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'''"'i

THE DRUM, WINTER 1975

Vol. 6 No. 1

Editorial, circulation and advertising offices lo-
cated at 426 New Africa House, University of
Massachusetts, Amherst, Mass. 01002.

Cover Photo, Pg. 18, Clement Roach

Staff

Editor ....... Eugene Niles

Literary Editor Clyde Santana

Art Editor Clement Roach

Associate Co-Editor Ron Alexander

Reporters Jordan Carter

Clarence Little
Carolyn Boiling
Rich Thompson

Administrative Secretary Paula Mont

Clerical Secretary Rose Roberts

Office Staff Mazie Hughes

Cynthia Johnson
Denise Wallace
Ella Garrison
Kenneth Robinson

Fiscal RayTille

Layout & Image Coordinators Clement Roach

Clyde Santana

Table of Contents

6 Reflections on Writing— An Interview Irma McClaurin

11 The Quest for Black Aesthetics' Survival Carolyn Boiling

19 "Public Art"— The Aesthetics of the People— An Interview

Rich Thompson & Ron Alexander

25 Black Power & Black Jazz Archie Shepp

33 The Drama of Nommo Paul Carter Harrison

40 Acknowledgements

EDITORIAL

As the period of the mid-seventies meanders its way through lurid transitions i.e.,
recession, inflation, congressional scandals etc., we, as black people discover ourselves in the
position of having to define and justify the types of cultural actions that surfaced in the past 100
years. These independent, indigenous and festive activities created by the "masons" of the
cultural movements subjected Black Americans to an enormous variety of ideas, values and
images which tended to oppose the western aesthetics' paragon.

During the early periods, negative stereotype, racist examples of negritude such as "Porgy
and Bess," and "Buckwheat and Farina" of the "Little Rascals" existed and contended
simultaneously with the more realistic, cultural endeavors and writings of Alain Locke, W.E.B.
DuBois, and Langston Hughes. However, images like "Amos and Andy" and the "Birth of a
Nation" served to overpower the more intellectual and truthful experiences of the black man and
re-inforced him and the white public's opinion with the image of the shiftless, watermelon
eating, eyeball rolling, mindless idiot. The perpetration and perpetuation, of this self-concept is
a direct cause of a present condition that still plagues the black masses. It is not unusual to view
some black people still romanticizing like "Amos and Andy" and "Sapphire." These pre-
conditions further re-inforced our extreme vulnerability of being influenced by "negative fads,"
and this phased out many meaningful attempts of establishing indigenous forms for black
people. A "negative fad" example could very well be the effect of the "Superfly ethics" on the
Black concious.

However, the intent of this issue is not to define the faults and dilemmas that we are
plagued by, rather to present some personal insights and rationales developed by different
individuals whose quest for dignity has forced them to superannuate the negative conditions
and thus attempt to communicate their ideas to the black masses.

The format of this issue attempts to illustrate some of the beautiful images which otherwise
would be deemed ordinary because of our present conditioning. The beauty in the poetic phrase,
the contour line of a photograph of an individual's face, the emotions instilled in a writing, the
personality and icon exhibited in a piece of fine art, in effect, the sum total of a variety of differ-
ent approaches with one commonalty, the pursuit of the concept of what is beautiful. And the
ability and pride in being able to identify ourselves and our aesthetics. Therefore, we sincerely
hope that you enjoy this issue in every sense of the words "Black Aesthetics, the Quest for Black
Survival . . ."

POEM FOR MR. ELLINGTON

The Duke of Smooth

From the jungle of the Cotton Club to the World

From Soda Fountain Rag

Through My People

To New Orleans Suite,

A legacy of mad love for us

We too love you

Can't help but to.

Meistro of Charm

In a Sentimental Mood of Solitude

I found that my granddad knew you well

Grandma too, but she wouldn 't tell.

Dad took Mom to see your late smoke
Residue from the fire of hot
Headed for the pennicle of the swing.

We only got to dig you once, my wife and I

We came with echoes in our ears of years gone by.

You eased on stage in mello style

Gave a gentle nod

A knowing smile

The "A " Train pulled out

And you played a while

Poured us vintage '37

Uncorked in '73.

How could I say in one lifetime

How great you've been through three.

amingoi
As a Prelude to a

J.'t ■• -ij

omposure
them all
\i you chords
•h the present

■•.*»!ifS?«ir/f

And shall continue

Through the veins of the future.
What was for Lady Day
Is For Mingus, Roach and'.
And shall be for the music to . . . be.

NVvV/v'^V'Z'^S.W'v.Sfts^

Mungu Kimya Abudu

Reflections on Writing

An Interview with Sonia Sanchez

by Irma McClaurin

Sonia Sanchez was among the vanguard of black
writers in the sixties who emphasized a new direc-
tion for black poetry. These writers asserted a love
of self and culture in stepping towards a positive black
identity and sought to demask the democratic illusion
that America had created. They also developed a new
aesthetic of which they refused to have biased white
critics' standards imposed upon their work.

The predecessors to these writers in the sixties
were diverse: Langston Hughes, Claude McKay, Sterl-
ing Brown, Robert Hayden, some of whom chose to
write totally in the European tradition. Others utilized
European forms but maintained a content that was
black, while still others were renovators of black art
and chose to go back to the Afro- American folkroots
for their form and content. It is within this same folk
tradition that many poets of the 60's wrote. They
turned towards the black urban areas for its diverse
folk material and for their audience.

These young black writers of the 60's were often
criticized for utilizing improvisational techniques
(Jazz forms) in their writing. They managed to cap-
ture the rhythms of black speech patterns and incor-
porate them, but more importantly there was evidence
of a conscious social and political awareness in their
work.

The response of America and her "hatchet critics"
was understandable, but most devastating was the
response of black critics and artists. Many of them
assumed that white critics took the correct position,
allied themselves with the negative criticism of the new
black poetry and attempted to tailor their works to fit
the criterion of the white critics.

The negative criticism from these black and white
critics were generally cries of propaganda, which
seemed to emphasize rather than dispel the notion
that this new writing was a threat. In fact, prior to this
new renaissance, America had said m 196j or Gwendo-
lyn Brooks: "that I am not sure it is possible for a
Negro to write well without making us aware that he
is a Negro; on the other hand, if being a Negro is
the only subject, the writing is not important." 1
In 1974, the same America has said of Sonia San-
chez: "that to hear Sanchez's flat, measured, con-
trolled tones ... is to hear not the imflammatory
but the concluded, a hatred bent to work ..." 2
There is an inability on these critics' part to distinguish
between rage and hated. ("Hating" is a sustained
emotion requiring a great amount of time.)

Black artists refuse to take this time away from their
work in order to hate.

Neither is there hesitation on the part of
these same critics when they accuse many black
writers of not being universal. But what many fail
to realize, and particularly black critics and artists
who agree with this concept, is that in this country
"universality" has come to mean those things em-
bodying white middle-class values. Yet, one must
realize that no art arises out of a vacuum. There is
no existing art that does not have some specific cultural
or class orientation.

And so, the implied question in such criticisms of
Gwendolyn Brooks, Sonia Sanchez and others is
which comes first: one's blackness or art? But the
question is a superfluous one since the black ex-
perience cannot and does not exist independent of
an artistic form. Only when artists of oppressed
minorities begin to explore positive self images is
there a negative reaction. This is from a failure to
understand that the emphasis upon blackness in
African-American art expresses a historical struggle:
Blackness is not only a reaction to whites, but attempts
to establish a balance that is a positive assertion
of African-American culture. Gwendolyn Brooks'
poems do not lack universality, nor are Prof. San-
chez's work obsessed with hatred— controlled or
otherwise. Their work is merely an expression of
self-love and an acknowledgement of a diverse
black experience.

The following interview is with Prof. Sonia San-
chez, currently acting chairperson of Black Studies at
Amherst College. Prof. Sanchez has written numerous
volumes of poetry (Homecoming, We a BaddDDD
People, Love Poems ... j six plays (Sister Son-ji,
The Bronx is Next? . . . ) and countless essays and
articles. We shall attempt to focus on illuminating the
development of black poetry since the sixties and the
validity of that era.

McClaurin: Could you discuss your involvement with
the black arts movement in the 60's?

