Ramcat Reads #7

RAMCAT READS #7

Bell, Bernard W., ed. Clarence Major and His Art: Portraits of an African American Postmodernist. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001. This examination of an underappreciated writer and visual artist should be read along with Keith Byerman's The Art and Life of Clarence Major . Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2012.

Chang, Jeff.  Who We Be: The Colorization of America .New York: St. Martin's Press, 2014.  Chang's lively blending of nonfiction narratives and multicultural visuals, a brief history of writing performance, lends some credibility to the belief that "the tragedy of life is that you never know all the things you're supposed to know when you're supposed to know them"( 345).

Franklin, John Hope.  George Washington Williams: A Biography.  Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985.  Franklin's book is a fine example of cultural memory at work.  Williams (1849-1891) was the author of  A History of the Negro Race in America from 1619 to 1880; Negroes as Slaves, as Soldiers, and as Citizens (1882) and A History of Negro Troops in the War of the Rebellion (1887).  In a remarkable gesture of putting Williams in conversation with Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness and Mark Twain's King Leopold's Soliloquy, Franklin appended Williams's open letter to King Leopold II of Belgium (1890), a most "eloquent indictment," and  "A Report on the Proposed Congo Railway" (1890).  Williams set the bar for later generations of scholar activists.  When Williams died on August 2, 1891, "he had achieved the full stature of a real nineteenth century American" (240), and Franklin concludes he "was one of the small heroes of this world; but it is well that one should not try to make more of him then what he was ---a flawed but brilliant human being" (241).  In this book we find a perfect matching of subject and object, for Franklin himself was  a consummate American historian and a brilliant, responsible human being.

Izzo, David Garrett, ed. Movies in the Age of Obama: The Era of Post-Racial and Neo-Racist Cinema. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2015.  These essays address how Obama's presidency "spurred a cultural shift, notably in music, television, and film" and their arguments should be compared with those made by essays in Black Hollywood Unchained: Commentary on the State of Black Hollywood. Chicago: Third World Press, 2015.  Both collections are contemporary supplements for  essays collected in Black American Cinema (New York: Routledge, 1993), edited by Manthia Diawara.  These three collections tempt us to think we might be much enlightened by  a collection of essays on how African and Asian films challenge the adequacy of films produced in Australia, Europe and the Americas.

Smith, Patricia.  Blood Dazzler: Poems.  Minneapolis: Coffee House Press, 2008.  Smith's accomplished explorations of aesthetic gestures occasioned by Hurricane Katrina should be read in the company of Hurricane Blues: Poems about Katrina and Rita (Cape Girardeau, MO: Southeast Missouri State University Press, 2006), edited by Philip C. Kolin and Susan Swartwout and Black Nature: Four Centuries of African American Nature Poetry (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2009), edited by Camille T. Dungy.

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.            December 23, 2015

Ramcat Reads 6.5

RAMCAT READS #6.5: STATEMENT OF PURPOSE

 

2016 will be a hard year.  We can't avoid, in the words of the novelist Keenan Norris, being "compelled to perform complex narrative gymnastics" or being glued to metaphors which govern actions. What or who controls the compelling  machinery?

Is breathing a performance?  What motions are not performances  in the world we are limited to know ? Is chewing a slice of toast or consulting a friend or squeezing the trigger of a gun a performance?  Is a performance itself a performance?

In the time and space and consciousness of being, every motion is not a performance.  If in this century, human beings are incapable of distinguishing a performance from its logical opposite, they confront the damnation of being absurdity personified.

The purpose of reading is to beget narratives that liven up daily conversations and assist us in making choices.  Narratives bike through our minds and recycle thought.  Reading as such does not make us more stupid or wiser.  It does not ensure that we shall be good or bad or liberated from deep confusion about our morality and mortality.  Reading just increases the probability that we can recognize a nude platitude or  cliché when it parades before us and immunize ourselves against the cancer of spinformations.  Remember that many people who are not print literate employ other forms of literacy to make their way through life, and we ought to value them as much as we value those who blind us with verbal brilliance.

One purpose of the "Ramcat Reads" series is to provide a finite spectrum of choices and to minimize the notion that any single esteemed writer or any single necessary discipline in the universe donates THE TRUTH to anyone.

In 2016, we may want to retreat a few hours  from the paralyzing utterances of our presidential candidates and the thought-murdering entertainment our public intellectuals and enslaved mass media gleefully provide.  We may want a recess from obscene but inevitable disinformation. We may want to sample such  books as Narrative Sequence in Contemporary Narratology, edited by Raphaël Baroni and Françoise Revaz and Narrating Space/Spatializing Narrative: Where Narrative Theory and Geography Meet by Marie-Laure Ryan, Kenneth Foote, and Maoz Azaryahu.  We may want to have spirit-shaking arguments with the Qur'an, the Dao de jing, and the Bible (both the Roman Catholic and Protestant versions thereof).  We may want to do battle with scientific treatises, legal documents and economic spreadsheets,  and poetry. We may want to spend a cosmic nanosecond or two in renewing our minds.

