Tuesday, October 22, 2013

The First Black Woman

Author Unknown

The First Woman, a Black Woman.
The natural abundance
of the earth suggests
that the Black Woman is divine,
since all life proceeds from her.
The Black Woman was
the FIRST gardener.
The Black Woman as she nourished,
introduced agriculture.
Her experience in producing life,
could best evoke the seed to
sprout and flower.
The Black Woman provided
for her family as food gatherer.
Using her knowledge of herbs,
she was the FIRST
practitioners of medicine.
In addition to providing food
the Black Woman created weaving.
The patching of old
baskets, with clay
led to the making of pottery.
For the Black Women every aspect
of daily domestic routine
was considered holy and
with ritual intent.
In our time of glory,
giving birth was sacred.
Children were named after
their Black mothers.
The Sacred Black Woman

Black Woman

 Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880-1966)
from: Black American Poet's of the 1920's
 
Don’t knock at the door, little child,
     I cannot let you in,
You know not what a world this is
     Of cruelty and sin.
Wait in the still eternity
     Until I come to you,
The world is cruel, cruel, child,
     I cannot let you in!
.

Don’t knock at my heart, little one,
     I cannot bear the pain
Of turning deaf-ear to your call
     Time and time again!
You do not know the monster men
     Inhabiting the earth,
Be still, be still, my precious child,
     I must not give you birth!
 
 

Monday, October 21, 2013

President Lincoln.

By Sarah Williams (“Sadie”) (1841–1868)
 
 
“THEY killed him then? the cowards—be it so!
  Henceforth he is immortal—President,
Until the dead shall waken: none may know
  His term of office now, nor how ’tis spent.
 
“His life is rounded off and perfect now;        5
  It reached its fitting climax when great Death
Herself stooped down to crown the victor’s brow,
  And set the seal of silence on his breath.
 
“Nor foe nor friend can fret him into speech;
  He shines as calmly as some distant star,        10
Whose light these lower worlds of ours can reach,
  While not a cloud doth e’er extend so far.
 
“Silent and grand, embalmed in suffering,
  What monarch ever lay in state like this?
We dare not weep, we hear the angels sing,        15
  Exultant, as they welcome him to bliss.”

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Powerful Black Female Poets

Phyllis Wheatley
In 1773 Phyllis Wheatley became the first African American and the third woman in the United States to publish a book of poems. A second manuscript was written, but never published, nor found. Since that time, black female poets have spoken loud and clear about the angst and optimism of the black experience. Four of these sisters who broke new ground are Nikki Giovanni, Sonia Sanchez, Gwendolyn Brooks and Maya Angelou.

Yolande Cornelia "Nikki" Giovanni, Jr. was born June 7, 1943, in Knoxville, Tennessee and grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio. Giovanni attended Fisk University and In 1967 earned in B.A. in history. Later she became a professor of writing and literature at Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University. She has penned two dozen books, most notably her works of poetry during the 60s. These works include "Black Feeling, Black Talk" (1968), "Black Judgement" (1968), and "Re: Creation" (1970). Her three most recent works are "Love Poems," "Blues: For All the Changes," and "Quilting the Black-Eyed Pea; Poems and Not Quite Poems," and "Ego-Tripping and Other Poems for Young People." In 1988 she published a collection of essays, "Sacred Cows...and Other Edibles."

It has been written that, "Her collection of poetry, 'Black Feeling, Black Talk, Black Judgement,' captures the militant attitude of the civil rights and Black Art movements of that time."

Wilsonia Sonia Benita Sanchez is a poet/playwright and educator borm September 9, 1934, in Birmingham, Alabama. Like Ms. Giovanni she earned a B.A. degree. Sanchez received hers in political science from Hunter College in 1955. She has won numerous literary honors including the Lucretia Mott Award, a National Endowment for the Arts award and an honorary Ph.D from Wilberforce University (1972).

