Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Danielle Hall: when the poet, dancer, and historian are one


Danielle Hall reciting poetry in the Underground Reading Room on Oct. 14, 2010.

I first met Danielle Hall on October 14, 2010. I have that date marked in my calendar because one of my students and I coordinated an event that day. Danielle showed up to one of our public events, and someone informed me that Danielle was a poet.

I asked her to read some of her work. She did.

In some ways, she was a link to my own college days. Poetry was one the preferred modes of artistic and political expression among the conscious circles to which I belonged. You read Malcolm, bell hooks, and others. You talked about histories of struggle. And you wrote and read poems. So hearing Danielle read that day other and on other occasions took me back.

Cindy Reed and Danielle Hall preparing Black Studies exhibit in September 2012.

Over the years, Danielle became one of my most trusted, important collaborators and fellow travelers. She coordinated events. She read Malcolm, bell hooks, and others. She talked histories of struggle and dance. And she wrote and performed poems.

As I’m working on this Creativity @ SIUE project this semester focusing on current students, I’ll also take some time to reflect on past students like Danielle, Dometi Pongo, and others, who inspired me to think about originality, creative productivity, and other topics.

What does it mean for how we think about creativity, I sometimes wonder, that Danielle Hall is comfortable performing on a stage and working in special collections and museums? What are the relationships, her experiences prompt us to consider, between artistic and archival spaces? To what extent can the poet, dancer and dance scholar, and historian be one?

Related:
Creativity @ SIUE
Danielle Hall

Dometi Pongo, creative productivity, and those notebooks

A snapshot of Dometi Pongo's notebooks

In the November of 2007, I was asking my first-year students about the “things they carried” from home to college. One of the students Dometi Pongo informed me that he brought his notebooks, which he filled with rap lyrics, poetry, and his various musings. I asked would he mind showing them to me, and so the next class session, he brought along these wonderful notebooks.

I was impressed by his creative productivity. He had filled these three notebooks. He informed me he had many more at home. He was also still composing new materials. All the writing had he already done served as the warm-ups for what he was doing moving forward during his time in college.

In retrospect, it was a special, fleeting moment to encounter a student this interested in writing so many drafts of thoughts and creative expressions in wide-ruled notebooks like that. Soon, an increasing number of students would record most of their thoughts on iPhones, tablets, and computers. Even back then, Pongo was beginning to compose in his notebooks and on his phone.

These days, Pongo is working in broadcast media in Chicago. He’s still highly productive in a number of different contexts – as a radio journalist, rapper, political forum facilitator, and arts organizer.

This semester, as I’m working on our Creativity @ SIUE project concerning current students, I’m also hoping to take some time to reflect on and blog about some of the pursuits of past students like Pongo, Danielle Hall, and others, all of whom inspired me to think about creativity among students at the university a little more.

Related:
Creativity @ SIUE
Dometi Pongo

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Creativity @ SIUE


Howard Rambsy II and Rae’Jean Spears

This semester, we’re working on a local history of creativity among African American students at SIUE and in East St. Louis. From late August to early December, we’ll interview and communicate with a large number of students. We’ll get a sense of their views on creativity, which includes problem finding and solving, originality, good ideas, knowledge building, creative domains, expression, creative output, productivity, inspiration, and more.

We are interested in learning more about the places of creativity in students’ academic and social lives. We are also interested in learning if students feel their creativity is either inspired or limited by their racial backgrounds. Furthermore, we are interested in opportunities and barriers for students strengthening their creative capabilities.

We will post links to our writings on the subject here:

Knowledge, Creativity, and Extracurricular Activities
Dometi Pongo, creative productivity, and those notebooks
Danielle Hall: when the poet, dancer, and historian are one
Kendra Martin on the Music
Art forms and inspiration

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Other ways of understanding Afrofuturism

Works by Octavia Butler remain central to Afrofuturist readings

In a 2016 article, "Afrofuturism: The Next Generation," published in the Fashion & Style section of The New York Times, Ruth La Ferla describes Afrofuturism as "a social, political and cultural genre that projects black space voyagers, warriors and their heroic like into a fantasy landscape, one that has long been the province of their mostly white counterparts." La Ferla then observers that Solange, Beyonce, Erykah Badu, Missy Elliott, Janelle MonĂ¡e, and Rihanna "have given [Afrofuturism] not only a voice, but also a look." Accordingly, she points out, "You will likely know it when you see it: a high-shine mash-up of cyborg themes, loosely tribal motifs, android imagery and gleaming metallics that might be appropriate for a voyage to Pluto’s outer reaches."