 

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.                            December 21, 2015

Note on Satire

A Note on Satire

 

The so-called Age of Obama may be a time when satire refuses to be distinguished from ordinary communication.  There's a hint of this possibility in a commentary on Mat Johnson's recent novel Loving Day.  In his urbane assessment of the book  "Forward Passes" (The New York Review of Books, December 17, 2015, pages 68-70), Darryl Pinckney invites us to think with some care about how satire may work as a description of fact. Johnson's title refers to the case of  Loving v. Virginia 388 U.S. 1 (1967).  That fact invites us to consult Legal Fictions: Constituting Race, Composing Literature (Durham: Duke University Press, 2014) by Karla FC Holloway.  The subject matter of the novel, however, invites a study of the premises articulated in Emine Lale Demirturk's How Black Writers Deal With Whiteness: Characterization Through Deconstructing Color (Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2008).

Addressed to readers who may know absolutely nothing or very little about African American fiction, "Forward Passes" incorporates a mini- literary history, one necessary for understanding how it is that Mat Johnson "is able to interrogate black history."  In one paragraph Pinckney suggests

You could think of Mat Johnson alongside Wesley Brown, Paul Beatty, Colson Whitehead, John Keene, or Percival Everett.  To call them black satirists or humorists wouldn't quite cover it.  In their ease with genre and their consciousness that the language they're after is literary, they descend through the allegory of Ralph Ellison, not the realism of Richard Wright.  But they have inherited Wright's social vision, not Ellison's . "I know you're beige, but stay black," a friend says to Warren Duffy (70).

 Duffy is the mix-raced protagonist, and by James Joyce's "commodius vicus of recirculation" we may travel into the heart of interpretation.  Pinckney's playing the familiar Wright/Ellison binary is deliciously problematic.  If Ellison owns allegory and Wright possesses realism, can one read allegory without being haunted by its rootedness in realism?  Does disjunctive juxtaposition of allegory as narrative device or metaphor with realism as a mode of representation take us out to lunch on a date with satire?  And does Pinckney insinuate there is treason afoot in Ralph Ellison's social vision and a redeeming clarity in the one Richard Wright willed to us?

Perhaps in the Age of Obama, satire consigns writers and critics to a system of hell so that they may have an epiphany of race.

 

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

PHBW BLOG  December 4, 2015

Ramcat Reads #6

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Ramcat Reads #6

 

Marshall, Nate. Wildhundreds.  Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2015.  Marshall, one of the co-editors of The BreakBeat Poets (2015) and winner of the 2014 Agnes Lynch Starrett Poetry Prize,  writes ultra-contemporary "love letters" for Chicago, thereby exposing the paradoxical limits of stereotypes, the "tertium quid of niggerdom" (16).  One imagines that Marshall would agree with a character from Spike Lee's Bamboozled that niggers is a beautiful thing.  His poetry is abrasive.  One can read his poem "Ragtown prayer" (30-31) as a defiant response to the instructions James Weldon Johnson gave us about writing Negro poetry and as a deconstruction of the models of excellence to be found in the poetry of Gwendolyn Brooks.  Marshall truly speaks to his peers.

Rivlin, Gary. Katrina: After the Flood.  New York: Simon and Schuster, 2015.  Rivlin's interviews with those who stayed during Hurricane Katrina (2005) and those who returned invites us to measure the "new" New Orleans as a city of extremes, flash points, and blatant contradictions.  Rivlin sketches  how transparent urban pathology can be as well as how successfully it can conceal its sinister designs.  His verbal  snapshots of Alden McDonald, Mitch Landrieu, Pres Kabacoff, Jimmy Reiss, Ray Nagin, Oliver Thomas and Sally Ann Glassman are priceless.

Robinson, Marilynne.  The Givenness of Things.  New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2015.  One result of Robinson's conversation with President Obama ( see The New York Review of Books, November 5 and November 19, 2015) may be renewed interest in her brand of  Calvinism and her startling audacity of piety.  Robinson is forthright in saying that Christ "humbled himself and took the form of a slave.  He humbled himself not in the fact of being human, but to show us the meaning of making slaves of human beings" (200). It is understandable that our embattled President might be charmed by such sentences in Robinson's essays as the following: "The Bible seldom praises God without naming among his attributes his continuous, sometimes, epochal, overturning of the existing order, especially of perceived righteousness, or of power and wealth.  when society seems to have an intrinsic order, it is an unjust order.  And the justice of God disrupts it" (199).  It is tempting to imagine that Robinson and her President could be persuaded to embrace Toni Morrison's recommendation that Ta-Nehisi Coates's Between the World and Me (New York: Spiegel and Grau, 2015) is "required reading."

Tipton-Martin, Toni. The Jemima Code: Two Centuries of African American Cookbooks.  Austin: University of Texas Press, 2015.  A survey of cookbooks from Robert Roberts's The House Servant's Directory (Boston: Munroe and Francis, 1827) to America I Am: Pass It Down Cookbook (New York: Smiley Book, 2011), edited by Jeff Henderson and Ramin Ganeshram.  Tipton-Martin provides a glimpse of what is rarely discussed about the centrality of African American cuisine in American culture, and it is a special treat to read what she has to say about Bobby Seals's Barbequen with Bobby (Berkley: Ten Speed, 1988), to be reminded that Black Panthers knew what to do in the kitchen.