In 1972 Sanchez joined the Nation of Islam. However, she left in 1975 because some of her views conflicted with the Nation of Islam's position on women's roles. Sanchez has always been known for the fact that her political activism is also evident in her plays and poetry. Her work includes, "Homegirls & Hand Grenades" (1985), for which she received the American Book Award. Her most notable plays include, "The Bronx is Next" (1970), "Sister Sonji" (1972), "Malcolm Man/Don't Live Here No More" (1979), and "I'm Black When I'm Singing, I'm Blue When I Ain't" (1982).

In 1965 she joined the faculty at San Francisco State University. She also taught at Rutgers University, the University of Pittsburgh, Manhattan Community College of CUNY; The City College of CUNY, Amherst College, and the University of Pennsylvania. Ten years later she was on the faculty of Temple University.

Gwendolyn Brooks was born June 7, 1917 in Topeka, Kansas. However, the Brooks family soon moved to Chicago. According to researcher Kenny Jackson, as a young woman Brooks was fortunate enough to meet "James Weldon Johnson and Langston Hughes, who urged her to read modern poetry--especially the work of Ezra Pound, T. S. Eliot, and e. e. cummings--and who emphasized the need to write as much and as frequently as she possibly could."

Subsequently, much of her work was featured in the Chicago Defender. In 1945 her first book of poetry was published, "A Street In Bronzeville." That same year she received a Guggenheim Fellowship. While it was critically well received, as was her second book 1949's "Annie Allen." Five years hence Ms. Brooks struck pay-dirt. That year she became the first black woman to win a Pulitzer Prize.

Over the years she was invited to read at a Library of Congress poetry festival (1962), named as a poetry consultant to that same body (1985) and in 1994 she was selected by the National Endowment for the Humanities as the 1994 Jefferson Lecturer, the highest award in the humanities given by the federal government.

According to Jackson, "A turning point in her career came in 1967 when she attended the Fisk University Second Black Writers' Conference and decided to become more involved in the Black Arts movement. She became one of the most visible articulators of 'the black aesthetic.' Her 'awakening' led to a shift away from a major publishing house to smaller black ones. While some critics found an angrier tone in her work, elements of protest had always been present in her writing and her awareness of social issues did not result in diatribes at the expense of her clear commitment to aesthetic principles."

Some of her works include, "Bronzeville Boys and Girls" (1956), "In the Mecca" (1968).

"The Bean Eaters" (1960), "Selected Poems" (1963), and "Report from Part One: An Autobiography" (1972). Her latest work is a book of poetry titled, "In Montgomery." Many of her poems are powerful pieces that dealt with the abject nature of inner city life and racial inequality. It has been written that the impetus for a lot of her work came about by "looking out of the window of her second-floor apartment house in Chicago." Perhaps Brooks is best known for the succinct and soulful, "We Real Cool":
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Brooks said of the pool players in her classic work, "They have no pretensions to any glamour. They are supposedly dropouts, or at least they're in the poolroom when they should possibly be in school. You're supposed to stop after the 'We' and think about their validity...I want to represent their basic uncertainty, which they don't bother to question every day."

Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Ann Johnson on April 4, 1928 in St. Louis, Missouri. During her twenties Maya studied dance in New York City and also sang in nightclubs on both coasts. She has lived all over the world, even serving as editor for The Arab Observer, a Cairo newspaper. She also taught in music and drama in Ghana and studied cinematography in Sweden. Marguerite later married Tosh Angelos, a Greek-American sailor. Theirs was a short-lived marriage and they divorced.

Angelou is a poet, actor, director, producer and author of stage, film and television. She is the author of "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" (1969), which focused on growing up in the racist South and her rape by her mother's boyfriend, and her volume of poetry "Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'Fore I Die" (1971). She earned a Pulitzer Prize nomination for the score she wrote for the film, "Georgia." In 1977, she was nominated for an Emmy award for her portrayal of Nyo Boto in the television miniseries"Roots."

