Amiri Baraka has passed
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- Start date
Chesirecatdaddy
All Star
RIP
360crazy
360crazy please say the crazy!
Dutchman should be a must read for every black man in america. RIP
So the play was based off a book he wrote? When I saw your post, I tried to find the book version and all that came up were links about the play. Could you please give me a link to the book?
rip928
Pro
Dutchman is a solely a play. When i read it in school, it was coupled with another play called "The Slave", in a volume.
http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/0688210848
rip just seen this elsewhere
Basquiat83
Rookie
Should I checkout his autobiography?
feelosofer
#ninergang
Yea def.
Dude was a native son through and through, the greatest man to come from the place I called home for so many years, and definitely one of the figures of my formative youth. I went to school with Ras Baraka, he was a few years older than me but he was always a bright dude, and was determined to use his gifts to try to uplift the city.
Spoke of the evils of Amerikkka way before it was fashionable, his writing was so raw, peep this.
Notes For a Speech
African blues
does not know me. Their steps, in sands
of their own
land. A country
in black & white, newspapers
blown down pavements
of the world. Does
not feel
what I am.
Strength
in the dream, an oblique
suckling of nerve, the wind
throws up sand, eyes
are something locked in
hate, of hate, of hate, to
walk abroad, they conduct
their deaths apart
from my own. Those
heads, I call
my "people."
(And who are they. People. To concern
myself, ugly man. Who
you, to concern
the white flat stomachs
of maidens, inside houses
dying. Black. Peeled moon
light on my fingers
move under
her clothes. Where
is her husband. Black
words throw up sand
to eyes, fingers of
their private dead. Whose
soul, eyes, in sand. My color
is not theirs. Lighter, white man
talk. They shy away. My own
dead souls, my, so called
people. Africa
is a foreign place. You are
as any other sad man here
american.
Ka'Ba
"A closed window looks down
on a dirty courtyard, and Black people
call across or scream across or walk across
defying physics in the stream of their will.
Our world is full of sound
Our world is more lovely than anyone's
tho we suffer, and kill each other
and sometimes fail to walk the air.
We are beautiful people
With African imaginations
full of masks and dances and swelling chants
with African eyes, and noses, and arms
tho we sprawl in gray chains in a place
full of winters, when what we want is sun.
We have been captured,
and we labor to make our getaway, into
the ancient image; into a new
Correspondence with ourselves
and our Black family. We need magic
now we need the spells, to raise up
return, destroy,and create. What will be
the sacred word?