Sanchez: When we began to "poet" in the 60's, we
were involved with teaching a people who did not be-
lieve that they were black. We were teaching a people
who did not believe that their hair should be worn

naturally, teaching a people who did not believe that
anything had happened to them or would happen to
them. We were teaching them that they were still en-
slaved. If you can understand the audience that we
had, then you can understand the "simple" poetry
that some of us wrote.

Major criticisms have been leveled against those
poets who wrote didactic poetry. It was said that they
were not skilled writers, but if you really read them,
you'll see this is untrue. If you understand what it is
to be a poet from a tradition of eastern and African po-
etry, you'll see that we are talking about writers who
"pull the coats" or "covers" off a society to allow a
people to see and understand. We were responding in
our writings to the needs of the times and it was what
we said and the manner in which we said things that
was criticized.

We used curse words in our works and people had
no idea why. But we used these words because when
we first read poetry, no one listened to us, if you
can understand that. At one time Imamu Baraka, Ed
Bullins, Marvin X and myself gave a reading in a com-
munity and only 20 people, if that, attended. So we had
to work to attune our small audience to poetry.

If we had come out with elaborate poetic forms, we
would never have gotten people to listen. So we had to
write some lines that people would understand and
hear. We put our poems into the vernacular of people
"in the streets." This is the same way that other
poets use dialect.

The reason America praises the old dialect is
because it is her image and idea of what black people
are. The reason she didn't like our dialect is be-
cause she doesn't like the black masses. She labeled
our work "street" poetry. But it is far from that. What
our work did was respond to certain kinds of idioms
familiar to black people. We noticed that people listened
to children who would say "I be", so we would say "I
be" and have instant communication with our audience.
Because black people's ears were attuned to music, to
the beat, quite often our poetry took on an oral quality
with improvisation.

Of course people assumed that because you wrote
poetry like this, you did not write other kinds of poetry.
But in the 60's you had to write a certain way in
order to be heard, in spite of the other kinds of
poems that were inside you. But the criticism against
us was the same kind spoken against John Col-
trane and other musicians: their music was not
great because it was not written down. And as black
people, we have to be careful because we listen and
say "that's right", adopting the same attitude that
America does: that if there is no "formal" training,
something is not good.

Yet poetry can only be weighed by the response to
it and a year later the same group of writers I men-
tioned earlier had a reading in Oakland that drew over
3,000 people. Now the people were not only responding
to the expletives but also the ideas and messages
that came afterwards. That was a real response..

McCIaurin: In retrospect, how do other artists respond
to the writing of the 60's?

Sanchez: Well, now the 70's is about redefining the
60's. Many would-be writers or other writers of that
time looked at our work and said, "Oh I can do better
than that", and perhaps they could have, but we were
fulfilling an apparent need that had been neglected by
many black poets at that time. There was a need to
show/teach things and set certain goals and directions
for Black people.

In the 70's, there are many black poets with no
idea about what went on, who will say that the poets
of the 60's were not good poets: they were not tech-
nicians, they were oral poets and didn't really write
well or they screamed and cursed a lot. But they fail
to realize that a lot of innovative things occurred. We
stretched out words, we placed words differently on
paper. We actually began to use music in terms of
poetry; we began to sing. In the 60's we made it pos-
sible for people to come to an auditorium and sit down
to listen to poetry, so the writers following us (black
and white) have a ready-made audience. In a sense we
determined the direction for writing.

If you look at young poets now, you can see a
movement toward "didactic" poetry. You hear young
Chinese writers saying: "I am," You have the young
Chicano and Puerto Rican writers saying: "I am,"
That comes from people in the 60's who said: "I am
Black, now deal with it."

McCIaurin: Would you say that black writing has de-
veloped since the 60's and do you see a shifting of
priorities from an emphasis on didactic writing to an
emphasis on craftsmanship?

Sanchez: In answer to your question on development,
if you write a certain way in the 60's you are not
going to write the same way in the 70's, if you're a
good poet. You respond to the times. If people in the
60's didn't realize they were black and you told them,
there is no sense repeating the same in the 70's.
So of course your writing and its emphasis changes.
This is evident in many writers of the 60's, if you
read their books.

Also, when people in this country talk about di-
dactic poetry they assume it suffers from a lack of
craftsmanship and I disagree. I think when we talk
about craftsmanship we have to ask ourselves: are we
talking about people who write, people who write
well, people who know how to write in various forms,
or people in the world of academia? Of course there
were some terrible poets writing with us in the 60's,
but there are terrible poets writing at any time.

But I think its important to note that it was not
by chance that we were followed or had agents in our
classes; we must have been doing something right.

Now, coming full circle to the 70's, people are say-
ing that's not true anymore. Presently, we are begin-
ing, to elevate those writers who say nothing political
or about being black. For these writers I say "you're
entitled." Who am I to say that someone shouldn't
write in a certain way? But I come full circle again to
understanding what a "true" poet is, and a real poet
is one who does not entertain but one who teaches.

McClaurin: What would you say is the difference be-
tween white critics' attitudes now and in the 60's? I
ask this not because what they think is so important
to understanding the work, but because many black
writers and critics take their analysis seriously and
adopt similar stances towards the "new black poetry"
without being aware of what it was all about.

Sanchez: White critics didn't really comment on black
art in the 60's because they knew they would be
pounced on. However, America is about redefining us
now as a people, as poets, and other things, so they
think they can comment now. The recent article on
Broadside Press in the New York Times Book Review
is an example. A white girl felt she could really analyze
our poetry and tell us who the good poets were at
black Broadside Press.

Our poetry in the 60's was about reality. The
poems were about the present and the future, and if
the past entered into it, it was to show how we had
been enslaved. Obviously, our poetry was untouched
then, because we actually put it out there and said,
"don't touch it!"

But now we have some interesting poets coming
up who believe that white poets and critics can do
them justice, which these critics have done. How-
ever, these black writers don't understand that their
circumstances are similar to Charles W. Chestnutt
when his book. The Marrow of Tradition, was re-
viewed by the dean of critics, Howell. All he could say

was the book seemed bitter, not that it shouldn't have
been bitter, but it would have been better if it hadn't.
Yet if you read the book you'll see it's not bitter at all.
Howell was content to give Chestnutt good reviews as
long as the man moved the way Howell expected.
The problem with white critics now is the same. It's
cool as long as you move in the tradition they want
you to move in. Since they couldn't criticize our
work then, they labeled it "hate" poetry. Also
black critics were doing the same thing.

McClaurin: Could you elaborate on this idea of "hate"
poetry?

Sanchez: I think in the 60's all poets who wrote mili-
tant poetry were called "haters." Looking back, I
believe anything showing America in a bad light was
called "hate" poetry and that's what we did. We
were told our work was terrible and that the curses
were vulgar and did not constitute poetry. But you see
poetry can be anything. The words "and" and "but"
are not poetry, but if they are placed accordingly to
mingle with other words they become part of a poem
like our curses did.

I think it's important to note that to call someone
a name or point out their wrongs doesn't mean you
hate them. I would like to stress the point that I
don't take time to hate. In the 60's and presently, my
emphasis was and is on us loving ourselves and
our people and learning what we are about. Because
of these conditions I had to make mention of the peo-
ple who oppressed us. Therefore, in order to balance
that, America said that there was hatred in Black
writing.

McClaurin: Do you have any concluding remarks?

Sanchez: I would say that in spite of the kind of a
poet you are, on one level, you must understand that
one don't have to attack someone to be a poet. If
you want to be a singer, go ahead but you ain't got
to sell your soul; if you want to be a writer, go ahead
but you ain't got to sell your soul. This is not the
time to attack blacks because we all are going to be
attacked enough during the Seventies, our new Re-
construction!

It is certainly a time for unity and a time to come
together, moving together in a concerted effort towards
acquiring some kind of freedom and justice in this
country. There should be an understanding among us
that we are all moving towards the same goal and
even if we take different roads, that goal is still
going to be there. And we can walk it together. I am
ready. How about you, my Brother and Sister?

iLouis Simpson, New York-Herald Tribune, cited in Stephen
Henderson, Understanding the New Black Poetry. New York:
William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1973, p. 7.

iHelen Vendler. "Good Black Poems One by One." The New
York Times Book Review, September 29, 1974, pp. 10 and 14.

Since you know music,

Let me put it this way, chump:

C Sharp or B flat.