Ytasha Womack's 2013 book on Afrofuturism concentrates on "the World of Black Sci-Fi and Fantasy Culture."  Womack and La Ferla, like several contemporary scholars and observers, focus on Afrofuturism (AF) as a kind of artistic production. However, AF takes on other modes as well, and it's worth looking back on the emergence of the term to consider another understanding of how the concept was and is used.

Mark Dery coined the term in 1993, and in 1998, Alondra Nelson, who was then a graduate student at New York University, began organizing a Yahoo Group list serv entitled Afro-Futurism (and AfroFuturism). The group was comprised of a wide-range of people--graduate students, Djs, professors, novelists, poets, dancers, graphic designers, visual artists, and so forth.

In an early essay, Nelson explained that “AfroFuturism has emerged as a term of convenience to describe analysis, criticism and cultural production that addresses the intersections between race and technology. Neither a mantra nor a movement, AfroFuturism is a critical perspective that opens up inquiry into the many overlaps between technoculture and black diasporic histories." What stands out to me now is the focus on "critical perspective" and "histories." Nelson's list serv and AF provided opportunities for thinking, talking, and raising inquiries about the intersections of black diaspora and technology and speculative fiction.

This early iteration envisioned AF as artistic and cultural production, but also as a kind of critical approach or framework for interpreting those productions. So AF as critical lens, not just an artistic projection. Nelson's book The Social Life of DNA (2016) shows some traces of that thinking, as among other topics, she discusses the multiple scientific and technological approaches to genealogy undertaken by African Americans. What Nelson does in the book corresponds to an AF approach.

Between 2006 and 2013, I taught five different Afrofuturism courses. During and after that point though, I began presenting AF as a critical approach in various classes, alongside other approaches. In addition to prompting students to pursue New Critical, feminist, and Marxist readings of texts, I also encouraged them to consider Afrofuturist readings.

We'd be inclined to do AF readings of Octavia Butler, and at the same time, we'd view her as an Afrofuturist. Nearly 20 years after Alondra Nelson first organized the AF group, it's useful to look back on how the term as evolved.

Related:
A Notebook on Afrofuturism
Black Intellectual Histories

Friday, August 25, 2017

A Notebook on Ta-Nehisi Coates's Between the World and Me


Below are a round-up of entries I did based on Ta-Nehisi Coates's Between the World and Me. In addition, I created an Index of People and Index of Places, Concepts, and Things from the book with my graduate assistant Cynthia Campbell.

2016
• December 29: Teaching an African American Literature course on Ta-Nehisi Coates in fall 2016
• August 29: Divergent receptions: Ta-Nehisi Coates & Colson Whitehead 
• August 16: An African American literature course on Ta-Nehisi Coates
• June 20: Justice Sonia Sotomayor channels black studies
• May 29: Black men writers and creativity, 1995 - 2016
• May 19: "Meccas are multitudes": Tressie McMillan Cottom and HBCUs
• May 19: 6 notable reviews of Ta-Nehisi Coates's Between the World and Me
• May 19: Critiques re: absence of black women in Between the World and Me
• May 18: Ta-Nehisi Coates's audiences of black boys and young black men
• May 16: Sharing resources on Between the World and Me
• May 7: The multiple people referenced in Between the World and Me  
• April 26: Notations for a common reading experience of Ta-Nehisi Coates 
• March 20: Common Read Projects and Between the World and Me
• March 19: The curious minds of Colson Whitehead and Ta-Nehisi Coates

2015
• December 27: Reading Ta-Nehisi Coates (while black) in 2015
• October 18: Reading patterns, Digital Culture, and Ta-Nehisi Coates 
• July 30: From Baldwin to Morrison & Coates: a brief history of endorsements
• July 14: Notes on coverage of Ta-Nehisi Coates's Between the World and Me
• July 11: Pre-publication activities: Colson Whitehead and Ta-Nehisi Coates 
• June 15: Between Richard Wright, James Baldwin, and Ta-Nehisi Coates

Related:
A Notebook on Ta-Nehisi Coates

The Penciling, Inking, and Coloring of Superb

Inker Le Beau Underwood inking Superb

When you check out Superb, you're witnessing the collaborative results of penciler Ray-Anthony Height, inker Le Beau L. Underwood, colorist Veronica Gandini, writers David F. Walker and Sheena C. Howard,  letterer by Tom Napolitano, editor Joseph Illidge, and editorial assistant Desiree Rodriguez. It's perhaps easier and more common for people to speak of a book being by a single author, but it's difficult to single out just one person when it comes to comic books.

A week or so back, Underwood tweeted an image here and then here of the inking work that he was doing on Superb. His tweets prompted me to think a little more about his collaborative work with Height and Gandini.