She has served under Presidents Ford and Carter, as a member of the Bicentennial Commission and a member of the Commission for the International Woman of the Year. In 1993, she was asked to read an original poem for the William Jefferson Clinton inauguration--a piece titled, On the Pulse of Morning."

According to Wikipedia, "Comedian David Alan Grier spoofed Angelou while hosting the sketch comedy show Saturday Night Live. The gag was that Angelou (played by Grier) had been hired as the new spokesperson for Pennzoil motor oils. In character, Grier read a poem dramatically, using Afrocentrism as an analogy for motor oil. There was a similar joke during the same episode with Grier-as-Angelou hawking Froot Loops breakfast cereal. Angelou is said to have requested a copy of the sketch on videotape because she so enjoyed it."

Angelou once penned:
...Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me...


Sources:
Nikki Giovanni biography Wikipedia
"Women of Color Women of Word, African American Female Playwrights--Sonia Sanchez." Author and publication unknown.
"An Interview with Brooks: On 'We Real Cool'," by George Stavros
"Gwendolyn Brooks' Life and Career," by Kenny Jackson Williams
"Maya Angelou, biography,"
Timothy N. Stelly, Sr. is a novelist who resides in NMorthern California. He is the author of "Tempest In The Stone," "The Malice of Cain" and "Like A Straight-Up Sucka." He is also a poet and featured coluimnist at useless-knowledge.com
Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Timothy_Stelly_Sr


Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/143876

Saturday, October 19, 2013

The Coast-guard’s Story

By Sarah Williams (“Sadie”) (1841–1868)
 
(From “Songs of Comrades”)

   OUT on the isle of Mona,

      Mona with rocks so red,
For the sins of the wreckers who preyed there once,
  So the tradition said,
 
There lived a sturdy coast-guard,        5
  Watching the whole night long;
And he sang to the sea, to the sea sang he,
  This was his simple song:—
 
“Only over the sea,
  Only over the sea!        10
There my love doth dwell, she that loves me well,
  Waiting and looking for me.”
 
Singing away the darkness,
  Unto the dawning white,
When the sea-gulls came screaming, “A—i—e. ’Tis day!”        15
  Bats shivered, “Woe for night!”
 
Out of the waning darkness,
  Driven before the sun,
A ship came drifting, and drifting fast,
A ship with never a sail nor mast,        20
  All of its voyage done.
 
The coast-guard waited with hands fast clenched,
  Visage a purple white,
“Something is here that I needs must fear,
  After my dream last night.”        25
 
The ship came closer, the skeleton ship—
  Tangle of shattered ropes,
  Fragments of scattered hopes,
  Did round its timbers cling;
Among the shrouds, in a hammock of wreck,        30
  A dead man’s form did swing.
 
The coast-guard sprang with his heavy strength,
  And bore the body down;
He drew it in to a tomb-like rock,—
  The dead man seemed to frown.        35
 
The ship went curtseying back to sea,
  Like one whose task was done;
The coast-guard stood, in a daze stood he,
  Before the blinding sun.
 
Of all he rescued from out the sea        40
  He saw one hand alone;
On all the hand he could only see
  One well-remembered stone.
 
  “O ring!” the coast-guard cried,
  “How hast thou come to this?        45
The ring I gave her, my promised bride,
  With many a tear and kiss?
 
  “Man, didst thou slay my wife?
  Though thou wert three times dead
I would avenge her, would claim thy life        50
  For each dear hair of her head.
 
  “Or did she give my ring?
  How could such vileness be?
Man, with the truth at your black false heart,
  Declare it now to me!”—        55
The dead man smiled with an awful calm,
  And not a word said he.
 
  “If she be false! O God,
  Thou who the truth canst tell.”
The coast-guard swayed like a tree up-torn,        60
  And on his knees he fell.
 