Vella, Christina.  George Washington Carver: A Life.  Baton Rouge: LSU Press, 2015.  Vella's documentation of Carver's discoveries and inventions is solid, but her strained interpretation of Carver's personality is a bit annoying.

White, Shane.  Prince of Darkness: The Untold Story of Jeremiah G. Hamilton, Wall Street's First Black Millionaire.  New York: St. Martin's Press, 2015.  It is refreshing to read this biographical study of Hamilton, a man who used his remarkable intelligence to beat nineteenth-century New York financiers at the racial games they loved to play.  It is instructive to consider how White, an Australian professor of history, exposes the architecture of writing history with the panache so often lacking among American historians who try to tell a black story.

Williams, Saul.  US(a.). New York: Gallery Books, 2015.  Readers who feel they must be hip about everything and nothing (in the existential sense of "nothingness") should hop through the pages of this mixture of poetry and fiction.  Williams is brilliant in witnessing the contemporary game  of daily life and giving us some of the best beat-broken writing on the planet.  His aesthetic and performance of sensibility demonstrate that the practice of diaspora is a relentless taker of tolls.

 

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

November 28, 2015

Lorca's tragic knife

LORCA'S TRAGIC KNIFE

 

"What glass splinters are stuck in my tongue!"

Lorca, Blood Wedding

 

Blood Wedding, Federico Garcia Lorca's 1933 tragedy, better than other examples of the genre, induces an appropriate state of mind for dealing with contemporary  global terrorisms.  Terrorism is always implacable.  Even if it were possible to offer it a Pacific Ocean of blood, its thirst would not be satisfied. 

Our nations furiously rave

together then and now.

Our clocks mishandle messiahs.

Lorca's brother Francisco aptly informed us in 1955 that "the final value of Federico's theatre, and the one which most characterizes it, is the fundamental attitude of an author who liked to live, that is to say, to suffer and enjoy life's course as an inevitable universal drama" (Three Tragedies. New York: New Directions, No. 52, 1955).  What is the final value of lynching, the fate of Emmett Till in Mississippi in 1955?

The cycles of our mother's bone-houses

always attending the birth-burial

of the blood weeded fetus.

Lorca knew something about cycles and human beings which seems to inhabit  the Epic of Gilgamesh,  the Book of the Dead, Sophocles, Marlowe and  Shakespeare, Voltaire, Goethe, Arthur Miller, and Amiri Baraka  Perhaps before the 20th century , terrorism was so disguised as audacious , raw, heroic warfare or  "Yahweh-, God & Jesus & Holy Ghost- , Allah-blessed"  crusades that it could not be  x-rayed  it for what it is. The Enlightenment misspelled its name, the West being  arrogantly ignorant of what the South and the East  knew for several thousands of years.  After WWI, the Emperor of Cream and the White Witch disrobed and mooned the world.

The transgendered Western fathers of invention

adorned themselves in designer sackcloth,

photographed themselves in the Passolini poses of Petronius-Fellini's Satyricon.

 In Lorca's time, disguises were translucent; his exquisite poetic sensibility enabled him to know what Goya and Picasso knew, what later Francis Bacon and Jean-Michel Basquiat  discovered in paint and Romare Bearden, Ishmael Reed,  and Toni Morrison , in or on  paper: tragedy is encoded in each human being.  In the womb, the  fetus feeds the  Satanic spider and learns the death-grip of the tragic knife.

Lorca did not retreat into excuses of fear and pity, false assurances of balance and restoration (catharsis),  certainly not in Blood Wedding.  He simply recognized the passionate, fractal  amorality of life.

Deflecting selective sympathy to a so-called tragic hero or to the collective victims  of  Nature-sponsored events is a learned (and ultimately cowardly, anti-existential) habit of response to tragic forms;  the quest for excuses and explanations  is an absurdity of the human imagination. There are no reasons or clarifying theologies.  What is at any time, is.

 ISIS is Hitler, Pol Pot, and Idi Amin Dada much  improved; it is, in our time the enhanced KKK or the sublime Mafia.

 Terror and terrorism are manifestations of Cain's blessing Abel with the Kafka motions of Lorca's tragic knife. 

They shall be forever  beyond destruction.

"The moon sets a knife / abandoned in the air/ which being a leaden threat/ yearns to be blood's pain."

(Blood Wedding, Act 3, Scene 1)

 

Lorca's tragic knife turns your flesh to stone as your blood renews the Earth.

 

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

November 17, 2015

a president's poem

A PRESIDENT'S POEM**

 

Are you somebody

who worries whether

you feel as if you feel

voices have been overwhelmed to pass the time

 

Part of the challenge

is a common conversation ---

stuff that reinforces

why our politics has gotten so polarized

 

Some new thing has happened ---

a pessimism ---

good people in some quiet place

that did something sensible

 

And it's all in rap and hip hop,

this vibrancy of American democracy.

Famously ahistorical.

That's one of our strengths.

We forget things.  Bloody arguments.

 

You don't know much

about the evolution of slavery;

African Americans seem pretty foreign,

thinking about the separation

of church and state

 

Yes.  We're going through

a spasm of fear.

One of the easiest places to go

is somebody else to blame --

but go ahead

 

We believed, we welcomed

without being utterly destitute

 

I'm listening to folk

making these wild claims---

it's embarrassing

when you go to other airports in other countries

 

When people feel pinched

the generosity you describe narrows.

