Eugene B. Redmond


Lookingback, Jazzstained Jayne


Circa sixty-nine:  after poetin out a

November ice/mare (with Robert Hayden, Ishmael Reed

& Stanley Crouch) at Buffalo’s Inter-American

Writers Congress, Quincy Troupe & I, like

gung-ho GI’s, climbed her jazz-stained stairs

where eyes/ears met an edible montage

above Big Apple’s Avenue of the Americas . . .


Ornate in its oblique nest, like Ornette’s

lofty funk/scapes, Jayne’s 4th  floor walk-

up earth-whiled into archive, studio, sanctum,

repast, poem: sister-threads winding festivals &

funerals through joyful/elegiac mazes: exiting thru

penises & pearl tongues of artful exults,

in magic/reel yawps of yari yari . . .


Now, Jayne’s axe-bright tomes, flashin &

spittin torrent thru turrets of her fecund

decades, grieve & sculpt a pell mel/l,

you know, of  AIDS, female spill/age,

drug gorge/s, walking-dead peeps, impish  pimples

on a carcass dressed up in money . . .



 A Kwansaba for Mother Richie


Lika a comfort, Mother Richie spread out

Across Her Century, a prayer-carpet riding

The backs of storms down decades of

Turmoil & joy, down roads of Willing-Work,

Cousin-heart to Haves & Have-Nots,

Noons & moons, birthin’legions & legends

By the candle-light of s/heroic example.



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Eugene B. Redmond

Sentinel Poetry (Online) #40


ISSN 1479-425X     March 2006