Artist, Poet and Playwright

Writing. Write. It is not that my writing begins in Oakland. It is my reading collection and my engagement in the social struggles within current U.S. borders in a city, like Oakland, that fuels this “creative evolution.” When I was part of Edna Crutchfield’s International Black Writers and Artist Local 5 in Oakland(IBWA); I, for a time served as president. I would always say that poetry is the foundation of all writing. I would also remind everyone that authoritarian regimes locked up the poets first. It is the gathering of experience, knowledge and interaction on “the boards” of life that you cleave writing. In my youth, three poems loomed large. “Two Roads” by Robert Frost, “Leaves of Grass” by Walt Whitman and ‘Tree” by Joyce Kilmer. Those poems invaded the core of “americana psyche” back then. What was relevant for me was something else. My discernment, my “road” as my father lay passed out and drunk in his weekend performances of “abv improvisational coping,” was to either step over him or step around him in a protocol deserving of this coup de théâtre. I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. That decision smells, like feet that suffered severe frost-bite serving the country in 1950's Korea and it not declared a disability. What was the practical knowledge razed from “Leaves of Grass”? St. Augustine’s grass was thick and bulky; Johnson’s grass was wild and invasive and the other “popular grazer” Grass grass was just “wacky tobaccy.” Trees? My “tree’s”. Lifting palms of her hands to the sky, her natural hair mirror the endless universe and yet its beauty is reflected on you Black woman. Black men call to mind and rise timber. Resting on the carpet of the family living room, were one entered only with purpose or guests; crystal glassware, ceramic knick-nacks stood post around plastic covered furniture. Most times when I entered and layed on the floor with shoes removed, it was to listen to records. We had a Magnovox color tv-stereo combo. I could feel transported from where I was, when I listed to my introduction to jazz with Miles Davis playing on “Sketches of Spain.” Sometimes I listened to “I am the Greatest” by Cassius Clay. Was that young Cassius with a set of Funk and Wagnalls encyclopedias on the cover? Rhyming is so cool! Everyone enjoyed reading in my family except for my father. I think he saw books as pets. He would give my Mom static when she bought books, new or used. Maybe he was afraid the house would become a “book menagerie” and the house would be covered with book marks. One evening I saw a new album with a man on the cover with horn-rimmed glasses and a chess-board jacket. He had a last name that I remembered trying to solve for in junior high school algebra. It was called “Ballots or the Bullets.” His razor-sharp voice boomed from the speakers. This “elocution-in-the-parlor” would later spark my reading of the “Autobiography of Malcolm X”, then “Before the Mayflower” and then yes, “The Kerner Report.” My uncle Edward suggested I read “Black Fire” by Leroi Jones and Larry Neal. His good friend Audbry Labrie had written an essay in this book filled with new voices in the form of poetry, essays and short plays. This book became the codex of the “Black Arts Movement” and the “black-print” to what I was going to do artistically. Joining my high school Black Students Union I became the Minister of Culture. I thought I was ready to write poetry, but never thought of reading out loud to others. When I later attended the College of Alameda (COA), I was able to read out loud and had a few poems published in “The Greasy Star” published by my Creative Writing professor Jon Ford; who later started Poetry Flash newspaper for poets in the Bay Area. Also, at COA I started playwriting with my play “Shadow of the Flame” thanks to the encouragement of Dr. Barabara Burton in her African- American Experience class. It is with my experiences with IBWA, a touchstone for so many Bay Area artist and writers and the welding of the writing to the performing. From the many readings and pot-lucks and special quests, the venues from Victor’s Café, Listen and be Heard and my own Fireback: Poetry on the Waterfront at Barnes and Noble at Jack London Square, it’s that yearly event, the first Saturday in February starting in 1990 that holds a special place for me and the Black artist community of the Bay area. It would be an understatement to say magic happens there every year. It is a “Celebration of African-American History through Poetry at the West Oakland Library” founded and hosted by Wanda Sabir. She also follows Ida B Wells in the quest of the writer/journalist and activist. Wanda is also a member of IBWA. When my sons were young I brought them to many of the early days of the readings. I’ve seen poets of all ages. The poetry, the joy, the pain, the commitment, the cool, and the swag. If you don’t see the colors of this rich connective tissue, Wanda has created pick up a book, someone may have hidden it there. Along with others in the community, this is truly amazing...sans the Luther Vandross stutter.