We have a dissatisfaction gene.

That can be healthy.  A good restlessness.

They don't feel affirmed if they're good.

                                                                                                A PRESIDENT'S POEM, p. 2.

 

 

Somebody was looking

like your definition of what

America and freedom should be

when you think about your faith.

 

Turn off the media for a week.

Come out the other side

with a different anthropology.

 

What makes you think

this experiment will keep going

 

I'll try to make...I'll try to persuade

the next time,

but that requires

presumption of goodness.

 

That's not what our democracy depends on.

That's what a good life depends on.

 

You'll be disappointed.

Your faith will be confirmed.

 

 

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

November 12, 2015

 

**Confession:   This poem was plagiarized from President Barack Obama's conversation

with Marilynne Robinson, September 14, 2015.

autobiography and angles of remembering

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 Autobiography and Angles of Remembering

 

                During the October 28, 2015 PHBW webinar, it was refreshing to hear the poet Sharon Strange mention that art bears witness.  She gave voice to one angle of remembering.  Contemporary memory has a very brief half-life.  We need to hear what is obvious again and again.

 

                 It is fashionable of late to applaud writers who made careers of always bearing witness to something in their  writings. We may downplay the fact that giving testimony in a society that seems to despise morality, especially any ethics associated with politics and art,  requires more than ordinary strength.  It is easier to pander to the mob and to act out  the role of the court jester in the face of grave, compelling issues.  Either for votes, instant fame,  shock value,  or money, witnesses entertain the crowd.

 

                Thus, Strange's comments brought us down to earth without the explicit  preaching we find in John Gardner's  On Moral Fiction (1977) or William F. Lynch's Christ and Apollo: The Dimensions of the Literary Imagination (1960) and by accident prepared us for a reading of

Pierce, Wendell. The Wind in the Reeds: A Storm, A Play, and the City That Would Not Be Broken. New York: Riverhead Books, 2015.

Acclaimed for  his roles in the television series The Wire and Treme and for his work  in such films as Selma and Waiting to Exhale, Pierce is a gifted actor.  He is a proud New Orleanian, grateful to "that northernmost Caribbean city, the last bohemia, which instilled in [him] a truthful culture that identifies [his] membership in that most beloved tribe that thrives in the Crescent City" (343).  Pierce is an actor not a writer, but that fact does not compromise his ability to tell a free story.   He is  a consummate reader and interpreter of words who has great respect for art and religion as "ways of knowing, pathways to and channels of the transcendent truths of our existence"(337).  What does compromise The Wind in the Reeds, and reminds us of its kinship with the genre of slave narrative,  is his collaboration with Ron Dreher in the writing of the story.

 

                How  do we assign credit for the crafting of words?  Or should we value the affirmative content and character of the autobiography much more than its form?  As is the case with The Autobiography of Malcolm X, we have to speculate about the agency of the amanuensis.  Pierce admits that Dreher cleared the path for a "journey filled with fear, uncertainty, joy, and fond memories"(343).  Dreher projects himself as a reluctant collaborator ("a white boy from the Feliciana hills") who  gained "a much deeper appreciation of the African American experience"(344).  Dreher's wording alerts us that Pierce is scrupulous in revealing that his life, his journey, is an atypical example of  ethnic American experiences.  He is a socially conscious actor who transforms orality into writing or an actor who assumes orality is writing.

                However curious we remain about Dreher's role, we can suspend disbelief  and accept Pierce's dominant voice and historical consciousness in the narration in just the way we honor the authenticity or "truth-telling" of Malcolm X's autobiography.  Language is social property, and in collaborative autobiography it is not impossible for the subject to devise clever, coded messages that minimize the authority of the subject's helper. Even if the codes of enslaved ancestors now wear designer clothing, they have not abandoned the awe-inspiring  power of the racialized code.

                 Pierce offers us an autobiography that distinguishes itself from those which accommodate inane expectations of what an African American male's life history ought to be, i.e. a confessional saga of fractured will power, sprawling identity crises, cartoon masculinity, and minimal or diminishing respect for the power of family history from slavery to freedom.  In one of the most important paragraphs in the book, Pierce does not bite his tongue and extends a special angle of remembering  ----

The family values debate in our culture is more politicized than it ought to be.  Everybody on both sides of the argument understands the value of the nuclear family.  The fact is, when we had intact families, we had fewer problems.  As the history of my own family demonstrates, when we African Americans held our families together, we drew from them the strength and solidarity we needed to combat the evils of racism, prejudice, and attack from the enemies of our community. (49)

 

This angle of remembering is not very popular in an American culture that champions the deconstruction of character and responsibility.  Nevertheless, it is a signal of the superior qualities that obtain among African Americans from New Orleans who retain pride in their uniqueness, in their un-American difference and their African- and  French-inflected différence avec l'aide de Dieu.  Superior character as it is exemplified by Wendell Pierce is not the exclusive property of Creoles and Roman Catholics, nor does it have much to do with the production of culture for the pleasure of tourists and the strange American invaders of all colors who are gradually reshaping post-Katrina  New Orleans and maximizing the vulgarity of corruption.