In many cases, pencilers begin sketches of the artwork that correspond to the script and plans of writers. (Of course, there are exceptions, most famously artist Jack Kirby regularly produced images prior to writer Stan Lee offering the narrative). Inkers elaborate on or "finish" the necessarily incomplete sketches produced by pencilers. Inkers adjust the images and add various degrees of blacks and shades in order to extend and further actualize those initial sketches. Next, a colorist -- often working digitally these days --applies a variety of tones and shading. At every stage, really editors are offering advice, encouragement, and suggestions for revision.

For the most part, we rarely get to look at the behind-the-scenes processes between the penciler, inker, and colorist. We end up with a product like Superb, and we're looking at the results of collective, layered artwork by Height, Underwood, and Gandini.


Superb #1 and #2 are about these teenagers, a white boy and black girl, who are coming to an awareness of their superpowers and the evil forces that are trying to suppress people with others like them who have physical enhancements. At the same time, Superb is about a penciler, inker, and colorist working to address a number of visual opportunities and challenges.

What image would correspond to this moment in the script? How should that image be shaded to add further emphasis? What colors should be applied? In Superb #1, Height, Underwood, and Gandini don't just answer those questions in 24 pages. Instead, they repeatedly address those questions in 128 different panels. In other words, it's a substantial amount of labor intensive work.  
   
The upbeat nature of Underwood's tweets suggests that it's a labor of love and enjoyment for him, but still, it's work that goes into that artwork. The time-intensive labor of it all is one reason that comic books have separate roles (writers, pencilers, inkers, and colorists). Imagine how long it would take for a single artist to produce every aspect of just one issue, not to mention a whole series.

The division of labor in the case of Superb mean that Gandini, Height, and Underwood are each specialists in their own realms, and here they are pulling together. Illidge deserves considerable credit here, because he had the vision of assembling these talented, diverse creative teams across the entire Catalyst Prime Universe. With Superb, I'm looking forward to the ongoing collaborations between the penciler, inker, colorist, and everyone else.

Related:
East St. Louis study group focusing on comic books--Noble & Superb
A Notebook on comic books

Saturday, August 19, 2017

East St. Louis study group focusing on comic books--Noble & Superb


When I'm not at my day job at the university this semester, the plan is to coordinate a study group with high school students in East St. Louis. We'll concentrate on comic books -- Noble and Superb. What I'm doing is a pilot program, so for now, we'll have only 8 or so participating students. I'll expand the project on a larger scale down the line, when and if I can pinpoint more funding support.

Over the next few months, the students will each receive copies of Noble and Superb. Those comic books, by the way, are published by Lion Forge Comics, a company here in St. Louis, Missouri, which is right across the way from East St. Louis, Illinois. So we're in the position of supporting a local business with this project.

I've been calling the project a "study group" as opposed to a "reading group" because I want to encourage the participants to think about the books as collaborative efforts produced by writers, visual artists, colorists, and letterers. These comic books have a fascinating editorial story as well.

Noble and Superb are part of this larger Catalyst Prime Universe that charts adventures of a variety of different superheroes who have emerged in the aftermath of this major "event" when an asteroid was supposedly headed for earth. What's noteworthy from an organizational standpoint is that the teams of artists for the eight comic books in the series were assembled by editor Joseph Illidge.

There's been talk here and there about "diversity in comics" for years now. Illidge, however, really advanced the discussions by bringing together so many diverse contributors on the production of a common set of books. While the participating high school students will perhaps be less interested in those factors with the comic books than I am, it nonetheless makes me even more excited about the overall project.

I'll blog more in a couple of weeks as we get started.

Related:
That anti-bullying moment from comic book Superb
A Notebook on comic books
Noble's cultural and geographic diversity

Articles concerning Charlottesville, white supremacy

I've read and re-read a few different articles on white supremacy in the aftermath of what happened in Charlottesville, Virginia. Here's a brief round-up of articles:

• Aug. 12: Charlottesville and the Bigotocracy - Michael Eric Dyson - - The New York Times
• Aug. 13: The Battle of Charlottesville - Jelani Cobb - The New Yorker
• Aug. 13: America is hooked on the drug of white supremacy - Carol Anderson - The Guardian
• Aug. 14: Making Sense Of Charlottesville: A Reader's Guide - Kat Chow - NPR
• Aug. 15: Historical Amnesia about Slavery is a Tool of White Supremacy - Mychal Denzel Smith - The Nation
• Aug. 16: The House Is On Fire - John Marshall - Talking Points Memo
• Aug. 18: Black Charlottesville Has Seen This All Before - Vann R. Newkirk II - The Atlantic

A brief round-up of statements from college presidents about Charlottesville:
University of Virginia Statements (August 4 – 13, 2017)
William & Mary (August 12, 2017)
Cornell University (August 13, 2017)
Duke University (August 14, 2017)
Fordham University (August 14, 2017)
Drexel University (August 14, 2017)
University of Richmond (August 14, 2017)

Patricia Smith's Incendiary Art


By Sequoia Maner

Patricia Smith’s newest collection of poems, Incendiary Art (2017), is breathtaking. Is bereavement. Is blues. Is balm. Is body. Is bullet. Is blaze.

