Archive | April, 2012

Poetry & Music of “The Armageddon of Funk” @ Fort Mason, SF/April 28

27 Apr

If you missed our recent show at the Museum of the African Diaspora in San Francisco, we have a repeat performance of poetry and live music from  The Armageddon of Funk  (AoF) this Saturday, April 28th, 3-5pm, FREE at Readers Bookstore, Fort Mason, Building C, South End, Fort Mason Center, San Francisco.  Accompanying musicians, including guitarist Todd Brown, bassist Michael Shiono, saxophonist Prasant Radhakrishnanand drummer Vijay AndersonThis event is sponsored by the Friends of the San Francisco Public Library and the Blue Bear School of MusicThe Armageddon of Funk (Tia Chucha Press, 2011) was recently selected as an “Honor Book for Poetry” Award by the Black Caucus of the American Library Association, which called the book “A poetic soundtrack to Black life.”  If you can not make it please tell your friends. To order your copy of the AoF check out Find the Funk.


Two Takes on “The Armageddon of Funk”

16 Apr

I just got critiqued, reviewed, commented upon, and paid attention to, by two talented, socially conscious, and highly prolific culture critics – D. Scot Miller and Wanda Sabir.  I am happy to share both of their takes on The Armageddon of Funk (AoF).

D. Scot wrote a review for “The City Lights Booksellers & Publishers’ Blog,” where I have the privilege of sharing space with the poet giovanni singleton, author of Ascension. D. Scot skillfully navigates and contextualizes singleton’s work, writing “Concise, playful, and profound, Ascension promises a few discovery with every reading.” I urge you to read the full review titled “D. Scot Miller on Giovanni singleton & Michael Warr.”

Miller wrote of the AoF:

Adrienne Rich, who ascended this week at the age of 82, called Michael Warr’s poems, “the real thing,” and Warr’s latest collection, The Armageddon of Funk (Tia Chucha Press) proves yet another of her prophesies.

Through “poetic memoir” we join his navigation through the “apolitical,” rigid morality of his Jehovah’s Witnesses upbringing – and his father’s crisis of faith -  in San Francisco’s Hunter’s Point in “Then He Became The One”,

“Tracing wet footsteps to the bathtub we found our
mother’s Watchtowers and Awakes floating.
Pages of holy literature, our father baptized before
leaving for work, bled ink in their watery grave.”

We follow Warr through the revolutionary theories and free love of Black Panthers and Marxists; the promise of a bourgeois future from bank executives; a screaming soldier brandishing an AK-47 in his face, and on to a parched crisis in the Sahara in “Desert Lost (Leaving Timbuktu)”,

“Choked on petrol spiked with water,
by traders at Timbuktu, our Land Rover dies
in the desert, where Exxon is an illusion.
A barren landscape shifts into trees
as hologrammed-Africans wave us into
the inferno on foot.”

And further, to a man who has lived an exciting life as a poet, mostly watching and listening; excavating the gems of his experiences. The adventure lies not only in the settings and sights of Warr’s remarkable life, but in the telling.  The title poem, for example, is an evocative list covering over fifty years of American history from “Watts rebels” and “Ginsberg Howls” to “Howl turns fifty” and “Voting rights are extended another inadequate quarter,” all tied together by a nut paragraph that simply says, “My only worry, at ten years old, is what will happen to the world if James Brown dies?”

As a kid who used to worry about the same Armageddon, I’m looking forward to the day I can create such a list, and such a chronicle, with as much black grace, fierce wit, and hard-fought compassion.

Wanda Sabir and I took off on an expansive exchange that covered such seemingly disconnected subjects as Hegelian philosophy, rape, Chicago as a center of black revolution, Robert Mugabe, broken chocolat, and more on her internet radio program “Wandspicks.com.”  All of those topics were connected because they are encompassed in The Armageddon of Funk.  Sabir wrote the following after the interview:

Warr’s book is separated into cryptically. One poem might tell the story of a lifetime or several as is the case in Scars (21) and Street Signs, Convolutions, and other California Coincidences (24-25), which looks at four lives and a scarred resiliency that resurrects. Many of my favorite pieces in this collection have to do with the inside out nature of Warr’s trajectory whether that is “Man within the Boy” (19) or “Warriors” (56-57), “Hallucinating at the Velvet Lounge” (45) or a praise song for the muse in “Her Words,” for Gwendolyn Brooks (46-47) and “Duke Checks Out Ella As She Scats Like That” (69-70).