                The play referenced in the subtitle of Pierce's autobiography is Beckett's Waiting for Godot.  It is refreshing to read Pierce's explanations of why that particular play holds great significance for him as a Eurocentric work of art that motivated him to make an Afrocentric contribution to post-Katrina resurrection culture in his childhood neighborhood of Pontchartain Park and why he chose in 2007 to produce that play in the devastated Lower Ninth Ward. 

                Page after page of The Wind in the Reeds is informed Pierce's unfaltering belief in the value of art to motivate civic responsibility and to negotiate with the unguaranteed future of New Orleans without excuses and lamentations.   Like the novels of Ernest Gaines,  Pierce's autobiography  is noteworthy for affirming the Crescent City  wisdom of holding fast to black angles of remembering.

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

November 10, 2015

Black Drama Note

BLACK DRAMA STUDY NOTE

 

Tom Dent's one-act Ritual Murder (1967), first performed in 1976, is a classic of Black South drama . Dent minimized plot  and depended on the Narrator's investigation  and the individual testimonials of type-cast  characters (the wife, the public school teacher, the boss, the anti-poverty program administrator, the mother and father,  the chief of police, a black psychiatrist, the victim  and the murderer) to sketch a communal story.  His verbal economy is effective. The only action is focused speech.  Spectators can experience the play as an investigative tool, a device  for analyzing a familiar event  in modern life:  African American men killing African American men.  Ritual Murder figuratively incorporates its audience.  It provokes them to speak at the end of the performance.  Even spectators who refuse to speak become characters in a theatrical ritual. Ultimately, Ritual Murder is metadrama, i.e., a play that explains how a play may have a socially engaged purpose. It is an example of how a play can create a temporary, democratic  community.

It is judiciousness that Dent  remixed  of some elements of tragedy as described in Aristotle's Poetics with some of  the dark, biting humor  Bertolt Brecht used in writing the libretto for  The Threepenny Opera (1928), for which Kurt Weill wrote the atonal music. The aesthetic effect of Ritual Murder  is cool and unsettling.  It does not provoke fear and pity; its performance does not lead spectators to have any feeling of  catharsis, of being purged and cleansed .  On the contrary, because one witnesses the collection of opinions about the crime rather than any visual details about Joe Brown's knifing his friend James Roberts on a Saturday night, one feels moved to have compassionate disinterest.  One does experience, however,  the  frustration  involved with clarifying  a recurring social problem that defies resolution.

That Ritual Murder exposes its own architecture and pricks what might be called "consciousness of social paralysis" with maximum economy makes it one of the more unusual examples of black drama written for communal consumption during the Black Arts Movement.  One-act plays by Ben Caldwell,  Marvin X,  Kalamu ya Salaam, and Ted Shine; longer plays by Alice Childress, LeRoi Jones/Amiri Baraka, Ed Bullins; the acclaimed works of  August Wilson and Ntozake Shange and Suzann Lori-Parks might seem more typical of the diversity which characterizes black drama from the Black Arts Movement to the present.

 Since the 1960s, when LeRoi Jones (Amiri Baraka) and others formulated ideas regarding a revolutionary theatre,  black drama has successfully defied easy classification.  It has not succeeded in revolutionizing contemporary  audiences.  It has exploited the futurism of mixed dramatic  genres, structures that are neither purely tragic nor comic nor overtly realistic .  Spectators are often uncertain whether a given play is designed to entertain, to propagandize or politicize, to induce outrage or  to inform, or to achieve all these aesthetic ends simultaneously.  And few of them would give a damn about contemplating what black drama means. Spectators are most often happy with the thrills provided by exaggerated spectacle, thrills which undermine revolutionary potentials.

 Scholarly  study of black drama, on the other hand,   can require that we  account both for the formal or textual treatment of subject matter in scripts as well as potential or actual performance, that we conjoin analyses which bespeak ideological disharmony, and that we put drama in historical perspectives.  The highly visualized, recent instances of black drama as film or television programs, when we would be active rather than passive spectators, obligate us to use combinations of visual, literary or verbal, and aural literacies. We have daunting work to do when the drama is a translation from fiction into film, as is the case with Their Eyes Were Watching God, Beloved, The Color Purple, Long Black Song, and PUSH transformed into Precious .  The difficulty of the task may explain, in part, why scholarly discussions of black drama seem to be remarkably few in number  when they are counted against  either standardized or innovative criticisms of black poetry and black fiction.  It is easier to witness instances of black drama than to articulate what one has witnessed.  And it must be noted that witnessing black drama by way of television or cinema is more common than attending a live performance.  Electronic or digital  commercialization of black drama encourages a certain passivity, a loss of desire to explore nuanced differences between the dramas of everyday living and crafted, oppositional  drama which defamiliarizes what we take for granted and provokes discomforting thought. The integrity of the drama as script counts for little under the current  pressures of satisfying audiences and earning profits.  And the path most often taken is a reductive discussion of black drama as narrative rather than as exceptionally  complex mimesis.

 

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

November 2, 2015

 

Ramcat Reads 5

Ramcat Reads #5

 

Capshaw, Katharine. Civil Rights Childhood: Picturing Liberation in African American Photobooks. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014.  Emphasizes the photographs and writings of children.  Gives special attention to what is seldom examined regarding children in studies of the Black Arts Movement.  Mentions the importance of Today (1965), a photobook created largely by Doris Derby for the Child Development Group of Mississippi.  Today is available in the McCain Library, University of Southern Mississippi.