Smith, long-lauded for her mastery of and fluidity within form and performance, has written a lasting collection that exhibits the products of a black woman’s laborious unpacking of white supremacist racism and the many ways the black body is made breathless; how “A black boy can fold his whole tired self around a bullet.” Composed for mothers who have lost their sons and daughters, the poet insists,
black lives
matter
most when they are in
motion, the hurtle and reverb
matter the rushed melody of fist
the shudderings of a scorched
throat matter
the engine that moves us
toward
each damnable dawn
matters
Incendiary Art is black art for a time when black art is vital.

Today we are surviving another wave of neo-Fascist, anti-black terrorism and, in weaving together civil uprising and the bittersweet lamentations of victim’s mother’s, Smith captures just what it feels like to be “up to [our] necks in fuel”; up to our necks in in all this violence and all this grief.

As the poet writes, “Who knew our / pudgy American dream was so combustible?”

In my favorite series within Incendiary Art, Smith returns to narrative of Emmett Till (a move of so many poets), with sonnets that take the form of Choose-Your-Own-Adventure tales—a form that ritually returns the reader to the muted horror of fourteen-year old Till’s amputated adolescence.

Turn to page 14 if Emmett travels to Nebraska instead of Mississippi.
Turn to page 19 if Hedy Lamarr was actually Emmett’s girlfriend.
Turn to page 27 if Emmett’s casket was closed instead.
Turn to page 48 if Emmett Till’s body is never found.
Turn to page 128 if Emmett Till never set foot in the damned store.

The sonnets that follow these prompts are imaginatively impactful.

Incidendiary Art is structured by four sections. Part I, Incendiary, introduces the poet’s reoccurring reflection on riots—Chicago, 1968; Los Angeles, 1992; Ferguson, 2014—and other moments of inferno in African American history like the bombings of MOVE headquarters in Philadelphia, 1985 and the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, 1963. Part II, When Black Men Drown Their Daughters, lyricizes two New Jersey events where men drowned their daughters, one throwing her over a bridge from a car window. These poems dare not look away at black girls and black women (: “I loved her beauty. I loved her unkilled”).

Part III, Accidental, visits the narratives of black women and men who have “accidentally” died in police custody—whether winding up shot to death though handcuffed, or executed after mistaking pills/cellphones/nothing for a gun, or tasered to death after claims of superhuman strength or, or, or. As the poet repeats page after page, “The gun said: I just had an accident.” Part IV, Shooting into the Mirror, ties together all of these narratives with a moving elegy to her father that asks readers to think through how healing/exorcising father-daughter relationships is metaphor for healing/exorcising the nation and its illnesses.

Smith warns, “All our rampant hunger tricks / us into thinking we can dare dismiss / the thing men do to boulevards, the wicks / their bodies be.”

Scholars will be compelled to contrast Smith’s poems to Rankine’s Citizen: An American Lyric (2014) given that both authors have produced full-length collections grounded in the racial events of our Obama-Trump years. Equally deserving of wide-readership and critical acclaim, I suggest that Incendiary Art does different, equally-important work in the world—a claim that I offer you to take up, and perhaps one that I will follow up with in a Part II.

-------------
Sequoia Maner is a poet-scholar at the University of Texas, Austin.

Friday, August 18, 2017

Evie Shockley, Amiri Baraka, and consequential questions in African American artistic thought


"is it natural to test pharmaceuticals on people who are citizens of less powerful nations?"
–Evie Shockley

“If Elvis Presley is King, who is James Brown? God?!?” –Amiri Baraka
This summer, as part of an annual reading and writing project that I do with a group of incoming African American students, I shared "philosophically immune" by Evie Shockley with students. The poem is comprised of a a series of questions, including, "are american and multinational pharmaceutical corporations human? ~ are american corporations human? ~ are americans human? ~ are american corporations citizens? ~ are africans american? ~ are african americans multinational?"