Covering a lot of territory linearly and spatially, one wishes for an annotated walkway. Yes, I can appreciate the Warr’s sojourn, yet when I hear how high the mountain, how steep the cliff, how wet the road, how precarious the meal–I want to know what the words reflect in a pool competing with passing clouds.

I am missing a lot. . . . Poetry, while vivid pats itself on the back for brevity–Warr’s work screaming so much more (smile). This is another reason to see him live, then one can ask the poet for the back story hanging out in the wings.

It was interesting hearing Michael talking about his relationship with the publisher of his books (3), Luis Rodriguez and his friendship with Patricia Smith, both poets just out here not long ago and both hailing from Chicago, where Warr lived for quite some time. Both friends sent Warr messages that he was one of the winners of The Black Caucus of the American Library Association Literary Awards, “Honors Books for Poetry Award, an award which has not included poetry before now. The conference is in Anaheim this year in June. I was even more intrigued when “Comrade Warr” spoke of interviewing the soon to be president of Zimbabwe, then Rhodesia.

One can take nothing for granted in Funk. It is certainly a book that reflects a journey the poet has trod. The Armageddon of Funk takes us there and brings us back. It is often hard to hold onto one’s breakfast as the bungee cord rips us across the Sahel and its multiple tributaries often traveling in counter-intuitive patterns. Rivers flowing up instead of down.

Warr’s writing lends itself to the natural rhythm of language melted between two chunks of chocolat”[his] alchemy changing [us] from stone into sugar” (63). It’s the nommo in us, the space between Armageddon and Funk that we are born (again).

D. Scot Miller is a Bay Area writer, visual artist, teacher, curator. He sits on the board of directors of nocturnes review, and is a regular contributor to The East Bay Express, San Francisco Bay Guardian, Popmatters, and Mosaic Magazine. 2011 San Francisco Arts Commission recipient for AfroSurreal San Francisco Project, Miller is author of The AfroSurreal Manifesto and is completing a book of AfroSurreal poems, and his Afro-surreal novel, Knot Frum Hear.

Wanda Sabir is a Bay Area activist, journalist, and creative writer–poetry and fiction. She host a bi-weekly radio show, publishes a monthly African Diaspora-centered calendar, and reviews film, theatre, literature and performance art via: wandaspicks.com. A columnist in the San Francisco Bay View Newspaper where she is Arts Editor, she has covered the arts scene for over 25 years. She is primarily interested in art for social change. She believes artists are the true revolutionaries, their work filled with raw uninhibited passion. She co-founded  MAAFASFBayArea.com 17 years ago; it is an on-going healing ritual for people of African Descent. Her daytime gig is teaching composition to community college students.

Some Background on My Robert Mugabe Poem After “Wandaspicks” Interview

13 Apr

Robert Mugabe President of ZimbabwerIn a radio interview with Wanda Sabir on wandaspicks.com this morning we touched on my poem “To See or Not to See (Zimbabwe Was Once Rhodesia),” in which I purport to have spotted Robert Mugabe in Chicago. I spoke of my failed attempt to write a companion Mugabe poem based on the time I actually did meet the future Prime Minister and eventual President of Zimbabwe while working as a foreign correspondent in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

During my five years in Addis Ababa I was very close to cadre from Mugabe’s Zimbabwe African National Union who were there for military training. The reference I make in my poem “Plotting At The Ras Hotel” to a Zimbabwean guerilla who is no longer able to eat foufou  (which would be like an American not being able to eat a hotdog bun) actually comes out of many conversations I had with these liberation fighters over lunch at their Villa.  We were all around the same age so we would “hang out.” They set up an interview between Mugabe and myself at the local Hilton Hotel.

At the time of the interview in 1979 Zimbabwe was still Rhodesia, but Mugabe already expected to be treated as a head of state (it’s a national liberation leader thing) and asked to see my questions in advance.

Earlier that morning I’d heard a report on the BBC, in which Mugabe’s “rival” inside of the national liberation struggle, Joshua Nkomo, president of the Zimbabwe African People’s Union, had made news by openly speaking of the two liberation’s group’s internecine struggle. When Mugabe read that question, and others associated with their rivalry, he sent his cadre back in the room where I was waiting with the message “Comrade Michael, Comrade Mugabe would prefer to concentrate on the anti-imperialist struggle.”