  He grasped the fingers stiff,
  And loosed them one by one;
The dead man’s hand was a faithful hand,
  Its work was nearly done.        65
 
  A letter, held till now,
  Dropped from the open palm;
The case was sealed with the coast-guard’s name—
  He read in dream-like calm.
 
  “Love,” so it ran, “I am writing,        70
  Writing our last Good-bye;
I send the ring by a trusty hand,
  For they say I must die, must die.
 
  Do not be broken-hearted,
  Lover so true, so dear;        75
The pain is nothing,—I think of you,
  And I know that you fain were here.
 
  But you must hold your post, dear
  Must not be ruined for me;
Before my letter can reach you, love,        80
  I shall see you across the sea.
 
“Only a little while, dear,
  You will be free, be free!
We two shall meet on the golden street,
  In the city that knows no sea.        85
      Love, true love!
    Be happy, not sad, for me.”
 
The letter dropt from his palsied hand,
Two men lay stretched on the shifting strand
Like brothers lay, in a close embrace,        90
The cold sea-spray on each pale, pale face.
But the one to whom living meant only pain,
Was the one to be laden with life again.
 
Many a year has vanished;
  Grey is the coast-guard now,        95
With a shadowy smile in his tender eyes,
  Strength on his patient brow.
 
Still at his work he paces,
  Watching the whole night long;
And the birds, his companions, asleep on high,        100
  Hear not his passionate song.
 
“Only over the sea,
  Only over the sea!
There my love doth dwell, she that loves me well,
  Waiting and looking for me.”        105
Kobo Inc.

The Ghost.

By Edith (Nesbit) Bland (1858–1924)

 
 
THE YEAR fades, as the west wind sighs,
  And droops in many-coloured ways,
But your soft presence never dies
  From out the pathway of my days.
 
The spring is where you are; but still        5
  You, far away, to me can bring
Sweet flowers and dreams enough to fill
  A thousand empty worlds with spring.
 
I walk the wet and leafless woods,
  Your spirit ever floats before,        10
And lights its russet solitudes
  With blossoms summer never wore.
 
I sit beside my lonely fire,
  The shadows almost bring your face,
And light with memory and desire        15
  My desolated dwelling-place.
 
Among my books I feel your hand
  That turns the page just past my sight;
Sometimes behind my chair you stand
  And read the foolish rhymes I write.        20
 
The old piano’s keys I press
  In random chords—until I hear
Your voice, your rustling silken dress,
  And smell the roses that you wear.
 
I do not weep now any more,        25
  I think I hardly even sigh,
I would not let you think I bore
  The kind of wound of which men die.
 
Believe that smooth content has grown
  Over the ghastly grave of pain;        30
Content! Oh lips that were my own
  That I shall never kiss again!

Natural Selection.

By Constance C. W. Naden (1858–1889)
 
I HAD found out a gift for my fair,
  I had found where the cave men were laid:
Skulls, femur and pelvis were there,
  And spears that of silex they made.
 
But he ne’er could be true, she averred,        5
  Who would dig up an ancestor’s grave—
And I loved her the more when I heard
  Such foolish regard for the cave.
 
My shelves they are furnished with stones,
  All sorted and labelled with care;        10
And a splendid collection of bones,
  Each one of them ancient and rare;
 
One would think she might like to retire
  To my study—she calls it a “hole”!
Not a fossil I heard her admire        15
  But I begged it, or borrowed, or stole.
 
But there comes an idealess lad,
  With a strut and a stare and a smirk;
And I watch, scientific, though sad,
  The Law of Selection at work.        20
 
Of Science he had not a trace,
  He seeks not the How and the Why,
But he sings with an amateur’s grace,
  And he dances much better than I.
 
And we know the more dandified males        25
  By dance and by song win their wives—
’Tis a law that with avis prevails,
  And ever in Homo survives.
 
Shall I rage as they whirl in the valse?
  Shall I sneer as they carol and coo?        30
Ah no! for since Chloe is false
  I’m certain that Darwin is true.