This semester, we'll use Shockley's poem and some queries raised by Amiri Baraka as starting points for exploring the topic of consequential questions in African American artistic and cultural thought. Creativity researchers point out that there's an important link between questions and breakthroughs. Or more precisely, coming up with and refining good questions are central to new developments. Shockley's "philosophically immune" and Baraka's "Somebody Blew up America" and "Why is We Americans" are my touchstones because the poems include so many questions.

Of course, we find powerful questions throughout writings by African Americans. There's Countee Cullen's asking "what is Africa to me?" There's Langston Hughes going "What happens to a dream deferred? / Does it dry up / like a raisin in the sun?" That last part, of course, became the title of Lorraine Hansberry famous play. There's Margaret Walker pointing out "My grandmothers were strong" and then wondering "Why am I not as they?"

Toward the beginning of his essay "Of Our Spiritual Striving," which became the first chapter of The Souls of Black Folk W. E. B. Du Bois pointed out that he was frequently confronted with the question, "How does it feel to be a problem?" Zora Neale Hurston was amusing confused that white people would separate themselves from her: "How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company?” Then, there's Ralph Ellison's closing to Invisible Man: “Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you?” And there's Lucille Clifton requesting, "won't you celebrate with me what i have shaped into a kind of life?"

The queries go on and on. We'll take time to give a close look at a few dozen this semester and figure out how formulating good and then better questions advance our own thinking and what questions have meant in the larger contexts of African American artistic thought.

Related:
Evie Shockley
Amiri Baraka

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Adrian Matejka--sampling a black interstellar history in verse



My thought, back when I first read Adrian Matejka's The Big Smoke, was that he wasn't going to have a reason to write about so many different kinds of issues -- Jack Johnson, boxing, newspapers, abuse, interracial relationships, and so on -- in a single volume. Not sure what I was thinking. Reading Matejka's newest work, Map to the Stars was a reminder that this process of sampling a variety of material is central to his work and some various other poets and writers.

In the course of this latest volume, Matejka references Jean-Michel Basquiat, George Clinton, Prince, Guion S. Bluford, Sun Ra, Lando Calrissian, Richard Pryor, Eddie Murphy, Slick Rick, Larry Holmes, EPMD, Yusef Komunyakaa, and Reggie Miller, among others. Beyond those figures, Matejka discusses several different cultural points of reference, things like basketball, video games, hairstyles, music, movies, television shows, and space travel--real and fictive. He mentions encounters with police, or more specifically efforts to steer clear of cops, because of what could happen.

There are also recurring notations of hearing white folks refer to black folks as nigger. In "Crickets, Racists," Matejka recalls a moment in his youth riding his bicycle one late night. A driver rode past and shouted out the window "Off the road, nigger!" The epithet, the driver, and car startled the young Matejka, leading him to crash his bike into a ditch. He sits there alone in dark and dirt listening to crickets, which, the poet notes, are among the sounds one would hear on the album Sounds of Earth.

Unfortunately, I've heard many recounts over the decades of folks explaining what it felt like after a white person called you "nigger." I have to say, though, Matejka describing sitting their, stunned, and then thinking of crickets and linking that to a recording floating out in space was new for me.

Those crickets, Sun Ra, Prince, movies, all those references appear as Matejka weaves together this black interstellar history in verse. The references also link Matejka to a generation of writers and other artists who were influenced by the mixing, matching, and sampling of hip hop.

Let's see. For Matejka, Ta-Nehisi Coates, Kevin Young, Colson Whitehead, Aaron McGruder, Paul Beatty, really a whole generation of black men writers, there's a kind of sampling that persists in their works. I'm not saying you'll see it in the works of all black men nor am I saying it's absent in the compositions of non-black men. There are always exceptions.

Still, it's difficult to overlook the tremendous body of work these guys have put together over the last, wow, 20-plus years. We gotta add Matejka's Map to Stars to that mix. Too, it's worth noting his creativity in making stars, space travel, and interstellar ideas central to the ideas of this black boy figure growing up in Indiana at a certain moment during the 1980s.

Related:
A Notebook on Black Boys, Black Men & Creativity
Adrian Matejka

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

From the black aesthetic to black aesthetics to form


"Is more attention now given to aesthetics than to an aesthetic?" --Jerry W. Ward, Jr.*
Yes, today, we're more likely to see witness folks exploring a range of aesthetics or cultural signifies as opposed to a single one or even just two, three, or four. I think about a novel like Paul Beatty's The Sellout, where he references more than 300 African American cultural figures. All those references and the intra-racial conflicts among the black characters in the novel are suggestive about the multiplicity of African American perspectives and culture.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I really wanted to briefly reflect on aesthetic and aesthetics, and then move to a term that stands out much more: "form."

