Poetry Reading with Watts Writers Workshop Poets at Antioch College, Yellow Springs, Ohio (Part A)

In 1965 something happened and we couldn't there was an explosion or riot or insurrection or whatever because it was decided that it was all a bunch of words describing things that really did. Come out of what in 1965 was a writer's workshop. Welcome to another program in the community look at your series on WRAL. This evening with the writer's workshop six black poets gave a reading of their work on Tuesday. They've been touring for two and a half years so there's a big group of forty five in Watts and they now split up into a truck full of the crap. They want to come out quick fast and really get into it. So if you see a trial for response you know who's going to start it off. Before the evening is over. You're going to get an emotionally involved in

the black renaissance and we're going to have you tell us about it. I want to introduce the writers here. I want you to meet. James Thomas Jackson. Mr. Watts himself. Thank Millie and Terry children's poet. Bill Jackson. Thank you. So no matter how are the. And Quincy Troupe. Thanks. All right let me keep this little thing on here I want to open up the package here and let these other poets here unwrap it and you will find some beautiful given goods to you. I like to think in terms of psychological sociological factors environmental factors and forces that have an effect upon our children. And the title of this poem and the only one that I will be

reading for the evening. Is a long night's journey. Loud in the night the neon sign spotted its words against the sky. DICKIE BIRD cafe. You're home. Welcome young and old Tana no Faye Dickie Bird cafe belch with big bellied beer drinkers the rich the poor the pink of brown the white and black blasted my delay on nights too good for sleeping and dickie bird like that the pre-amp the sin ass nigger The Hustler the whore the millionaire man laughed and lied in one another's face trading stench of breath and spewing half to nuts upon one another's lips telling tales that booze had made come true and Dickie Bird just listen young slick chicks tip toed in shoes of pink and green and white

while red may show or tails spotted legs from the shores. Unknown to the users of the past behind their shades at night their eyes shot red with blood. These chicks peddle Where's worn out ten years before now. Large strong smelling women with bodies too worn from use. I watched and wished for money made easy to take for bedding with a man who came like slobbering long eared dogs from other sides of town in need of cures with bitches to change their luck. That is for 10 or 20 for each trick turn and Dickie Bird came in for his cut and children stood at Cafe door as hollow eyed an empty belly. Learning crafts to ply their skills admiring perfume the ladies who were beautiful to them and wondering

to themselves if you're living yet would my mother be so beautiful. And Dickie Bird just shook his head yes. Under red lights loud and laughing liar sat face to face at Dicky's bar bulging with business wear white and black toasted their innocence of colors with lies as loud as thunder and quivering with dedication of mistrust for years not yet upon us. And Dickie Bird just kept his mouth shut from their long night's journey children with their dreams turned faces to the darkness and walked in silence toward their empty homes. Remembering the laughing women beautiful to them and seeing dickie birds. Neon signs still splashing at the words Welcome. The young the old the tan and the old say this is your home.

DICKIE BIRD cafe and preamp and the thin ass nigga in the house threw in the whore and the millionaire man laughed and lied and just went on about their business. This is call what six to eight. I hear my song from this instance sing it once there was a dream here now is def. gone. To those more capable perhaps more beautiful even I do not know the criteria nor do I want to catch my soul you ignorant bastard that catch my soul. Perhaps this dream belong to a 2 yo black shadow no better try a sickle onto an eccentric Mexican whose hands formulated massive time is creating a dimension soaring over ghettos bright. Too stark for views of the very first grades.

Perhaps to be grown to uncredited mothers with promethazine Bell is better is obese her master's kind of greens and salad gel. After a black barbershops wear black camaraderie flows with a flick of scissors own kinky hears are from that foxy youthful mother to be there just got pregnant last month. Why does it belong to the mongrel dogs that infest our neighborhoods. Creeping scavengers mongrels they do not attack negroes yet grouse savagely at whites after 10:30 PM. They've got no business being there. They should be in their Beverly Hills palaces prone an antique four poster beds aloof. Livia's to the goings on of our tiny ghetto. Yes we desired change too but change is in no hurry to

desire us. We need to change how can we believe you. You never gave a damn about us before so why should we her to believe you now. After all you've lied to us for years. What the hell's a few more months. And does this dream also belong to Miss Watts. Sixty eight. Looking beautiful sexy fun. Man. What is natural. Cruden Africa road retail at 1995. No no. This dream belongs to the Liffey railroad track. That passes 100 Third Street past the Watts Writers Workshop heading for downtown L.A. and points beyond. Past aged in John Kerry lacks shivers and forwards

past animal junction and tasting Sherry pass consumptive but is racked with cigarette cancers and infected lovers past hamburger havens and hot dog bells. I'm glad I'm not asking my a wiener. But I can't do any better for the money. I'm a cheeseburger man tomatoes Hot Sauce Ketchup the whole business. Pickles the dream of tiny things that don't shake the earth in issues. I go vagabond ish past fleeting telephone poles that stand is going to center nails in the night. Down down down first one jungle track then another until I am lost swallowed up into another oblivion. And I am glad because he was leaving. It is the Phoenix to which I am returning. And the blackness I leave behind and watch rises to meet me again in