Larry Darby

The Quest for Black Aesthetics^ Survival

The History and Development of
The Elma Lewis School of Fine Arts

and
The National Center for Afro— American Artists

by Carolyn Boiling

When it was agreed upon that this particular
issue of Drum magazine would be entitled Black
Aesthetics— Black Survival, without further delibera-
tion, I choose Ms. Elma Lewis; founder and direc-
tor of the Elma Lewis School of Fine Arts (ELSFA)
and the National Center of Afro-American Artists
(NCAAA) for my initial project. Although this valley
is fortunate enough to claim such cultural giants as
Archie Shepp, Max Roach, Diana Ramos, Sonia
Sanchez, Reggie Workman and countless others, it
would be utterly impossible to overlook or exclude
Ms. Elma Lewis and the National Center of Afro-
American Artists (NCAAA) from the aforementioned
list. In fact, the majority of the artists cited, have
been frequent guests at the National Center of Afro-
American Artists (NCAAA). Moreover, these artists
have remained actively engrossed in projects of con-
cern, affiliated with the development and different
modes of Black Artistry.

To those who are unfamiliar with Ms. Lewis
and her School, it may be hard for them to conceive
that nearly twenty-five years ago in a barren, six-
room dwelling in Roxbury, a new birth; a new awaken-
ing in the Black Art Discipline had already begun to
unfold and take form. With only four teachers of art,
drama, music and dance at her disposal, a battered
second-hand piano, and a group of twenty-five stu-
dents who paid a small fee of $5 for monthly tuition
costs, the Elma Lewis School of Fine Arts (ELSFA)
was launched into reality. Ms. Elma Lewis is recog-
nized as a teacher, administrator, lecturer, director,
choreographer, writer and a constant heart-beat in the
Black community.

Born in Roxbury in 1921, around Dudley Street,
of recently immigrated West Indian parents; Elma
Lewis was reading by the age of three and she (as
well as her two older brothers) were greatly influ-
enced and inspired by both parents. She proudly
states: "My mother was education-oriented, my father
art-oriented." Perhaps, because of these factors and
her early cultivation and appreciation of the arts; she

best understood the vital need/importance for the
preservation of Black Art Expression and dedicated
her life to campaigning for its survival.

Today, the National Center of Afro-American
Artists (founded in 1968) serves as the umbrella or-
ganization for the Elma Lewis School of Fine Arts
(ELSFA) and remaining cultural components. Un-
doubtedly, Elma Lewis has waged a lifetime strug-
gle to regenerate the Black Arts Cultural Movement.
Accompanied with a staff of 125 dedicated profession-
als conducting 350 classes weekly, an overall popu-
lation of 575 enrollees (400 children, 175 teens and
adults), the NCAAA also has over twenty allied
programs in the arts serving community schools,
agencies, colleges, universities, museums, penal
institutions and businesses throughout the state.
With this vigorous workforce under her jurisdiction,
Ms. Lewis beams and declares that she maintains the
largest collection of talents and brains of any organi-
zation, black or white and has built a rapidly grow-
ing institution committed to serve the Black communi-
ty at large while exposing the riches of a race to all
people. Presently, the NCAAA is housed in a for-
mer Jewish synagogue and is submerged in the very
depths of the Black community. The NCAAA has
firmly established Ms. Elma Lewis as a nationally
known figure from coast to coast and she defines her
imposing Center as such: "It is where we, the Blacks,
are stating Black heritage and are illustrating the
beauty of our arts to all people".

In short, the ELSFA under the auspices of the
National Center of Afro-American Artists is com-
posed of a number of variegated professional outlets
designed to enhance/develop the potential and creati-
vity of the young artist. Consequently, when a stu-
dent is first enrolled in the NCAAA he/she is offered
beginning instruction in dance, drama, art, costum-
ing, sewing, music and music theory. It is mandatory
that each incoming student partake in a cross-section
of cultural units (as mentioned above); until the en-
rollee has decided to channel his/her energies into a

designated art discipline. Only after the individuals
have been exposed to all fashions of art, are they
encouraged to specialize. The NCAAA says of the
Black Child: "He has had to overcome the obstacles
of a society ill-prepared to accept the richness of his
cultural heritage. We Celebrate! The Black Child's
strength, endurance, and self-determination which
have enriched the quality of life in the Black commu-
nity and made lasting contributions to the progress
of the writer, the businessman, the celebrity. The
Black Child is all Black people, young and old, for
we are the children of Africa". One goal that every-
one at the Center has in common is that they are
anxious that the children identify positively with their
heritage, and that they uphold and acknowledge the
confidence they receive at the school and hopefully
they may incorporate these experiences into their adult
lives.

Furthermore, being a long-time resident of Rox-
bury and former student of ELSFA, I have frequent-
ly attended the NCAAA on a number of occasions.
More recently, upon entering the lobby of the NC
AAA my attention was immediately averted to a
steady stream of energetic youths about to receive
instruction from Babatunde Olantunji; (the renowned
Nigerian drummer) who also conducts classes in
the drums of Africa, Jazz workshops and African
Heritage as well. As I proceeded down the carpet-
ed, brightly-colored corridor, I was invited to sur-
vey a gathering of youngsters enrolled in a course
in costume/dress design taught by two well-noted pro-
fessionals in the field; Gus Bowen and Lucy Cor-
dice. Bursting with creativity, these students did not
hesitate to display/model their unparalleled, pace-
setting fashions often worn in major theatrical pro-
ductions at the School. Also as part of this program,
the youngsters make their own design, and ultimate-
ly they will make their own patterns to sell on a com-
mercial market basis. In addition, the students are
monitored in basic design and presented practical
job training for young seamstress/tailors from Ms.
Pearl Allen, an acknowledged seamstress in her own
right. As Lucy once stated about her advanced class,
"Nobody has ever told these kids that they can't do
everything, so they think they can do anything."

It is hardly less deserving to note the achieve-
ment of the multitude of dance companies emersed
throughout the National Center of Afro-American
Artists (NCAAA). Clad only in leotards and bubbUng
with activity, these young budding artists have un-
limited access to a variety of dance companies such
as: Tally Beatty (choreographer of modern dance),
Billy Wilson (offers instruction in classical, Afro-
Carribean dance, ballet manager of the Company and
director of School teaching program), and George

Howard (primitive dance instructor at the school.)
A four-year Rockefeller Foundation grant of $300,000
supports dance instruction and choreographic work-
shops to develop additional companies. As a re-
sult, the NCAAA maintains a myriad of dancing
companies that enables the young artist to fathom
the ethnic, jazz, as well as the classical vogue of
dance expression.

Likewise, it is important to note still another
vital aspect of the ELSFA which is the art depart-
ment. First, courses in art at the Elma Lewis School
of Fine Arts are taught in conjunction with the
Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, which offers the
young apprentice a ceaseless gulf of artistic ex-
pression. Those registered in the art training disci-
pline are also introduced to chalk, paint, textiles,
sculpture, graphics, ceramics, and photography. Ver-
satile Barry Gaither (art historian), is director of
the deeply rooted forum for Black Art, which has
originated the development of a museum/gallery (open
to the general public) housed in the NCAAA. The
Center's museum has already acquired a representa-
tive collection of Black Art, some of the outstanding
Black artists that have displayed their works to the
community have been: Romare Bearden, Jacob Law-
rence, Horace Pippin, Charles White and Hale Wood-
ruff.

In addition, the theater department at the NC
AAA gained national prominence from the exe-
cution of the production "Black Nativity" a drama-
tic exhibition (by Langston Hughes) of gospel song-
play which strikingly discloses a Christmas story,
that blended with it poetry, dance, and gospel music
in rhythmic patterns. This production was filmed
by Black Journal and seen by ten million pros-
pective viewers. The main emphasis in the theater
department is to cultivate diction and delivery. The
Center affirms that nothing helps a student become
self -expressive as well as drama and that the theater
can indeed be instrumental in instilling self-confi-
dence. Publicity for the "Black Nativity" production
was written as follows: "This is Black Art: to be cre-
ative and innovative within tradition ... to be syn-
copated, everchanging, like jazz, life and Black people
themselves".