I had to switch gears on the spot. I am pretty sure that was the first time I had interviewed a future Prime Minister. At least half of my questions fell firmly in the “non anti-imperialist struggle” category, so after a short interview, padded with a few “new” questions I already knew the answers to, I handed Mugabe my original list of questions and said “Comrade Mugabe would you be so kind to look at these questions again and see if you might find a few to answer.”

Mugabe calmly took the sheet of paper, looked at the questions, and actually found a few he is willing to address. Before I was escorted out of the room, for the first time in the interview he smiled, and says “So you got your questions answered anyway.” In a hurry to get out of the room I replied by saying “ Well, seven out of ten is not too bad.”

I tried to tell that story in a poem, but could not find the poetry. Following is the poem in “The Armageddon of Funk” that Wanda and I discussed:

To See or Not to See (Zimbabwe Was Once Rhodesia)

I saw Robert Mugabe, President of Zimbabwe, driving a
“Flash” taxi by “Vee Vee’s African Restaurant” in Uptown,
Chicago, where a meal at each backyard reunion must include
something barbequed from every kitchen of the world.

In this United Nations of neighborhoods a guerilla turned
head-of-state, once overthrown, just might weave undetected
through imperialism’s circular traffic, wooden beads across
his back, a see-through bulletproof borderline dividing his
imposed seat of exile from his passenger.

He might conceal a Saturday Night Special, more dangerous
these days than the Kalashnikov rifles a freedom fighter once
smuggled to Africa from the fabled Soviet Union long before
this cascading catastrophe after Zimbabweans fought, died,
liberated, signed, cried, waited, waited, waited, and took
promised, undelivered, soil, taking their “40 acres and a mule”
from white estates for power, reparations and enough to eat.

Mugabe – the dictator – is nowhere near Chicago. He lives
among offspring of Cecil Rhodes and Ian Smith, never named
dictators, or even thieves, their control camouflaged in flawed
accords and inheritance. Tainted history holds the most fertile
and desired farmland for ransom from the Africans it belonged
to before the massacres of “discovery,” when the dazzling glory
of diamonds, chrome, and gold, blinded world morality,
enabling the massacres we never see.

“A Poetic Soundtrack to Black Life” Live at MoAD / on April 25

2 Apr

On Wednesday, April 25,  I perform poems  from The Armageddon of Funk in a tribute both to National Poetry Month and Jazz Appreciation month with some help from a few amazingly talented friends, including guitarist Todd Brown, saxophonist Prasant Radhakrishnanbassist Michael Shiono, and Howard Wiley on drums! Expect one of the poems we perform to be my San Francisco poem “Manchild” (tracing the transformative path of first aspiring to be a pimp and then wanting to be like Malcolm X) backed up by a live rendition of John Coltrane’s “Equinox.” This event is sponsored by the Museum of the African Diaspora.  The Armageddon of Funk (Tia Chucha Press, 2011) was recently selected as an “Honor Book for Poetry” Award by the Black Caucus of the American Library Association, which called the book “A poetic soundtrack to Black life.”  Poetry. Music. Wine. Talk. At MoAD.

Museum of the African Diaspora, San Francisco, 6:30-8pm, Free with museum admission. General admission is $10, $5 for seniors and students, and Free to MoAD members.

Friends of the SF Public Library Feature the “Funk” / on April 28

2 Apr

On Saturday, April 28, I perform poems from The Armageddon of Funk, with guitarist Todd Brown, saxophonist Prasant Radhakrishnanbassist Michael Shiono, and somebody on drums at Readers Bookstore, Fort Mason, Building C, South End, San Francisco. This event is sponsored by the Friends of the San Francisco Public Library and the Blue Bear School of MusicThe Armageddon of Funk (Tia Chucha Press, 2011) was recently selected as an “Honor Book for Poetry” Award by the Black Caucus of the American Library Association, which called the book “A poetic soundtrack to Black life.”  As I wrote in a previous post: I look forward to mingling with the throng of librarians at the 2012 Annual Conference of the American Library Association (the librarian equivalent of a Star Wars convention) this June in Anaheim, C.A., where I get to pick up my Grammy, I mean my Blammy, I mean whatever you get as a recipient. Thanks BCALA I am thrilled and honored.

LOCATION:
Readers Bookstore, Fort Mason
Building C, South End
Fort Mason Center, San Francisco, 94123
ReadersFM@friendssfpl.org
415-771-101

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