 

Cooley, Peter. The Van Gogh Notebooks.  Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2004. Cooley's sustained meditations on Van Gogh's creativity and paintings are sketches of a poet's mind at work, and they remind one of Ralph Ellison's writing about Romare Bearden's artistry.  Cooley, of course, limits his introspection to the personal, the immediacy of his aesthetic experience divorced from explicit social implications.

 

Ellis, Thomas Sayers.   The Maverick Room. Minneapolis: Graywolf, 2005.

________________. Skin, Inc. : Identity Repair Poems.  Minneapolis: Graywolf, 2010.

Ellis stands out from Sharon Strange and other poets associated with the Dark Room Collective much as Lorenzo Thomas does from members of the legendary Society of Umbra:  Ellis and Thomas are fiercely independent, following their divergent  interests in the visual and sonic manifestations of the constantly changing NOW. Both bring a maverick spirit of exploration to the task of naming the unpredictable.

 

 

Frank, Edwin, ed. Unknown Masterpieces: Writers Rediscover Literature's Hidden Masterpieces. New York: New York Review Books, 2003. "Masterpieces are showpieces," according to Frank, "designed to establish a public reputation; classics...constitute the public face of knowledge, the books that everyone should know" (xi).  Unknown Masterpieces is an example of ideological formation, and its singular charm exists in testing whether Elizabeth Hardwick, Toni Morrison, and James Wood can persuade readers that Tess Slesinger, Camara Laye, and Shchedrin [M. E. Saltykov] indeed wrote works that everyone should know.  Everyone may refer only  to a small community of readers predisposed to share the tastes and values of the thirteen writers who are "rediscovering" works that a larger community of readers, the more authentic everyone, has chosen not to remember. The special conditions of "rediscovering" ought to be taken into consideration in discussions of the recovery work that has been influential in the expansion of African American canons.

 

Gardner, John. On Moral Fiction. New York: Barnes & Noble, 2009.  First published in 1978, Gardner's  book should be read by  every person who believes she or he must be a writer;  it should be required reading for people who so easily confuse the possession of a degree in creative writing with knowledge that does not demand earning a degree. Gardner was shockingly honest in asserting "it is the universality of woundedness in the human condition which makes the work of art significant as medicine or distraction" (167). Few people who call themselves writers have the capacity to embrace woundedness or the will power to reject fashioning what is genuinely universal in their own images.

 

 

 

 

Howard, Ravi. Driving the King.  New York: HarperCollins, 2015.  Howard is the author Like Trees, Walking (2008) and winner of the Ernest J. Gaines Award for Literary Excellence (2008).  The novel may one day receive a bit of notice in critical discourses on how Nat King Cole as a musical icon can be appropriated for discussion of civil rights issues.

 

 

Rose, Tricia. The Hip Hop Wars: What We Talk About When We Talk About Hip Hop --- and Why It Matters.  New York: Basic Books, 2008.  Rose describes certain arguments regarding causes of violence, the reflection of dysfunctional ghetto cultures, symbolic injury of African Americans, devaluation of women, and the ongoing destruction of American values.  She juxtaposes the defensive arguments used to justify rather negative forms of representation ----the clichéd notion "keeping it real," denial of responsibility for sexism, the vexed possibility that bitches and hoes (whores) exist outside of symbolic representation, the denial that artists have any obligation to be role models for anyone, and loud complaints that large numbers of people do not talk about positive aspects of hip hop.  Rose struggles to construct guiding principles for progressive creativity, consumption, and community in and beyond the phenomenon of hip hop.

 

Despite her dedicated scholarship, Rose does not get very far in exposing the amorality of the music industry in the American economy.  The mechanisms of that  economy are not controlled by African American businesspeople, and they batten on the absence of ethics and moral struggle in the unfolding of the United States of America as a nation.  Rose fails to deal with the possibility that will power does need to be talked about, even if the talk is itself theoretical and philosophical.  She doesn't take into account that home education (what back in the day was called "home training") and public schooling (what is now too frequently miseducation of everyone) ought to be held accountable for encouraging a destructive sense of freedom and entitlement (e.g. the mirroring of  the violence applied in the name of combating terrorism).  Almost echoing James Baldwin, Rose recommends the use of affirmative love and argues that "transformational love is necessary and crucial"(272).  To add salt to wounds in a hostile American environment, Rose is content to reify the deadly black/white binary as if Hispanic drug suppliers, Islamic thugs, and Asian criminals do not participate in maintaining destructive features of hip hop.  The hip hop wars are overwhelmingly economic in nature, although they are disguised as innate manifestations of biocultural evolution.

 

Neither Rose nor any cultural critic who is not prepared to commit to plunge into boiling water will suggest the draconian remedies needed to minimize the hip hop wars, because those methods  only promise to beget other forms of corruption and inequality in the manufacturing of wealth. Such is the moral poverty of our nation.