Houston and there I live. Until Death drains me on some other waste land embraces me for fickle moments as if I were no more than just a mongrel. This is dedicated all bright people everywhere. Blues for Brad. I don't have to remind myself that black is beautiful. I know it is. I have lived within is very broad and sometimes abysmal deep for years. I have swam in this black murky waters the entire length of the night. And in the inky fathomless depths of the Euphrates. I swear men swear and swearing and swear and God knows I can't swim a lick. Rhetorical it. I've seen Black Kings sell black princes to white slave traders in the bottomless holes of slave ships

bound for an area I'm sure I have pride along with other angry discontent strike me a mutiny is so fierce that an entire white ship's crew jumped overboard. I know this blackness where. It is an indelible part of me. And has been for a long time and will be for an even longer time. Impregnable and ever sustaining itself within the blackness of infinity years of infinity is. My soul has become inured to this blackness and there is no substitute for it. I have a Gideon Salomon Simon. I am the angel Gabriel. I always did and the living. I am the man who cried. I am. I am a black voice crying out from the deeps from Mississippi waters.

I am the recurrent echo from a Georgia Alabama and a Texas cotton field. I am the ruling on a perpetual dusty mill race my skin is dusty with the cover of a finely ground of wheat. My lungs bursting with cries for the barriers to sustain my existence on this earth. This is whoa this is whoa this is my WOE my land creation go away dear than my groanings. I also am a little blind boy lost on his first day at it all white school a black crab from the wilderness of a swollen valley of despair. I am a black poet heard from the tombs I am a singer crooning softly yet succinctly steal away to steal away steal Oh wait. I am an escapee hiding in the wood behind Harriet Tubman skirts all masked as a sailor with Frederick Douglass.

Riding shotgun perhaps with Nat Turner and John Brown die heroically. I am currently Cullen Phillis Wheatley Booker T. Wielded with Jackson my father. I am Jean Toomer Richard Wright I am Dariel nigger Negro black I am ethnic and James Thomas Jackson. I am America. The land of the free and the brave. I am Africa Ethiopia. OK time son since I am to say it on request to feed Dessalines already designed to do mass. A child of mine to Crystal. I am Hannibal crossing the AP's own kind of hurts. Unlike Alexander the Great I cry because there are no was for me to conquer. Et al in the world I live in. There is nothing here for me but alas. And yet. I know that I am a black Phoenix mindful of

all the years of my black suppressions rising from my own black ashes. I am a black pearl Meath. In my hands is the white lightening in prison. Buy me two fer for once at my bidding. And there are new lamps for new lamps for old. He blames all I feel a little Shakespearean tonight. Dear child and so many other times you have been scorned and patients like shoe soles are thin and worn. I know the tower has seen the tower at its worse but do not carry fear of this bad curse. When you ran tiptoe over read hard words courageously. I saw him smile emerge.

Do not allow yourself to come to waste and linger on in some waxed form of hate. Rights are trampled like grass in a cattle field. But we believe it's a part that still can yield. Close your ears shut off the hue and cry. Let mom come in and make it beside the line. Dear child never purged our heart of love cast down our eyes upward and watch for the day. Men seem to believe the worst of ghetto neighborhoods as if some black weird curse has infested it no good. Out of all the dust that blows the men made out come the genius of the law in quicksand with hands. Back. Here's another one.

Son it all does. Come out of the shadows and take my heart into the hand and hold it please quite steeled by its frustrated ambitions and part of the icy stream drown. It's my day will quench its desire to be with me. RUTH McCOLL tunes all the time for hunger. Stars that aren't. And it beats in desperation and cries to the world lamenting why do you doubt all world I wish to break all binding ties and death come to me too soon. Surely with that better things will be found down that passageway where black markets bloom. I welcome the though that has made no sound. I smiled as final Sherry's me. They shot a giant. And I saw him fall. The imprint

of his buttocks made a valley a valley of sorrow. Sorrow for all the valley it was filled with gallons of tears till the river ran down through all the years there grew wild on the banks of the river all flowers white yellow orange pink and red the honey and black Bumblebee quivered spreading nectar from flower bare to flower bed they shine a giant and I saw him fall. The imprint of his shoulders hewed out the ground for the foundations of the city. So tall that the towers of the city were told in round and the air that swept through it was clean and pure in the prints of his elbow always was in the stream started for the city. All men sons of darkness and pygmies. Will sunshine and pygmies of darkness Ethiopians greets and Norsemen worked side by side with United sharpness. They share a giant.