Beginning in the late 1960s, groups of black writers began advocating for and debating something known as "the Black Aesthetic." When and if you look over the writings, you'll notice that there was no one, clear-cut definition of the concept. Some folks thought there was a need to "establish a black aesthetic." Others, like Larry Neal, explained that "There is a no need to establish a ‘black aesthetic.’ Rather it is important to understand that one already exists." The conversations and debates carried on throughout the 1970s.

Many discussions about "the" or "a" black aesthetic were propelled and sustained by Black World magazine and when the periodical ceased publication in 1976, the conversation seemed to subside. At least, there were fewer powerful venues for black writers and intellectuals to discuss that term and other issues. In 1989 in the journal Callaloo, novelist Trey Ellis published an essay "The New Black Aesthetic," which became widely cited and a spur for talks about shifts taking place in African American artistic production.

But even before that, back in 1983, literary scholar Jerry W. Ward, Jr., presented an essay and mentioned the need to consider "the transformation of literature of the Black Aesthetic into literature concerned with black aesthetics." In retrospect, what Ward was saying may have anticipated Ellis's article. A number of transformations and developments in black artistic production, including film, visual art, and music, particularly hip hop, transpired and really expanded and reshaped the cultural landscape in all kinds of ways.

Ok, but one of the major shifts for current and future writers began taking place in the 1990s, when there was an incredible expansion of creative writing programs. Those programs signaled, among other things, a professionalization or credentialing that has been crucial, for better and worst, many poets will tell you, for the field. "It is not until the 1990s," explain Juliana Spahr and Stephanie Young, "that the idea that one should necessarily turn to higher education if one wants to become a writer becomes an idea that more than 6,000 people have each year."

During the late 1960s and 1970s, the word "aesthetic" was prevalent among several African American poets. These days, more so than "aesthetic" or "aesthetics," the word "form" appears more frequently in the contemporary discourse on poetry. It's partly a byproduct of creative writing programs and the larger writing culture, where mastery of form can suggest who and what stands out in the densely populated field of poetry. In short, formal training gives rise to interest in form.

This is not to say that form didn't matter to previous generations of African American poets. No doubt, Phillis Wheatley, Paul Laurence Dunbar, Countee Cullen, Robert Hayden, Gwendolyn Brooks, and many others were and remain greatly admired for the formal qualities of their works. Too, we know that the blues poetry, for instance, of Langston Hughes and various other poets indicates a deep interest in form, though not always formally recognized.

Having said that, you don't have to read far into contemporary African American poetry to come across sonnets, sestinas, villanelle, palindrome, Ghazals, and other poetic forms. When you talk to poets who teach in creative writing programs, they might tell you about the assignments and prompts that they give to their students related to various forms, even if they -- the teachers and students -- don't go on to deploy those forms in most of their published writing. But all of this circles back to the rise of creative writing programs. When we have 6,000 creative writers, mostly poets, earning degrees each year, then we're inevitably going to see an increase in conversations about form.

So maybe there are a convergence of things happening with respect to African American poetry. More (black) aesthetics and also more (Eurocentric) forms.  

------

*Note: Jerry W. Ward, Jr. recently circulated a list of several questions from 1981 that he says might need  answers in 2017. I'm using some of his questions and prompts for blog entries.


Related:
A Notebook on the Black Arts era
A Notebook on Black Intellectual Histories

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Clive Thompson on YouTube vs. Clive Thompson on Medium

Image source

Ah yes, the joys and frustrations of preparing syllabi for the upcoming semester.

Since the subject and debates about the best approaches to note-taking frequently come up in my classes, I'm definitely assigning Clive Thompson's presentation, "The Pencil and the Keyboard: How The Way You Write Changes the Way You Think," which is available on YouTube. It's a good way to get students thinking about...wait. Rather than that YouTube version, perhaps I should have students read Thompson's "The Joy of Typing: How racing along at 60 words a minute can unlock your mind," which was published on Medium.

For a couple of my classes a year or so ago, I used the YouTube version and a transcript from the talk. At the time, I was unaware of the Medium version. Since then, I caught up. Now, confronted with two discussions on the same topic by a single author, I began wondering about the one I should use.

Then...I figured, why not use both? That way, beyond the subjects of taking notes, writing, and typing, we can in addition discuss what it means to present ideas through different modes. The YouTube version will give students a clearer sense of Thompson's humor  (i.e. his side points about pencil sharpeners) as well as his interactions with an audience. The piece on Medium includes links and different visuals.

