happens with the rest of our year), is the opportunity to find some place; some spot of peace (Lord, this is getting sappy) in the middle of the turmoil and say thanks. It allows us the opportunity to tell folk we love that we love them; and even why. I've always felt that need around this time of year (that and the need to catch the Lakers vs whatever Miami team plays on Christmas day); and i don't need to freeze my fingers, stick a fat man in a chimney or get pine needles in my ass to do it.

Enjoy your holidays folks. Likely you'll hear from me again before it's all said and done. I've got a thing or two to say about resolutions as well...

3:54AM - December 22nd

Welcome folks to the insomnia sweepstakes. I'm not ready for winter. But here's a tip on a book for you. get Thomas Sayers Ellis' "The Maverick Room". This first book of Ellis' from Graywolf Press is a winner. He marries a unique narrative tone to an ability to fearlessly break out of the box of the linear. He draws on his childhood in Washington DC, his love of Funk and an imagination so wild, he draws us laughingingly and in wonder into a world purely of his own construction.

get this book.

I'm off to Chicago and Wisconsin tomorrow for the holidays. Talk about a white Christmas (apply all necessary metaphors).

I'm going to try to get some rest these next few days though. The new year doesn't promise to be any less busy than this one was (so again, thank God, i'll eat). In the new year i get to perform at the Whitney in May, so stay tuned for that. I'm going to attempt that sleep thing again now...

6:00 AM - Saturday

It's the insomnia again...

1.
So the production of A Tough Line from VisionIntoArt went better than any of us expected this past Wednesday. By the end, i'd gone through such a stretch of trying to memorize stuff under the gun, i was looking at text for about five minutes and it would stick in my head. It's amazing the kinds of "muscle" memory a body develops. Still, i'm relieved it's over. There was a three week stretch there of trying to get ready for my show and this show that i thought i was going to go nutty; not to mention the bouts of insomnia during that stretch were ridiculous (not like it's stopped), though last coupla nights i'd get about 4 hours before i woke up, so now i'm drinking bedtime tea, because i have to get a little more sleep before i get up in the morning and head to Massachusetts. i perform at Amherst College tomorrow night...

2.
Rebecca Hart (if you don't already know) is a fantastic singer/songwriter. Her work is phenomenal, so imagine my consternation when i go to see her one-woman show and her acting and writing in the show are every-bit as good as her singing/songwriting. "Jazz Desert" is very very smartly written, funny and acted with care; thoughtfully. It was not so much that i was blown-away, as i was opened up; and she made me want to go visit The Joshua Tree in Nevada.

3.
Next look for A Tough Line at Dickinson College in Pennsylvania on February 2, 2005. Hopefully i can find myself in Trinidad for carnival soon after.

So now it's sunday and i've had to go through two full days of rehearsal for Tough Line after my show on Friday night. The show went well though i forgot one poem and completely left out another by mistake. as a result i had to dig myself out of a bit of an emotional hole early on. eventually i got going though and delivered a good show.

my high school librarian, nanci st. john was there. it doesn't get more time warpish than that. mara did an excellent job in the opening, especially considering her voice was trashed.

i'm tired as hell and i sound disjointed now. i'm finally off book for the VIA production, but if i never see a rehearsal again it'll feel like it's too soon.

marty represented hard on the stage management front and i think lynne and i did the best version yet of the father/pan duet.

thanks to all of you who came and all of you who didn't/couldn't but still wished me well... more updates when i survive the next few days of rehearsal and performance

Dec 2 - 6:28AM

Insomnia:

this has been the theme the last few nights. my show goes up again tomorrow night and i'm hoping that's why i feel ill; why my body wont let me sleep; but i think i know that i'm worrying about that in conjunction with the VisionIntoArt show that i'm rehearsing every night for that comes off next wednesday that i still don't know my lines for.

still, this is a good week to remind myself that i'm making my life, my living, as an artist, in work that is meaningful to me and i should be (and am) grateful. there is much to be grateful for this week. there are mended friednships; and for this i cannot be too thankful. there is the show. there is my book (still on deadline and working itself out) and there are people who are supporting me in all these endeavors in a way that humbles me utterly.

my mother turned 63 on tuesday (and tells me with glee someone told her she doesn't look a day over 48 - and what the hell was i laughing at). she is well and i may even get the opportunity to see her over the holiday break.

every day there is more evidence that now is not the time to sorrow; to be vigilant yes, but now is the time for more and more love, for more and more tolerance, for finding our way to more compassion and understanding. already our worst fears about our collective rights and erosion of our way of life are being realized. we will need to build love brick by brick, shore up our alliances and make sure we hold them tight. there are children among us still and being born every day. so Guy, thanks brotherman.

my last posts were all about milwaukee and what transpired there and i want to thank all the folks there who made my time wonderful; most especially my host of hosts and i'm super-duper happy i'll get the chance to repay the favor to her when she comes here in february, at least a little bit - Dasha Kelly. milwaukee re-affirmed my faith in black folk; in the souls of black folk, in that down and dirty thing coming in correct on the timing even when the timing is the one and three because we're responsible for the downbeat, so damn right we break it down and build it back up as we see fit. so thank you to qabena and tiffany and rhonda and bianca lynne and sister monica. milwaukee black folk are buffalo folk; sing up the souls of the plains indians and the middle passage; sing down the swinging bodies and offer up much love. so thanks to kendall and patrice and Dan and the Mecca, Taboo and Panache. cuz church can't always happen on sunday, cuz church was never meant to happen on sunday, cuz we come from a folk who lived church, who lived the meaning of all the things they worshipped, cuz they weren't worshipping -just living; so we still beat down the dust wherever the dust needs beating down; or stirring down, so we dance that and we kiss that and make love to that and all that is church, and this is what saves us, this is what keeps us whole, this struggle is what shows us young and beautiful in the morning; what keeps us looking like brand new when everybody know damn well we been here forever, when everybody know we been raising our children together and today we have to more and more and more, so gather the provisions, gather the guns, gather the love and the guns and the love and the guns and the love and the love and the love and the love and the love...

and so now... a new poem. check out barbara ras' "bite every sorrow". it is really an amazing colection of workthat is a lesson in how to stretch your imagery to the unexpected place...


The sadness of migration (after Barbara Ras)

is when you realize you’ve finally spent
more years in your adopted country
than you’ve lived in your own And the click
of that turnover makes you wonder
while you ride a crowded underground
train with children who sell chocolates
for non-existent basketball teams
whether this means the chalkboard
of equations of all the things
that make you you is slowly coming
erased If maybe the first time
you finally carved a crude cone
out of a wedge of pine
drove a nail through the center
and wound twine around its crooked spine
to make a top never really happened
If the trill of a home made kite on the wind
razor blade zwill searching the tails of
the other pretty birds in the air
would waft itself completely out
of the memory of all the things you held dear

One day you’re a citizen of something small
but yours altogether and the hot asphalt
that binds you there the accent the jostling
taxis signaling for their chance at full meals
for their children the music and colorful costumes
the street corner ciphers mimicking
the air of something foreign your mother’s calling
through a window all in one flight
become part of your past even the faces
of your best friends fade whether in love
or disregard and in five hours
all that is strange becomes merely different
you learn to love in another language
or with your arms tucked in
and all of a sudden you belong to no-one
and no-where belongs to you