Equally important is the Elma Lewis Playhouse

in the Park which offers free entertainment for com-
munity folks and guests, every night from July 7
through Labor Day. It was in the summer of 1968,
when 200 students from the Elma Lewis School of
Fine Arts (ELSFA) sauntered over to Franklin Park
and performed "A Midsummer Night's Dream" on
the site of a burned out firehouse. This marked the in-
ception of Elma Lewis's Playhouse in the Park. Until
this day, it has survived as a tradition and a secure

platform for talented artists to "pour out" their re-
sources upon the receptive community. Besides acting
as a pulpit of expression for neighborhood artists, it
has also attracted such distinguished celebreties as:
Duke Ellington, Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra,
Count Basie, Billy Taylor Trio, Mongo Santamaria,
Billy Thompson, Jaki Byard and the Silver Star Steel
Band. The above are only a mere few of the irreplace-
able artists who have donated their time and creativity
to the betterment/advancement of Elma Lewis's
Playhouse in the Park and the National Center of
Afro- American Artists (NCAAA).

Likewise, a unique program of instruction in-
troduced by the Elma Lewis School of Fine Arts was
designed to provide inmates with job skills in the
technical theater at Norfolk Correctional Institution.
Academicians from the School have scheduled clas-
ses twice a week and instruct approximately 105 in-
mates in technical theater, and the purification of
music, dance, and art. Entitled the Technical Theater
Training Program, it has produced four plays since
its inception in July 1970. The two plays, a musical
and a ritual were original works by inmates at Nor-
folk. In sum, all works are acted, composed, choreo-
graphed, danced, and designed by inmates them-
selves, who also handle all technical and stage crew
work. One aim is to provide concrete skills that the
men can utilize upon their release. The inmates
themselves succeeded in producing "The Plague", a
play concerning drugs, that was written by one of the
inmates. One prisoner simply stated: "This is the
first time I ever did anything on my own that was con-
structive. I really enjoyed the training in this pro-
gram". Furthermore, a group of ten men involved
in the theatrical-training program have also written
and compiled an anthology of poetry, short stories,
and plays entitled "Who Took the Weight?", pub-
lished by Little, Brown and Company. One true mark
of achievement occurred when inmate/playwright In-
san Sauti (Robert Preston) won first prize in the
playwriting category of the Barbwire Theater Lite-
rary Awards Project for his literary piece; "Install-
ment Plan", (printed in the Norfolk Prison issue of
Drum).

More recently, the NCAAA has been chosen
by the American Revolutionary Bi-Centennial Com-
mission in Washington and Bobker Vision Associ-
ates of New York as the national representation of
"the symbol of the art made meaningful in current
history" for a half-hour documentary film. This is the
major film of the Federal Bi-Centennial Commission
and is scheduled to be premiered on a thousand tele-
vision stations across the country. Eventually the film
will be heavily distributed as a short subject in movie
houses all over the country as well as overseas. As

conceived by writer/producer/director Lee Bobker,
this film is designed to give focus to the National
Bi-Centennial Program and its major theme. Titled
"We Hold These Truths," the film is executed in three
segments following the Bi-Centennial theme . . .
Festival, Heritage, and Horizon. The NCAAA will
comprise the entire Festival section as a symbol of
how one individual's (Elma Lewis) personal committ-
ment and effort brought about a forceful change.

Furthermore, although the NCAAA has evolved
into a $l-million-a-year operation, the two-part
$950,000 Ford Foundation grant to the NCAAA
was indeed "a milestone" in the life of her school,
which has had to fight an "uphill financial battle all
the way". The first of its kind ever given to an inner-
city cultural institution, the grant will spearhead a
$5 million capital funds endowment drive. This
funding that the NCAAA has furnished, will help
achieve other goals, which Elma Lewis describes
as follows: "We believe art should provide the un-
derpinnings for richer, more beautiful, and more pro-
fitable lives . . . Art should also have educational
and political values too . . . We believe we are setting
an example to the rest of America ".

Ms. Elma Lewis alone has received over 100
national and international awards for her tireless ef-
forts. Already, Ms. Lewis has grander expectations
in regards to the progress and achievements of her
School. She sees her Center evolving into a kind
of national repository and archive for Black Aesthe-
tics, a place that would have serve to validate and
propagate Black cultural achievement much the way
institutions such as the major museums and orches-
tras do for Western culture. For Elma Lewis, the Arts
have certainly proved to be an effective tool for en-
couraging pride and dignity. Without question, she
invests tremendous faith in the power of the arts and
readily states: "Restore a man to dignity and he will
be all right. Let him know he is a creator, not just
a creature, and he will achieve".

Good-bye Daze of Yestayeah
or (i thought i never could say good-bye)

Good-bye daze of yestayeah

when we had to

flush our faces

down toilet bowls

everytime the teecha talk about:

"HIS-STORY 0' de KNEE-GROW"

and raps us up in his own word - SLAVE-VERY

Good-bye daze of JAY-BRA

ROYAL CROWN
&DUKE greaseless POMADE
pushin down our heads
while we MASS-turbated
to the rhythmic thrusts of Elvis' guitar

Good-bye daze of yestayeah

when our went mad brandin their brains

deglorifying their flesh
& Dixie peachin demselves to death

Good-bye daze of nights with Jayne MANS-FEEL

Jean HARLOT
& MERRY-LAND Monroe
cause we've found our Black woman and she AINT JEMOMMA

SAP-FIRE
or BEULAAAH

Good-bye daze of Bach over Bird

Mozart over Mingus
& Shakespeare over Sanchez
when our heads were spinnin in a COLD-CHURED MU-SICK whirl
Good-bye daze of yestayeah's
here-os - like that
super-slick honky
handlin deadly hardware &
half naked hores
Good-bye daze of yestayeah

Good-try daze of yestayeah

Gotta-fly daze of yestayeah
and all the while
i used to sing
"i never can say
good-bye".

Larry Darby

Part I of Acceptance

(Dedicated to Ralph Ellison and the forces of Invisibility)

i am invisible

no where is my birth recorded

nor my name mentioned

my image has not yet been captured

on screen or canvas
in fact, i can't find it on the

mirror's surface
and yet i know that as i say what i have,
to remember i can remember my thoughts
and recall vividly the pain inflicted from

within and out
i am and must have been

yet i remain invisible

I, me, not seen.

not seen when i was bathed in the color of my mother's mother
working the land that had spawned

kings/queens/warrior gods/and
maidens' dreams made real and of
men and children
not seen at the dusk of dawn praying
chanting happily the songs of the earth/the crops/

those before us and those to follow
not seen swimming/dancing/laughing/and/crying at the
course of events which marked a life of one interwoven
in a family/cian/village/in Africa.

I, me, not seen

when i was betrayed and bartered for the bullet that

found its way to my father
that forced my mother to claim the passions of the MAD,
to wander along the roads of the interior to the exterior
chanting in the tongue of the barren the songs of hell
that ended the possible extension of my father's and
mother's dream of giving me more brothers and sisters
I me, not seen.

when I assumed my most famous role on the block of auction
as an immoral darkle prancing naked-impatiently awaiting
to be bought
undressed by hands whose color was nowhere close to mine and
forced by a whip to stand in the market
defiled and descrated
under the banner of life, liberty and the pursuit
I, me . . . not seen

not seen emancipated after the war

I was still here chains, lashed back, and all

waiting for 40 acres and a mule

waiting all the time waiting

for what? a house burned? to be called nigger?

THE GREAT AMERICAN DREAM?
I, me . . . not seen

not seen when i entered the promised land of the north
didn't know i was here 'till i overheard some white man
say nigger the way northern people do

you know nigga/and/nigger
no promises up north, not for us at least
no jobs and plenty of name calling
in the north niggers ain't lazy they are irresponsible
and their women ain't bitches they is whores
no grace save us

no nothing . . .the north ain't nothing
I, me, wasn't seen

when i marched and sang on the right key
WE SHALL OVERCOME
WE SHALL OVERCOME
when i sang

when i stood in front of the lincoln monument
when i cried when johnny got shot . . . i cried especially
hard when they played back his

REMEMBER NOT whatamerica can do for you
but ask what you can do for

who who johnny who
who can do what for who

I, me, wasn't seen

when i shouted BLACK POWER

started hoping my sons would be Nkrumahs and Malcolms
not little john-johns,

when i stopped speaking english

and started wearing no clothes clothes

when i stopped ultra-pressing and started afro-sheening
I, me. . . wasn't seen

when I became superfly's woman

and took a lead role in sounder

when i became a super woman, a super whore a super intellectual

I, me

a super black a
I ain't no agent!!!!!