 

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

October 29, 2015

 

writers and politicians

Writers and Politicians

Among the Presidents who have occupied the White House since my birth, President Barack Obama is one of the most literate. Historians who write about the American presidency after 2017 will be obligated to note that Obama tried to "write an honest account of a particular province" of his life in Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance (1995; New York: Three Rivers Press, 2004), and that he called for a new kind of politics in The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming The American Dream (New York: Three Rivers Press, 2006).  As they condemn or commend his policies and speeches, the wisest historians will not ignore that fact that he invited Elizabeth Alexander to bless his 2009 inauguration with a woman's vision.  Nor will they simply mention in passing that Richard Blanco gave some credibility to Obama's virtue of tolerance in the 2013 inaugural poem.  The most scholarly historians will dwell for more than a nanosecond on Tara T. Green's conclusion in A Fatherless Child: Autobiographical Perspectives of African American Men (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2009)that "Obama, then, shows the possibilities of escaping the pressures of social pitfalls as much as he proves the importance of black communities in the late twentieth century providing homes for those wandering black sons in need of understanding, healing and love" (132).  All of the historians will direct attention to Obama's September 14, 2015 conversation with Marilynne Robinson.

It may be the case that writers and politicians rarely have meaningful conversations, because such talks might draw undue attention to national insecurities. Robinson's exchange of ideas with the President pivots on the topic of fear, the subject of her startling essay "Fear" in the September 24, 2015 issue of the New York Review of Books.  Robinson apologizes to no one for her Calvinist-flavored Christianity, for her conviction that "[w]hen Christians abandon Christian standards of behavior in the defense of Christianity in the defense of Christianity, when Americans abandon American standards of conduct in the name of America, they inflict harm that would not be in the power of any enemy"(30).  Yet, Robinson warns us in disarmingly plain English that " the making of Christianity in effect the official religion, is the first thing its [Christian "establishment"] supernumeraries would try for, and the last thing its faithful should condone"(30).  Robinson's essay provides an extended footnote for Ira Katznelson's Fear Itself: The New Deal and the Origins of Our Time (New York: Liveright, 2013), and her breezy recycling of Katznelson's neoliberal analyses seems to have swept Obama into  a remarkable instance of the indivisible unity of the literary and the political.  Obama knows what kind of supernumeraries Donald Trump and Ben Carson are as they riff on the epistles of St. Paul and inundate us with exegeses of the Book of Revelation.  He knows also why he needs to deflect attention from the impeccable satire of Paul Martinez Pompa's "I Have a Drone"  (see The BreakBeat Poets, pages 165-167) and to direct our gaze, with patriotic help from Robinson, to the sublime beauty of the Russian-manufactured Kalashnikov.  As the elected Defender of American faith, he must wash us in the blood of the Second Amendment and satisfy our yearnings for violence and fear as the seven angels "pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth."  Marilynne Robinson and President Obama have given us a conversation to remember.

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.    October 27, 2015

Tacit Knowing/Explicit Knowledge

Tacit Knowing/Explicit Knowledge

 

Tom Dent's one-act Ritual Murder (1967), first performed in 1976, is a classic of Black South drama . Dent minimized plot  and depended on the Narrator's investigation  and the individual testimonials of type-cast  characters (the wife, the public school teacher, the boss, the anti-poverty program administrator, the mother and father,  the chief of police, a black psychiatrist, the victim  and the murderer) to sketch a communal story.  His verbal economy is effective. The only action is focused speech.  Spectators can experience the play as an investigative tool, a device  for analyzing a familiar event  in modern life:  African American men killing African American men.  As we move from the particular to the general,  especially in 2015, we recognize that what demands investigation is why in the United States officers of the law take pathological pleasure in killing unarmed civilians inside and outside of prisons (literal and figurative)  and why our nation's primary story (myth)  is one of death, dying and despairing  rather than one of life, living and loving.

Thanks to the unrelenting  immediacy of visual and verbal evidence, we have no escape route from a most disturbing question: in which place of human habitation will the next accidental or intended "ritual murder" occur and necessitate our speaking the words "lives matter"?  In 2015, we are condemned to knowing that our beloved democracy is a cuckoo's nest.  Just as Ken Kesey could not predict that his 1962 novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest would become emblematic of American history, Tom Dent could not be certain that his play would universal applicability in the United States and beyond.

 What Dent did know, however, was that  Ritual Murder figuratively incorporates its audience.  Written in the early years of what we now call the Black Arts Movement, the play  provokes those who  witness it  to speak at the end of the performance.  Even spectators who refuse to speak become characters in a theatrical ritual. Ultimately, Ritual Murder is metadrama, i.e., a play that explains how a play may have a socially engaged purpose. Thus,  it is at once a local (New Orleans) and a transcendent example of art for life, or in the more familiar wording of the Black Arts Movement, the indivisibility of art and politics.

It is noteworthy that Dent  remixed elements of tragedy as described in Aristotle's Poetics with some of  the dark, biting humor  Bertolt Brecht used in writing the libretto for  The Threepenny Opera (1928). The aesthetic effect of Ritual Murder  is cool and unsettling.  It does not provoke fear and pity; its performance does not lead spectators to have any feeling of  catharsis, of being purged and cleansed. On the contrary, because one witnesses the collection and broadcasting  of opinions about the crime rather than specific  visual details about Joe Brown's knifing his friend James Roberts on a Saturday night, one feels moved to have compassionate disinterest.  One experiences the  frustration of the need to clarify a recurring social problem that defies resolution.

