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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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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.
Posted by: Grace Cavalieri | November 08, 2020 at 03:43 PM
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.
Posted by: Beth Joselow | November 08, 2020 at 03:51 PM
Thanks, Grace, and thanks for your essay on his work.
Posted by: Terence Winch | November 08, 2020 at 05:22 PM
Thanks, Beth. I remember how much you liked him and his writing.
Posted by: Terence Winch | November 08, 2020 at 05:23 PM
I would love to hear this read out loud
Posted by: Michael Winch | November 09, 2020 at 09:19 AM
I agree--that would be great to hear. I have no idea what recordings of Ahmos's might be out there.
Posted by: Terence Winch | November 09, 2020 at 11:12 AM
I agree--that would be great to hear. I have no idea what recordings of Ahmos's might be out there.
Posted by: Terence Winch | November 09, 2020 at 11:12 AM
beautiful, kind, gracious, deep, thoughtful, generous friend, thanks for this post and remembrance....
Posted by: lally | November 10, 2020 at 05:24 PM
Thanks, Michael. You could be describing yourself.
Posted by: Terence Winch | November 10, 2020 at 05:37 PM
Powerful, powerful work. What a world we inhabit, sadly.
Posted by: Tom Davis | November 22, 2020 at 12:01 PM
Tom---thanks for the comment.
Posted by: Terence Winch | November 23, 2020 at 04:06 PM
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.
Posted by: Connie Johnson | November 28, 2020 at 11:33 PM
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).
Posted by: Terence Winch | November 29, 2020 at 09:21 AM
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.
Posted by: Connie Johnson | November 30, 2020 at 12:36 AM
Hello! Connie- I'd love to chat with you about these letters! Aside from being Ahmos' daughter, I am a historian and my specialty is arts and literary history.
Posted by: Amber Zu-Bolton | January 05, 2021 at 08:29 PM