. . wasn't seen
when I was here
and moved there

when i did this and that
when i was
. . wasn't seen
is not seen
won't be seen for awhile

black super black

I am invisible

nowhere is my birth recorded
nor my name mentioned

my image has not yet been captured
on canvass or screen

in fact i can't find it on the mirror's surface
and yet I know that as I say what I have said

and recall vividly the pain inflicted from within and

out
I AM and MUST HAVE BEEN

Tenajol Cormier

Internalize the love we have for ourself

The truth in your eyes
reflects the warmth in heart
Rays of reality are reflected in
the clear line of your black face

Richard Griffin

"Public Art'' — The Aesthetics of the People

An Interview with Nelson Stevens

by Rich Thompson and Ron Alexander

In recent years, the University of Massachusetts
has developed one of the best staffed Black Studies
departments in the country. Black artists, and Black
scholars, all of whom nave made contributions (minor
or major) in their respective fields, are attracted by the
Universitv's immense resources and facilities. A visit-
or to The New Africa House would be awed by the
name planks on the office doors: Max Roach, John
Bracey, Julius Lester, Ester Terry and a host of
other craftsmans and researchers who are noted
purveyors of Black art and thought. The building
is a living museum.

Nelson Stevens, an artist presently on the UMass.
faculty, is considered by many students, colleagues
and admirers to be one of the most talented and out-
standing painters in America. His colorful and ex-
perimental paintings can be found in both private
and public collections. But more than for his paint-
ings, he is hailed for the murals he has either created
or directed students in executing. The imposing mu-
rals of Nelson Stevens can be found on the side of
the Black United Construction Workers' Union in Bos-
ton, 884 State Street and Mason and State Street in
Springfield.

Born in Brooklyn, New York, on May 26, 1938,
Stevens majored in Advertising at Mohawk Valley
Community College in Utica, New York. After gradu-
ation, he worked with an advertising firm for a year.
Dissatisfied with that work, he returned to college and
earned a B.F.A. from Ohio University and a certifi-
cate in education. His experiences as an educator
in a middle school proved to be fulfilling. He was
able to evoke and guide the fresh, creative impulses
of his students, impulses that have been traditionally
destroyed or stifled by insensitive teachers. Many of
his students achieved scholastic distinction and awards.

Although he found his involvement as an educa-
tor satisfying, there was little time to concentrate
on his artistic work. He left the pubhc school sys-
tem and went to work in the Cleveland Museum of Art
where he began a concentrative study of the great
works. His ambition was to understand the inner
dynamics, the structure, the form, the finer and less
obvious techniques used by the artists: "What makes
this a great piece of art?"

It was after he left the museum and completed
graduate work at Kent State University that his role
as a Black artist unfolded. He joined Africobra, a group
of artists working collectively with the ideal of cre-
ating art for the enjoyment and education of Black
people. Africobra also strived to make their art easily
accessible by instilling a sense of community owner-
ship in their works thus ignoring the Western para-
gon of "priceless art." If art is truly for the appreci-
ation of humanity then it must be affordable, Stevens
agrees. Art, as the history of Europe indicates, can
very often become elitist, in that the rich are the
sole possessors. In many ancient African societies,
art was community owned, much like the concept
of land; creating for the rememberance of the dead,
the survival of the living and for the life of the fu-
ture. Africobra upheld this as the essence and mode
of Black art.

Stevens came to see that images are not just what
one sees in a photograph. In a painting of drums

he did from a photograph, he went beyond the visual
image to show the physicalness of the drums, the po-
tential of rhythms and beats, raging hands and emo-
tions. "What I concentrated on is not only the image
but the rhythms of that image."

"I start from the small to make the large, and
hopefully I can build enough layers of content to make
a piece full, rich and potent." Rhythms and images
are essential parts of a picture. In a piece of art,
one should be able to explore and find something dif-
ferent in every viewing. In that sense his work can
be compared to the varying levels of pitch and tone
in a musical composition. These levels can be de-
fined by the bass, drums, flute, saxophone, piano,
the individual sounds or syncronization. These
rhythms can be found in his work.

Art, as Stevens sees it, should not only be beauti-
ful but encapsule a message; a vision, concept or
idea which can enhance living. The didacticism of art
is what makes it a vital part of human experience, the
tradition having its roots in Africa where art is ritu-
alized to celebrate all social interactions. "If it's just
beautiful and there's no message and it's not exe-
cuted properly, people will not respect what you have
done."

However, it is through murals that Stevens feels
that his art comes full circle. "Murals are designed to
deliver messages in visual imagery and are an attempt
to beautify a community, a means of reflecting the
life styles of a people. An ideal way of communi-
cation, murals, more than any other form of art, comes
close to the community achieving ownership of this
form of art. The work is there, hugh and demanding,
and the people of the community can appreciate the
aesthetic without restraint, individually or collec-
tively."

"Cities weren't built with beauty or Black people
in mind. The landscape reflects a preoccupation with
industry. Stevens feels that murals can be used
as a beautifying element and adds vibrancy and col-
or to the cold steel and cement. "There is a starvation
of Black images," says Stevens.

The images in his murals are filling. Nelson fur-
ther fulfilled these ideals over the summer when he
formulated and directed a program to create 4 murals
funded by a U.Y.A. grant (Art 74). In the 1st mural
of this program he depicts six Black women in strug-
gle, inspired by a poem, / AM BLACK WOMEN, by
Mari Evans. In a mural that was done under his di-
rection by a M.F.A. student, Clement Roach, on Sher-
man and State Street in Springfield, a Black family
is pictured with the mother and father protecting
the children from a negative element— a pimp and
his cohorts. Another M.F.A. student, Clyde Santana.
executed a mural under Steven's supervision, project-
ing young Black people gaining the necessary skills
for liberation. Finally was the mural on Mason and
State Street entitled THE GIANTS OF BLACK MU-
SIC, which he collaborated with Santana to complete.

The possibilities of this artist are great and far
reaching. He is a man of sensitivity, warmth and per-
ception, committed to providing the kind of art which
captures the imagination of Black people and moves
them to higher levels of experiences.

The art of Nelson Stevens is free. Take a walk.

University Year for Action

Summer Arts" Program

1974

Tribute to Black Women
36X13'

Wincr\ester Square Wall
33X n

Artist: Nelson Stevens

Artist: Clement Roach

To Build a Nation

37'X12'

Clyde Santana

21 11

Wall of Black Music
38X14'

Artists: Clyde Santana and Nelson Stevens

Recognizing that the least we can do is to leave our communities more beautilul than we found them,
we have decided to do more ....

As image-makers, the evidence of what we are, is the creations that we fashion. We have been about
the rhetoric of art lor the people, but now, gradually the images themselves have come-through the
mastery of the craft. We have tested and refined our craft and we have gained in number and in the
intensity of our conviction.

We have accepted our own challenge to make our craft relevant. Some call them murals, others large
paintings; but all know them as force fields activated in service for our liberation.

Our people are beautiful but our street environment is not. We are setting about to change that.
We are stretching canvas of brick and concrete and galvanized steel to present our images that will
Inform and praise our communities.

These force fields can be crafted to bring unique distinction to a community while showing its con-
nection to the greater African struggle for total liberation.

"Our walls are ours." They must represent our very finest efforts to build and develop our commu-
nities in order to restore our people to their total traditional greatness.

Nelson Stevens, 1974

Permission to Reprint. Archie Shepp, NY. Times.

Black Power and Black Jazz

by Archie Shepp, Jazzman and playwright

Shortly after World War II, over 50 per cent of
the black people living in the United States were
found to have moved from the rural south to the
large industrial complexes of the North and Mid-
west. A substantial number had settled even farther
west beyond the Rockies.

Most brought with them a few worldly posses-
sions, the family Bible and an enormously rich musi-
cal heritage derived from Africa. Though they them-
selves had limited access to musical instruments,
save an occasional upright or a guitar, they were
able to pass on through religious songs and church
records— the only authentic cultural experience this
country has ever inspired, with the possible ex-
ception of the ritual of the American Indians.

More over, the provincial organ of the backwoods
church could neither anticipate nor stay the cruel
social and economic changes that would eventually up-
end religion as the traditional moral force in the black
community.