 

 

 

For some of its readers,

Bracey, John H., Jr., Sonia Sanchez, and James Smethurst, eds. SOS --Calling All Black People: A Black Arts Movement Reader.  Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2014.

will produce renewed interest in problems that we can't resolve.  The book is an invitation to think about how a moment in American cultural history still compels us to deal with the implications of human knowledge.  Such thinking can benefit from a possibility set forth by Michael Polanyi in The Study of Man (1959).  Polanyi proposed that written knowledge is "only one kind of knowledge; while unformulated knowledge, such as we have of something we are in the act of doing, is another form of knowledge.  If we call the first kind explicit knowledge, and the second, tacit knowledge, we may say that we always know tacitly that we are holding our explicit knowledge to be true. If, therefore, we are satisfied to hold a part of our knowledge tacitly, the vain pursuit of reflecting ever again on our own reflections no  longer arises" (12).  Such anthologies as SO--Calling All Black People  suggest our ability to forget is stronger than our capability to remember.  They serve as forms of explicit knowledge to help us with the job of tacit knowing, because reflecting on what we have failed to remember is not a vain pursuit.  Common sense instructs us that we need to remember and use works created by the artists and thinkers of the Black Arts Movement.

Weighing in at 666+ pages, SOS---Calling  All Black People might be one of the primary texts in community or academic seminar, an investment in remembering that might include Black Fire (1968), edited by LeRoi Jones and Larry Neal,  Drumvoices: The Mission of Afro-American Poetry (1976) by Eugene B. Redmond, The Black Aesthetic (1971), edited by Addison Gayle, Jr.,  The Black Arts Enterprise and the Production of African American Poetry (2011) by Howard Rambsy II, and The Black Arts Movement: Literary Nationalism in the 1960s and 1970s (2005) by James Edward Smethurst.  Arnold Rampersad's recommending that the anthology can "add immeasurably to our ability to understand and teach a crucial  aspect of modern African American and American literary history" is wonderful as far as colleges and university might be concerned, but out-of-school  people deserve to share its wealth. They are the troubled citizens who can benefit most from  the renewal of tacit knowing, from considering how an anthology assassinates time and freezes particular "documents" for everyday use.

The book has five major sections ----1) theory/criticism, 2) statements of purpose, 3) poetry, 4) drama, and 5) fiction/narrative---and concludes with commentary by James G. Spady , John H. Bracey, and Audre Lorde.  In the introduction, the editors inform us the anthology is intended to provide access to "the ideological, aesthetic, and geographical scope of the movement"(10). The editors went a step beyond on September 17, 2015 in modeling how to contextualize this access in a panel "First Fires & the Black Arts Movement in the South"  at the Sonja Haynes Center, University of North Carolina--Chapel Hill.

The book provides a great amount of material for study, but it falls short in matters of identification and internal contextualizing.  This failure may be a result of haste in making editorial decisions.  For example, the book does not have an index, the apparatus needed for quick comparison with other indexed compilations or for highlighting areas of emphasis.  The book does not provide notes on contributors.  Younger readers may be familiar with the names Amiri Baraka, Margaret Walker, and Gwendolyn Brooks, but they may need to visit the Internet to discover who were Carolyn Gerald [Carolyn Fowler], Ebon Dooley, Ahmos Zu-Bolton, Joe Goncalves, A. B. Spellman,  and Henry Dumas.  People of a certain age who belong to special communities of reading need no special assistance in knowing why Ronald Milner, Louise Meriwether, Tom Dent, James G. Spady, and Sam Cornish are important, but it is wrongheaded to assume general readers will possess such knowledge.

Those readers do need the apparatus or metadata commonly used in the best contemporary anthologies.  Moreover, serious scholarship is obligated, for example, to provide more than a single descriptive paragraph to cast light on such documents as "NKOMBO, Food for Thought," "Southern Black Cultural Alliance, By-Laws," and "Umbra, Foreword to Issue 1.1."  Indeed, scholarship demands some annotation regarding Tom Dent's formative role in the intellectual process of bringing Umbra, Southern Black Cultural Alliance , and NKOMBO into being.  Yes, we can turn to books by James Smethurst and  Howard Rambsy; to The Cambridge History of African American Literature (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011);  to New Thoughts on the Black Arts Movement (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2006), edited by Lisa Gail Collins and Margo Natalie Crawford; to Tony Bolden's Afro-Blue: Improvisations in African American Poetry and Culture (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2004), and to many journal articles for supplemental information.  But the habits taken for granted within academic settings may not obtain when SOS--Calling All Black People circulates in more public communities of reading and discussing and agonizing over the recurrent issues and problems  of African American life (and indeed all lives) in the United States of America. The editors might have used their tacit knowing to anticipate such a possibility.

This editorial shortcoming does not undermine the invaluable contribution of the anthology as a resource for dealing with seismic and paradigm shifts in American culture. And it is probable that like Tom Dent's Ritual Murder, SOS---Calling All Black People will be welcomed as an investigative tool for examining contemporary American pathologies which unite politics and art.

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

October 20, 2015