Studying alternate book covers for, say, Richard Wright's autobiography and novels by Octavia Butler has helped me nurture my interests in versions of common texts over the years. More recently, I identified different versions of poets presenting their poems, like Gwendolyn Brooks reading "We Real Cool" here, here, here, and here.

Hopefully, covering these versions of a single writer focusing on writing vs. typing will lead us to discussions about Clive Thompson vs. Clive Thompson, our presenter selves vs. our writer selves, speeches vs. essays, YouTube vids vs. blogs, and maybe even revision vs. remix.

Related:
Class notes
A Notebook on Clive Thompson's Smarter Than You Think

Class notes



What follows are entries concerning notations, plans, processes related to courses I teach.

2017
• August 8: Clive Thompson on YouTube vs. Clive Thompson on Medium
• July 31: Assigning The Blerd Gurl in an African American literature course

2016
• December 30: Teaching an Afr-Am lit. course with audio recordings of black women reading poetry as the basis
• Decmeber 30: Beyond Electives: Rethinking African American literature courses
• December 29: Teaching an African American Literature course on Ta-Nehisi Coates in fall 2016
• July 2: April Reign as literary artist?

2015
• January 8: Student rappers & poets in an African American Literature course

2014
• December 19: Writing about black poetry vs. writing about rap
• December 16: Studying Poetry & Rap with Collegiate Black Men in 2014
• November 2: Poetry & the politics of "black woman" metaphors 
• October 30:  More on the vulnerability of collegiate black men 
• February 14: Networks of 'consciousness' for collegiate black men 
• February 13: Collegiate Black Men and the circulation of black books   

2013
• November 1: The vulnerability of collegiate black men & a note on a Jack Johnson poem
• October 17: Style, Politics, and Inter-generational Links Among young Black Women
• September 4: All those twins & other siblings 
• April 20: The value of "our" history for African American collegiate poetry readers
• April 11: Collegiate Black Women & Specific Affirmations: The Cindy Lyles Approach 
• March 6: College students have little exposure to African American poetry 
• March 4: McGuire elevates the Expectations of Collegiate Black Men

2012
• November 7: The case for early support for black collegiate women
• November 3: What scares black students in a black poetry course
• November 2: What scares white Students in a Black Poetry Course 
• October 30: The Fear of Explaining Evie Shockley's Approaches to Design 
• October 17: 25 Poems later, who are my students now? 
• October 4: Ashley Greenlee's Summer Journeys to Texas and NYC  
• July 13: Lil sisters, homegirls & the language of affirmation 
• May 26: The Black Women Formerly Known as Poets
• March 26: Imagining Early Recruitment for Black College Students  
• March 6: Collegiate Students & Court Vision 
• February 29: Malcolm X & Collegiate Black Men
• February 27: Black Women, Hair & the Politics of History 
• February 27: Sistas Rocking Naturals at SIUE 
• February 6: The Interactive Reading Group 
• February 5: Black Collegiate Women & the Power of Spoken Word Poetry
• January 28: Going to the Movies with Black College Students 
• January 22: Working with Collegiate Black Men

2011
• December 10: Collegiate Black Men, Rap, and Poetry 
• October 31: Black Students & Access to Exclusive Science Study Groups 
• October 29: Black Women @ SIUE & Other-ground Arts Communities
• September 16: A Lesson from a Scene of Racial Instruction
• August 27: Collegiate Black Men Exchanging Ideas
• July 15: Student Participates in Enriching Summer Program in Texas, New York City
• March 3: Collegiate Black Men - Defining Problems

2010
• July 29: Summer Reading on Frederick Douglass

2009
• October 9: The Interactive Reading Group  

2008
• September 29: Launching the Interactive Reading Group  


Related:
A Notebook on Collegiate Students
African American Literature @ SIUE

Monday, August 7, 2017

Digital technologies, black pain, and its abstractions


When scholars discuss "black pain" and "trauma," they often reference slavery, including "the horrors" of the Middle Passage. Since August 2014, which is to say, since the shooting death of Michael Brown, and then various other police brutality deaths, we've heard more on black pain and black lives in those contexts. Still, in my academic worlds, I rarely come across discussions of contemporary gun violence and the associated pain and trauma.

Of course, topics concerning gun violence in black communities are tricky and tough subjects for academics. Black scholars worry about getting caught up in the quagmire of retrogressive conversations about so-called "black-on-black crime" -- an inaccurate and troubling, yet persistent phrase. The many liberal white scholars who study African American literature and culture are fearful, I suspect, when it comes to talking about violent, intra-racial black conflicts. Safer to stay on the sidelines. Plus, graduate school training prepares rising scholars to research, discuss, and write about the agonies of enslavement, but not the many contemporary cases of teenage black boys shooting other teenage black boys. Again, it's tricky, tough.