Both the church and its historical ally, the fami-
ly, foundered on the devastating rock of depression
and two world wars. Black men returned home bitter
and jobless to face in peacetime the same igno-
minious poverty they had always known. Indeed the
American Dream appeared a nightmare, and the unful-
filled hopes of the Reconstruction a remote and care-
fully nurtured myth to a generation a hundred
years removed. Not a few of America's black sons
turned to dope (here I don't refer to marijuana) and
crime as a last democratic response to an apathetic
and unviable republic. Night life flourished as a nec-
essary accommodation to this expanded social milieu.

Thus the black jazz musician, economically
insecure just as the worker, made a similar trek
north bringing with him the secular music of the
streets, the language of hip and the lore of the bistros.
One such man was Charles Parker, one of America's
rare and seldom acknowledged geniuses. Mr. Parker,
known to jazz devotees as Bird, was originally
from Kansas City. He settled in New York in the for-
ties after having traveled extensively with the Jay
MacShann band. His biographers state that he had

already been involved with heroin by the time he was
15, a fact no doubt attributable to the extensive vice
that existed during Kansas City's notoriously corrupt
Prendergast regime.

The music of Parker and his contemporaries
(Monk, Gillespie, Kenny Clarke, etc.) ignited the spark
of a renaissance in so-called jazz music Bird, the
man, was reflective not only of an emergent identity
among black artists, but a growing socio-political
awareness, among Negros in general. Through Park-
er's music, the urbanization of the black man took on
the added dimension of sophistication. This "sophis-
tication" was in reality a realignment of values that
would enable the Negro to deal with the specious
hypocrisy of northern whites while at the same time
maintaining his own sanity, or to put it another way,
"Keep the faith, baby."

Parker's music found an eager audience in the
cities, primarily among youth. The rootless, aliena-
ted existence of the young Negro was made timeless
and universal by the magic of his soaring sound and
rapid notes. The Existential was lent a new plausibil-
ity.

Then, in 1954, Bird died of pneumonia at the age
of 35. To some, at least, his death seemed sense-
less, not a providential act, but a systematic, socio-
logical murder for which there was a precedent. Men
like Max Roach, and Sonny Rollins, Parker's erst-
while associates, began to involve themselves more
directly in political action in order to change things.
The black esthetic revolution now widened its scope
to include its political counterpart. Roach's "Freedom
Now" Suite was deemed so provocative that is was
banned by the racist authorities of South Africa.
Charles Mingus, well known bassist, invented titles
like, "Fables for Faubus," and obvious reference to
the school desegregation crisis of 1954. Moreover,
the police action in Korea had released another bitter
generation from the syndrome of world death. They
were to return like their fathers, Sancho Panzas
without portfolio, perennial accomplices to internation-
al crimes they neither caused nor condoned. The
implacable fact would not yield to rationalization.
A gook and a Nigger were interchangeable when the
heat was off.

The urban black turned inward, became more
taciturn. Was he really apathetic? Super cool? Or
had Whites once again gratuitously misjudged the
extent and potential of his political response to
terror?

As the tempo of life increased, all art reflected
the change. People walked faster. Notes were played
faster. New hopes were born and, like the tall
buildings of cities, they seemed to reach to the sky.
The children of the previous generation were now
grown up and were challenging the democratic proc-
ess to provide solutions in place of academic in-
quiries. They were not going to be put off with the
same old lies, not about to be hacked to death on
their knees. Suspicious of Christianity out of an
historical pre-disposition, they either rejected the
old moral nostrums altogether, or re-interpreted the
religious experience through Black Islam. The image
of Buckwheat and Aunt Jemima which had persisted
in the American mythology as stock types, were ex-
posed for what they were: the absurd projection of an
elaborate white fantasy.

The white world grew suddenly alarmed. In the
midst of the Great Society a nation within a nation
seemed to have developed. Not only was the black
determined to be free; he was determined to be
black and free. Watts exploded like a fat bloody
watermelon all over America, and black youth were
able to distill from the fierce cry and passionate
urgency of John Coltrane's music the faint admoni-
tion of Max Roach: "Freedom Now."

Thirty years before, Benny Goodman had won ac-
claim from the white liberal establishment when he
hired Teddy Wilson and Charlie Christian (both

Negroes) to work in previously all-white clubs. But
the benevolent patronage of well meaning whites, de-
spite their intent, was beginning to wear a Uttle thin
to America's 20 million Negroes. A white "King of
Swing" seemed to them as implausible and insulting
as Tarzan and Jane in the Ituri.

Black power was the inevitable response of a
people without power to a system which had grown
fat and indifferent to the yearnings of the poor; a
system whose ethic, at least, was still rooted in
the institution of slavery; whose immense wealth
and idyllic democracy had failed at this late date to
provide even a black quarterback, or a single soH-
tary Negro billionaire.

LeRoi Jones's Black Arts theater schools was an
ambitious attempt to offset these shortcomings of
democracy, and acquaint the black with the full portent
of his historical role. Though the organization was
plagued with difficulties from its inception, it rep-
resented a signal attempt by the black artist to com-
bine his cultural and vocational aims into a specific
political expression— not violence— but emancipation.

At the initiative of Mr. Jones, the first New
Thing recording was done live at the Village Gate (The
New Wave in Jazz, Impulse Records). This record-
ing, led by the formidable John Coltrane, was a mile-
stone in that it introduced a score of unknowns to
the mainstream jazz audience, among them Grachan
Moncur, James Spaulding, Charles ToUiver, Sonny
Murray, Beaver Harris, Albert Ayler, and Archie Shepp.
Critics such as Jones began to point out the re-
lationship of the new music to popular rhythm and
blues. The burgeoning mass consciousness of the
black artist had evolved into a complete esthetic
expression. "Soul" was its creed, and "brotha"
its most constant reference of endearment.

Bird, Rollins, Miles, Monk,Trane, Roach, Clarke,
Roy Haynes . . . were the immediate ancestors
of a revolution, a new American Revolution. Its demo-
cratic message was hammered out in the intransigence
of Elvin Jones's drum and the plangent sounds of
the Trane's horn. Black youth found its kindred
spirit in the new music and like Big George (an
avid devotee of the Trane) they would shout, "git 'em
Trane!" — in the sure knowledge that music works
a magical power against evil. It was under the tutelage
of the Trane that the so-called New Thing developed,
but much of its conception was due to the innovations
of Cecil Taylor and Ornette Coleman, its two found-
ing fathers.

This new statement had been accused of being
"angry" by some, and if so, there is certainly some
justification for that emotion. On the other hand, it
does not proscribe on the basis of color. Its only
prerequisites are honesty and an open mind. The
breadth of this statement is as vast as America,
its theme the din of the streets, its motive freedom.

NAKATINJSERBNADE

we have fashioned the rainbow into gold / .'

made ice into astar for ringletsand bracelets
forged fog into mirrors ofgrace
to see the beauty of ourselves ■ •'

the tide is a rhapsody of spirituality '

Work is pleasure

greed is sin

love is immortal immortality ^

■'.'■''■ . ■■> - , .

WE TIP PEEP SEE TALE SHARE TRUTH

SO THAT OUR BABIES WILL BE KINGS AND KINGDOMS AND NATIONS
BECAUSE OUR LIVES HAVE AtWAYS BEEN PURE

■-^v^

BILL HASSON
copyright 1971

(This poem is most appreciated when performed. Where parenthesis
inclose parts of words, the sounds that those parts represent should
be eliminated, but the full Intention of the word should nevertheless be
communicated.)

FOR THE GIFTED

Can 't nobody stop somebody

In their becoming,

So you came to us . . .

Tlie Proptiet on wind and reeds.

(Bl)ack (gen)ius

Black genius

Pioneer of sound.

Ain't nobody's ax in this Ian'
Can strike like yours, Loooord,
Can strike like yours.
". . .Let me in, let me in
I got somethin ' to say
Some thoughts for the world
About a bran' new day . . ."
(Bl)ack (gen)ius
Black genius.

Before your time

In time with Universal sound
Cuttin' through time on alto.
Mandrake!
Ooooouuuuu,
The Mandrig Speaks, The Panther Walks

with as impatient a gait

as a man who couldn 't wait,

but did.

Yeeeesssss juuusssst steppin'.