I saw him as he fell and his fingers struck a rock up a rock to pick a tree that is sinking into hell. Of hate for its dime. Soon all be well. Man's best is crime. My so will I will not sell. I shot they shot a giant I saw him fall. And where his torn nails fell there is growing green grass. There's been formed a natural Cathedral. People marvel at the Splendor when they pass around a city a dream come to pass. Martin Luther King lives for ever. At last. And I'm a children's point so here are two children's points. Mom can't you talk things over without getting so doggone mad. Can't you sit and reason together. How about it Dad. No

don't turn your back on me. I don't want to live alone with you dad because you can't cook a decent dish. I don't want to be with you alone mommy. Cause you don't know how to fish and see because you're a mom. You don't know how to use boxing gloves. And because your dad you don't have mounds mom's kind of love. So please sit down and have a seat and I'm friendly terms meet. I want both your arms around me to hold me tight. I want both of you to kiss me goodnight. I want to see both of you when practice comes. And I come downstairs in the mornings. I want both of you at the little to make games because I love both of you just the same. I want both of you to dry my tears and both of you to stay with me. And this is the last one.

The flat stones whispered to the rich brown earth. Is that a potato that's moved in here. Yes a sweet potato by my dears. The blade of grass moved aside that brown thing is an insult to my pride. But the sweet potato vine and the strawberry plant in spite of their differences had a romance. The strawberry fruit was small and rare. The sweet potato was big and not very well-bred. It'll never work said the dandelions and they shook their heads in the wind. The potato is brown and the strawberry is red. But the roots are both brown the good say and the sweet potato vine and strawberry plant in spite of their differences had a romance. The sunflower at the edge of the patch said. My word the sweet potato pan and the strawberry plant don't match the daisies today.

But it's there in the middle of the stroke. How much. How did it happen. The violets asked Did someone not do their towers. It was an error the earth reply was drafted there she laughed. But the sweet potato vine and the strawberry plant in spite of their differences had a romance they cood and rubbed against each other. Yes the sweet potato and strawberry lovers. The big shade tree said leave them alone. Some day they are coming to your home as a sweet potato pie with the strawberry cover. It will be the ultimate best for true true lovers. The days of smiled. It is for Have a Nice to see different ones enjoy each other's company. Oh yes the pirate replied the sight of them makes me wish from inside. Well said the dandelions. I suppose it's all right. I've been watching said the sunflower. I saw them last night.

Your roots are all here. Goodridge said. Some brown some green some yellow some rich. Some oddly shaped some short some known as the blade of grass move closer. Do you suggest we sing them a love song. Let's send them a wish when the wind comes our way. We'll tell them we're glad that's what we'll say will as the wind. Always good will to chant whenever sweet potato vine and strawberry commands in spite of their differences have a romance as first place is call casting of the divine. Move out. Into other patrons of tolerance that can't peer through the shallow utterance of a broken pendulum.

Shadows from two sides of the wall. I shed tears to please all but myself. Too much is what called. Pain pleasing no more this pleasing is wonderous same thing emerges. It's coo coo to that's it. My heart it's for those eyes. This place is cow bones of begetting remanent. Bones of my begetting don't cause no peace for her. In this universe of brick trees and cement fields while sitting on green Stoops drumming up found. Where a person is grows. The waves of heat that Cook grain. This utopia that makes me reel from

causes causes this blackness hurts and hunger for Ma and for my and for mine. I must plead for mine. For mine. I must cause blood in the King flush for mine. From Oh all this universe of heaven sent bishops supporting kids of bliss rising into loons for 20 cents a day. Now I'm running running running from myself. For it shows every shuffle every night it shows and the moonlight awareness of rhythmic tricks and still play a priest pointing to the true cause of. The swinging circles I bring back the strength of that strength that lies where I left it scar blooms in Scorpio.

Are being forced to are nothing but your own thing. They can now look existence of a world far into foods and quietly hit nature's gravity's realizing the power of masculinity how to compare our world so Gothic wizard with the braces to send things of beauty of beauty here exist here for now to see. But the pen while they cry you Cheers for your existence day. Your life I run from in haste to love your two dimensional woman green in color binding all of us together lining all of us in a togetherness greet the sounds of the track could mean the end too. I doubt any were without a track for society to pay to vomit. It's got

this last piece of. Tokens and I guess folk or. Things are changing changing for the better. My brother whispers to me as he breezes by tripping over my own flip. Serving as a paperweight holding down all those check well faster. So important to see is Jodi having. Lucille as Jerry GRIMES Oh lady that is on Mother's Day. You see the worker don't come that day but the check do. Things are changing changing for the better. Oh fase getting plenty of Freedom newspaper space. Support now on freedom brother organize ation striving helping all the black unfortunates get back that forty acres and to do the same to that split level.

I heard about the progress we're making a difference the movement of progress into the mainstream of illusion. Losing your tribal Lucy you got time to play and so Lucy went back to Judy. Things are changing changing for the better. My brother shouted to me as he was hurrying to Lucille's house lancing pass a sleeve whispering into the part of my ear. Show me brother. Show me.