For over a decade now, I've thought and talked about gun violence in my adopted city, St. Louis, mostly with family, friends, and guys at the barbershop. When it comes to coverage though, I've most frequently read about gun violence in Chicago, in large part because of the prolific compositions by some of their journalists. The place where I began to put gun violence into broader perspectives emerged a few years back when I discovered the Baltimore Sun's Homicide page.

The site tracks homicides in Baltimore from 2007 - 2017. You can use drop down tabs to create targeted searches for, say, the number of black males, ages 18 to 25, in a given zip code, killed over the past 3 months or for all of 2017 or all of 2015 or 2005. We know, for instance, that as of August 4, 2017, there were 210 homicides in the city, with 175 of those deaths being black males.159 of those 175 homicides were shootings.

I was recently reading a  thoughtful article "New World: The Impact of Digitization on the Study of Slavery" by Britt Rusert, where she mentioned that "a growing number of digital archives, databases, and other digitization projects focused on slavery, are transforming how scholars study both the history and literature of enslavement." Rusert "reflects on conversations about slavery and the archive in light of the digital turn." Rusert is discussing the "digital turn" with respect to slavery, but the article has implications for other areas as well.

When I read the piece, I immediately thought of that Baltimore Homicide site as well as the Chicago site, which also tracks homicides. The sites are seductive in their usability. And the archives, databases, and maps central to those sites correspond to a digital turn or two, don't you think?

Of course, further, there's something abstract about knowing that 175 black males (which includes boys and men) have been killed in Baltimore, or that 380 of the 416 homicides in Chicago so far this year have been the result of shootings. When people and incidents become numbers and the numbers become increasingly large, we struggle to discuss or even grasp specific occurrences -- the violent ends of a lives -- in concrete terms.

I think about that abstraction, the problem of transforming individual people into numbers and plot points on maps. Conversely though, I consider the limits of the localized and specific conversations we have around here in St. Louis without placing things in some larger contexts. So in other words, without digital technologies, we'd struggle to conceive of the pain associated with gun violence and its abstractions, and without attention to local conversations, we'd overlook some ongoing, contemporaneous black pain.

Related:
A Notebook on gun violence

Friday, August 4, 2017

Noble and the visual storytelling of Roger Robinson, Brandon Thomas

Image source: Roger Robinson

From one perspective, comic books are comprised of written narratives about superheroes and villains and the struggles of good vs. evil. At the same time, from another perspective, a visual perspective, comic books result from a team of creators collaborating to depict an expanded sequence of events, through subtle and dramatic actions. Even though viewing is central to the practice of "reading" comics, our discussions and reviews often privilege the written narratives over the artwork.

Brandon Thomas's interest in highlighting action scenes in Noble means that he is something of a minimalist as a writer. For Thomas, "writing" includes communicating off the page with the artist Roger Robinson to represent those scenes. Accordingly, I've been inclined to think about Robinson's contributions to visual storytelling in ways that may have escaped me if Noble had been overly written with too many words.

Image source: Roger Robinson

It just so happens that Robinson provides me with guidance on how to read him as an artist via his Facebook and Twitter social media accounts, where he posts his wordless and colorless drawings. In one recent tweet, Robinson presented one of his images from the comic book and added the caption "Some fun storytelling frm #NOBLE #2. [Brandon Thomas] wrote this great scene." In another tweet, he posts an image from a scene he drew of the protagonist running. "This was a cool sequence to draw," tweeted Robinson, and he includes the hashtags, #storytelling and #drawingcomics.

For Robinson, drawing and storytelling are interrelated. In fact, drawing is a form of storytelling. Robinson's most dramatic tales so far involve what he's penciled of protagonist David Powell battling would-be captors, saving people, leaping high into the air over great distances, and moving and disassembling objects with his kinetic superpowers.

Image source: Roger Robinson 

Those are the more dramatic images. Robinson also draws close-ups of various people to signal the intensity of their emotions, and in addition, to display the diversity of people who populate Noble. One image, which Robinson tweeted about, "Shows a strong black woman" walking with a sense of purpose and determination as she seeks to "find her man."

I began paying closer attention to Robinson's drawing/storytelling in part based on Thomas's approach to writing Noble. And now, investigating Robinson's sketches presented on Twitter lead me to observe more closely the lettering and coloring contributions by Saida Temofonte and Juan Fernandez, respectively, in the finished product.

Related:
The creative, collaborative work of action scenes in Noble
Noble's cultural and geographic diversity
Coverage of Noble
A Notebook on comic books