One ax couldn 't do it,

So you copped a flute and blew it

Long and smooth and your tunes flowed

like the Niger.

Like the Nile.
With the influence of the finest of tributaries.

Mingus.

Roach.

Coltrane.

You bounced notes off of Summer clouds at sunset

And we found out what love was

As the days passed

And we fell in love with the innocence of your

(Bl)ack (gen)ius

Black genius

God had blessed the child

And his youth was overflowing

Into new things

Searched for and found

The bass clarinet ain't never sounded so good

Thanks to the gifted who saw fit to bear gifts.

Endless

Endless contributions from a man

who was Glad To Be Unhappy
because, " . . .America put you down
when you tried somethin' new ..."

Yeah brother,

Your music was gone . . . in the air

Couldn 't put no chains on it

Or pin it down nowhere . . .

But, indeed, who appreciates a Genius Child.

(Bl)ack (gen)ius

Black Genius

Was

Mr. Dolphy.

Mungu Kimya Abudu

BALLAD

(after the Spanish)

forgive me if i laugh

you are so sure of love

you are so young

and i too old to learn of love.

the rain exploding

in the air is love

the grass excreting her

green wax is love

and stones remembering

past steps is love,

but you. You are too young

for love

and i too old.

Once. What does it matter

When or who, i knew

of love.

i fixed my body

under his and went

to sleep in love

all trace of me

was wiped away

forgive me if i smile

Young heiress of a naked dream

You are so young

and i too old to learn of love.

1968

*Sonia Sanchez, LOVE POEMS
(New York: The Third Press, 1973)

BLACK ANGEL

Having had no love

She didn't know how to give it

Said her man was more about material things

Having had no warmth she seemed so cold

She said nigger men made her that way

made her that of stone

I knew that there were moments when she was like that

of nile, knew that she had electrified

a hundred cold nigger men hearts into relating to

black love l-to-me-you-to-us love

But now she said nigger men were turning to

each other for electrification

That they seemed quite pre-occupied

I could only offer a hand of warmth

to reassure her that if she eased back

to black electrification, she'd find black

warriors to electrify

She smiled a smile of warm/ebony

Just then two nigger men came by relating

to each other again and again

She turned toward the sun and mixed

With its rays of another Life

Richard Griffin
1971

THE DRAMA of NOMMO

There is a Life Force

Life Force and Ritual Involvement

A definition discussion of theatre in the African continuum-drama for, by
and of black people.*

1. Nommo-the life force

" there seems to be a force, power or energy permeating the whole

universe. God is the source and ultimate controller of this force; but the
spirits have access to some of it. A few human beings have the knowledge
and ability to tap, manipulate and use it, such as the medicine-man, witches,
priests and rainmakers, some for the good and others for the ill of their
community."*

2. The individual who detaches himself from the spirit of the community,
sacredly or secularly, cuts off the roots of his foundation, "his context
of security, his kinships and the entire group or those who make him
aware of his existence."*

3. "A ritual is a holy experience; you deal with a congregation or people.
A ritual is a family affair. There is no such thing as a stage, no such thing
as an audience; only liberators and participants. And you try to remove
that psychic distance, that "nigger space" that separates Black people
from each other. In a ritual you mold, meet and merge into one. You feel,
laugh, cry and experience life together."*

(continued next page)

Ours is not a charming theatre. It is at times
awesomely crude, yet spectacular, defined by those
systems of, belief illuminated in the daily ritual of
survival— not of the fittest, but of the entire communi-
ty. Imbued in the life experience is a race memory
which finds expression in our theatrical exercises.
Alain Locke, correctly observed that the "finest func-
tion, then, of race drama would be to supply an imagin-
ative channel of escape and spiritual release, and by
some process of emotional reinforcement to cover
life with the illusion of happiness and spiritual free-
dom." ^

The spectacle of the black church indicates a
survival of those traits which dramatize African com-
munal rites. The event gains in dramatic fidelity, and
thus in truth, when the spirit is liberated from the
mundane self, and races through the pews barefoot
and barebreasted, bearing the fruits of the imagination
in naked reality. At once, we find manifest the poetry
of the Word, with its modulations finding the outer
reaches of the Banshi's cry and the lower depths of
the Mississippi Gulf, urging the body through ges-
tures that are rhythmically concocted to effect a change
of the environment: the ritual is initiated by the Chief,
the Medicine Man, the Rev, hooting and hollering,
calling for responses that will magically validate the
intimacy of shared understanding— the wisdom of col-
lective Nommo— which now gains vigor; the gestures
become more spontaneous, the song more exuberant,
everyone is united around the spirit which has de-
livered the soul to a heightened awareness of reality
beyond the hell gates of the suspended animation
known as the illusion of life.

The aims of the black theater are inspired by
a social ethic which is diametrically opposed to the
presumed cultural hierarchy of the Western world,
so esteemed by whites such as Martin Gottfried,^
who obtusely criticizes the black theater experience
for what he imagines to be a "restriction on content
that deprives these writers of an independent exis-
tense as artists." In his confused liberal mind, no
doubt having trouble fitting his feet into the GREAT
WHITE FATHER'S boots, he is greatly agitated by
the black theater artist's aesthetic preoccupation
with black life, as opposed to the neuter experience
of EVERYMAN, which former he regards as an ob-
vious limitation. "It encourages propaganda and inevi-
tably leads to agit-prop plays. Moreover, whether the
style is naturahstic or cartoon, the plays invariably
work out of ethnic mannerisms— the jargon, the ges-
tures, the music of the ghetto. The black public is
lured to this as a sophisticated theater experience
when it is actually black mass-appeal entertainment,
reinforcing ghetto values . . ." Here we notice the re-
markable arrogance of a white boy who had become
secure with his definition of blackness, and now
comes down on nigguhs for being nigguhs, for their
attendance to those values unsanctioned by his be-
lief system. Unmistakably, there is a "mass appeal"
in black works, but it has nothing to do with enter-
tainment; and rather than "ghetto values," those
traits and attitudes are being reinforced that reflect
our continuity with a life-style that has its origin

in Africa. Further, Gottfried truly assumes a pater-
nalistic posture when he presumes that the so-
phistication of black experience must necessarily
be defined in accordance with white sensibilities.

"The Black Theatre is not Lincoln Center," Clay-
ton Riley ^ retorts, "that gleaming fortress of sec-
ond-rateness that stands in full-dress tribute to
this nation's deathless commitment to plasticism
and battered sensibilities. And the Black Theatre is
not Broadway— the safe haven of quick buck ideolo-
gists, commanders-in-chief of the nation's lost and
drifting spirit, who direct the collective sense of what
is still stubbornly referred to as taste." The black
theater is a Spirit House where the collected energies
of black people coalesce to define their peculiarly
humanistic place in a ravaged society. It is a place
where one's uniqueness unfolds and provides revel-
ations about one's existence, revelations that cannot
be given over to the scrutiny of a system of values
that socially alienates one, and that is inconsistent
with traditional sensibilities. Exclusion from the main-
stream cess pool is, Riley observes, "right now (our)
salvation from the dry-rot of America's banditry and
killer ethic, from its shriveled soul and lack of style."
And should the black theater be able to sustain it-
self against the pressures of economic imperatives,
"it may be able to do its part in symbolically murder-
ing the beast lurking beneath this country's expand-
ing hard hat." Rastus has peeped massa's hole card
and is convinced that whitey is holding a bogus hand.

Until recently, it was difficult to truly authenti-
cate the black theater because the black experience was
constantly being defined in sociological terms. Socio-
logical method allows whites an easy handle on the
descriptive life of blacks. Thus, having bought the
pre-packaged image, many black artists ignored the
forces of life and found themselves scraping the bot-
tom of the slice-of-life bag for pieces of the black
experience to authenticate— perhaps for sentimental
reasons— our existence. The resulting product was
often a eunuch's simulacrum of white culture which,
as Imamu Baraka teaches, is "at best, corny." We
are entertained, perhaps, but we learn nothing, since
the spirit remains frozen, the potency of our being
seldom ignited, much less regenerated. The spiritual
release required to reveal the mode is subverted
by mechanical manipulation of the content of black ex-
perience. Form, as understood by Western standards,
locks the spirit into a box in order to suppress the
emergence of a vision that might be too potent to
handle; content then becomes subordinate to its al-
most anal-sphincter control.

