Ahmos Zu-Bolton: Pick of the Week [ed. Terence Winch]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Ravis

 

My brother turns his life insideout,

from a jail in Leesville,

from a half-way house in Lake Charles,

from a slave-quarter in DeRidder.

He is prisoner of his own rage,

trapped behind the swollen bars

of some lingering chains

and some sudden cage.

 

I speak to him from miles away,

from the cell next door and

lightyears away,

from motherlands and the fertile earth

our Mississippi father plowed:

 

I am trying to be the lawyer he needs,

the father who died fighting for his son,

the big brother with muscles in his miles,

the preacher with his pitiful prayers,

 

I am trying to give him

the key to the cage, the hammer

to break the chains, the plot

the escape, the magic, the ju-ju

the tunnel under the demon walls,

the North Star to follow,

 

I climb inside all his sins,

find them in the flesh of this poem,

do bloody battle with them,

rip them apart like a white man's curse,

become their bitter judge,

their merciful jury,

their solemn executioner,

 

I leave them on the open floor

of his cell, spread out like the pages

of a testament, shadowboxing him

like a mirror,

 

I can forgive them

those far-away long-ago sins,

but I can't erase them,

for they have their own afterlife,

their own ghost pulsating

on the hot breath where

my brother's frustrated bloodline boils...

 

yet no loving offering

from my elderly black hand

can reverse his youthful middle passage

as he sits

on the frontporch of his betrayed generation,

sent to his silent room

like a spoiled boychild,

where he conjures secret maps

for whatever freedoms

he chose to rock his dusty soul with.

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I remember Ahmos Zu-Bolton II as a charismatic and gifted poet. He occasionally took part in the Mass Transit readings in Washington DC's Dupont Circle in the early 1970s, which was when I met him. A poet, playwright, Vietnam War veteran, and tireless promoter of African-American writers, Zu-Bolton was born on 21 October 1935 in Mississippi and grew up in Louisiana. He founded Hoo-Doo, a magazine devoted to African-American activism and arts, and, with E. Ethelbert Miller, edited the 1975 anthology Synergy D.C. His poetry collections include A Niggered Amen (1975), Ain’t No Spring Chicken (1998), and 1946 (2002). He died  at age 69 on 8 March 2005, at Howard University Medical Center in Washington, D.C.  See Aldon Lynn Nielsen’s excellent post on Zu-Bolton; Doug Lang’s 2007 blog on Zu-Bolton offers links to more information, plus brief remembrances by Michael Lally and Beth Joselow; see also Grace Cavalieri’s perceptive essay on Zu-Bolton’s work in Beltway Poetry Quarterly.  

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Comments

[Grace Cavalieri]

So strong and beautiful. I loved him. Thank you. I'll copy this for his daughter Amber who keeps the bond alive.
This is a thrilling presentation.
I guess he is with Harriet Mullen, then wife, acclaimed poet also.
What a rush of yesterday this is.

[Beth Joselow]

I read his work often, and hear it in my mind,in his deep voice. The man, in my experience, had more love than he had anger to give, and in any case always something to say that was worth hearing.

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, Grace, and thanks for your essay on his work.

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, Beth. I remember how much you liked him and his writing.

[Michael Winch]

I would love to hear this read out loud

[Terence Winch]

I agree--that would be great to hear. I have no idea what recordings of Ahmos's might be out there.

[Terence Winch]

I agree--that would be great to hear. I have no idea what recordings of Ahmos's might be out there.

[lally]

beautiful, kind, gracious, deep, thoughtful, generous friend, thanks for this post and remembrance....

[Terence Winch]

Thanks, Michael. You could be describing yourself.

[Tom Davis]

Powerful, powerful work. What a world we inhabit, sadly.

[Terence Winch]

Tom---thanks for the comment.

[Connie Johnson]

Any time I can read anything about Ahmos, it's a joy. I met him in 1971 and received 25 letters (and a few poems) from him until 1976. I never forgot him and always will remember him as being kind, encouraging, brilliant. One of a kind. He believed in me as a writer and always urged me to pursue writing poetry. Today I wrote the first poem I've attempted in yrs and it's about him. What can I say? 2020 has me feeling reflective.

When I Google his name, I wish I could read more about Ahmos, but I'm thankful to those who keep his memory alive. I'll always remember Ahmos; he's worthy of every word of praise.

[Terence Winch]

Connie---thanks so much for this response. I wonder if there's an archive

that would love to have those letters (or copies of them).

[Connie Johnson]

I hadn't thought of that, Terence, but I wouldn't mind sharing them. Ahmos was an amazing person and it saddens me that his impact/contributions get underplayed. He lived and breathed poetry....every letter would refer to it in some way. I'm so grateful to have known him.