If an event is to have dramatic force and verity, it
requires the psychic/physical energies of all assembled
—as in the ritual of a voodoo ceremony— to be fused
into a dynamic unity so as to mutually achieve a spon-
taneous suspension of disbeUef. Black people, owing
to African continuity, are not spectators by nature; they
are participators. The images created in an event gain
in spiritual and physical potency through active parti-
cipation in the mode.

There was no way for us to step outside of Gil
Moses's production if Imamu Baraka's Slave ShipA

The event was suspended in time, our entire viscera
responding to the urgency conjured up to survive the
trip across the Middle Passage. We struggle with
the bruthas and sistas in the ship's hold, gritting
our teeth as we move through images of future harass-
ments that will come with oppression; the present
future, and past, all locked into a mode of terrifying
aggressions. And there is no way out, save the tena-
city of ancestral spirit which desperately attempts to
focus the mode through Song, Dance, and Drum so
that we might maintain our Muntuness, our very
humanity despite pressures of inimical forces. Hav-
ing ritualized the mode, each agony evolving rhyth-
mically out of the primary source of the event—
the slave ship— Moses was able to heighten our
sensitivity to the context of oppression without
duplicating the experience in a static representation
of reality, as in a natural-life photograph; instead he
relied upon our input, our responses to inform
the spirit of outrage. This is truly a case in
which the director produced more than might be
apparent, without discrediting the author, in the
limitations of a linearly developed script.

The playwright, however brilliant, operates with a
handicap, since from the moment he jots down the
first word, he has cheated the participants— players
and audience— of their natural inclination to mutually
inform the urgency of the event, thereby inhibiting
their spiritual freedom. However limited, if he is doing
the job, and struggling for dramatic synthesis and
the rest, he should indicate as clearly as possible
those motivating references in the language of his
culture that will spur the spontaneous interaction be-
tween players and audience that invokes in the theater
a mutual concretization of black experience.

While participation inspires much of black life,
there are very few theatrical exercises that can, at
least completely reach the ecstatic freedom found in the
religious experience. The theater is recognized as a
secular edifice that, even from the outside, impedes
the fullest expansion of the consciousness that might
liberate the spirit's wisdom. In the church, the preach-
er may represent the focal point around which all
events are created. However, at any given moment

during the ceremonial exercise, any member of the
congregation may exude an excess of Nommo, claim
the Spirit, and initiate a change of focus in the event.
This person commands center stage; and it will be
given because of the congregation's intentions to re-
veal the full force of the event. However, from the
moment we enter the theater, irrespective of the care
taken to conceal its non-divine, mechanized super-
structure in such a way that it is brought into a con-
tinuous experiential field, our senses become locked
into the artificiality of the mode. The artifice is the
first force, contextually speaking, that must be over-
come: if the rituals presented in the house are strong
enough to wrench us from our ennui, we will accept
the totality of the event, and immerse ourselves in
the womb of the spirit.

Thus, Barbara Ann Teer has elected to define her
actors as liberators: perhaps in the seventies we
will refer to the audience as participators and, with-
out challenging the validity of Miss Teer's designa-
tion, the actors, activators. And if the roles are re-
versible from time to time, so much the better. Though
we accept the fact that the artist has a special acuity
for dramatic events, we do not consider his grasp of
reality to be more refined than the participators' his
senses are simply honed, tuned, cultivated to reach
a higher level, just as the bricklayer, shoemaker, and
farmer practice their skills at a higher level of achieve-
ment than a layman can. Since the theater can never
be more than a secondary experience of rality, we de-
pend upon the theater artist, the activator, to achieve
a balance between disciplined innovations and subtle
channels for spontaneity. His task is not to report
daily life, but to elevate the symbols of that life in a
manner that avoids offending the senses with pro-
saic reassessments of natural life that induce the
temporary sensation of sentimentality. Melodrama is
a nuisance! A vehicle should be sought that allows
the experience to be confirmed by the intuition of
the participators, be it uh-huh, a finger-pop, or a
muted howl, so as to achieve totality. Perhaps then,
theater, as a secondary experience, will influence
our primary experience: LIFE.

*From Paul Carter Harrison, The Drama of Nommo (New
York: Grove Press, 1972). Reprinted by permission of the author.

*Quofed in Harrison, The Drama of Nommo from John S. Mbiti
African Religion and Philosophies (Garden City: Doubleday and
Co., 1970).

•Barbara Ann Teer

1. Locke, loc. cit.

2 Gottfried, loc, cit.

3 Riley, loc. cit.

4 Imamu Baraka's Slave Ship, produced by the Chelsea
Theater in January 1970, under the modally conceived direction
of Gilbert Moses.

*Muntune5s: Muntu is one of the four universal forces—
the other being Kintu, Hantu, and Kuntu— described by German
ethnologist Johnheinz Jahn in his study of Bantu logic. Muntu
includes all intelligence: all human beings, spirits, certain trees
and God.

'beauty

Echoing Presence

The warmth that comes in knowing
you, is like that of the bright life
giving Sun

Your everfiowing warmth causes our
hearts to grow with a better
understanding of ourselves as men

Black men
You as black women

Black, as the spiritual, mental

and physical truth
Yes, you cause such vibrant
repetitious actions about and in US
Cause as black women you are
abouth warmth, like that of the life
giving Sun

You know. We Know and believe
It is your full beauty we brothers
honor and seek to make known
to the world.

K-

It isn't right, not being able to

look at your face anymore — —so

far away

Traveling gets me so down, and lonely

roads seem like they're never ending on time

Black women you are that dream to

be found

Reaching for you hasn't been easy

It took time to free darkened

processed minds

But each phase of that reaching

has brought US back, allowed US

to say It's more than nice being here

with you
Nile river moments in times passed
Making each phase more bearable
As each phase moves by your strength

and ours become one
It has been life itself, you are the
Seed of life

Radiant Smooth Dark Rays
Moving forever gentle between

the Light
Endless rows of eternal plight

move with me my queen
Confusion, frustration shed we too
Understanding, being fully aware what

we as two can do

move with me my queen
Steadfast voices of secure direction
drawing forth respect-love, Love-effection
Easing one anothers fears, love-effection so near
move with me, you move me my queen
you move me radiant Black Dove . . .

Richard Griffin

'■.■tiJiVj^L-V',

MiMiitiiiMiiiafe

%:;»t8i«

^!>Flh<'y'm'^fi

Dedication:

We are the Biack Aesthetic

'■'U

We are the Black Aesthetic

The Sounds and memories

of eons of spiritual harmony

comprised as a unity.
An entity within the realms of

a phenomenal light source
As you acknowledge our substance

Use us-to guide your strengths,

And desperse of our weaknesses

We are the Black Aesthetic

The growing voices of the yearlings

eager to add to the memories of
Spiritual harmony.

Our already ever growing energies

Are the spices of "Blueness" itself
As the sun does not shine we become "
the proud bearers of a noble
absence of light
And our images become visual pictures of reality,

on the soul-less shadows of an alien humanity
Look to us for direction and comfort

For our voices and melodies will always-
Be Heard I

Clyde Santana

Acknowledgements

The DRUM staff would like to personally thank:

Literary:

Paul Carter Harrison
Archie Shepp

Poetry :

Sonia Sanchez
Richard Griffin
Bill Hasson
Tenajol Cormier
Larry Darby
Mungu Kimya Abudu

Art & Photography:

Simone Gouvener 9, 38,
Napoleon Henderson 32,
James Henson 27, 37, 17, 10,
Nelson Stevens - Centerfold

The DRUM magazine expresses its extreme appreciation for the use of the
above individuals, creative, photographic and literary materials. We consider
their efforts to be of an outstanding quality during a time when re-organization,
evaluation and selection of proficiently executed work is of a dire necessity. It
must be the total collective goal of educating and re-orienting our people in
attempting to elevate their sensitivities towards re-discovering and appreciating
the exellence so prevalent in the origins of our rich and vibrant cultural tra-
ditions.

DRUM cordially invites
Black poets and photographers
of the New England area to submit
their work for possible publication
in our lst:New England Poetry and
Photography Anthology. The deadline
is March 15, and we sincerely encourage
all poets and phqiographers to respond.

Printing: Gazette Printing Co., Inc., Northampton, Mass.

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