The Reach of Hill House

Close to the Masonic Lodge,
Near the order of Odd Fellows
By the Temple of the Goddess of Mercy,
Around the block from the cathedral
With the mosque in the background,
The calls of muezzins and roving preachers
The distractions were many, but one could see Hill House around the way

Where a society of friends would gather in quiet devotion
Mindful of the other faiths in their midst,
   the fierce competition for souls
No exuberant dancing
  as with the nightclub vibe of the new christianity
A meeting of minds in a circle close to the ground,
   theirs was solemnity

Eschewing ostentation, riches were to be expended on the spirit
Sharing thoughts, joyful worship but always in a minor key
The paths that life may take you on, the fateful journeys
Ever outwards, sometimes worlds away, yet reaching back to that weekly home

The comforting silences of friends, the keen observations
Most of all, the peaceful reflections and the fellowship
A region of the mind centered on earth, grace fixed in memory
The enduring appeal, sustaining; the reach of Hill House

Hill House, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• This is my story, this is my song by Thelonious Monk
• Abide with me by Thelonious Monk
• How my heart sings by Bill Evans Trio
• Be Not Always by The Jacksons
• How Can I Keep From Singing by Pete Seeger & Arlo Guthrie

File under: memory, culture, religion, Quaker, Ghana, Africa, observation, perception, Social Living, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 8, 2022

Mercy is the Gift

In those days we had a choice to make
Whether to raise our voice and be counted
The dilemma in the face of violence
For oppression is a determined foe

And even if silence was our blanket of loss
We marked the times of dread with patience
Consoled that relief would surely come
But always, in faith, we bore witness

Oh the threats we endured,
The heat of cold fury
Such threats that we faced
Those foregone opportunities
Survival carves its blood-tinged imprint
The mold is the human animal

Speak, memory
Of fond flesh departed
Of bonds disappearing
Speak of absences enforced,
This life of ellipses

Speak of unease and timeless worry
Of the heaving bodies we saw drawing their final breaths
Even as throughout, we listened and we stared

But even if a look only deflects the blows of a willful detractor
A burdened soul beholds a shield of grace
Protection that turns into a weapon
For mercy is ours to give

This, the gods have long made known:
Mercy is the gift


...

The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals

— The Burning Babe by Robert Southwell

Mercy, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Mercy Mercy Mercy by Cannonball Adderley Quintet
• Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology) by Marvin Gaye
• Mercy Mercy by Don Covay
• Somebody Have Mercy by The Memphis Horns (ft. Bobby Womack)
• Have Mercy by Mighty Diamonds
• Somebody Have Mercy by Sam Cooke
• Mercy Mercy by Wilson Pickett
• Mercy Mercy Mercy by Caleb Quaye & the Faculty
• Quality of Mercy by Michelle Shocked
  Ending with a devastating take on the immortal line

...

And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.

— The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare

I've always loved the way the Bard echoes Southwell... the quality of mercy is not strained.


See previously: The Voiceless Past, Speak, Memory, Wrath is for the Weak, Truth and Reconciliation


File under: culture, memory, observation, perception, strategy, displacement, mercy, empathy, Ghana, dissent, Africa, reconciliation, philosophy, Social Living, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 7, 2022

Once a Riverbed

Drought, the riverbed now a roadway
Weathered stones mark the tracks of climate change
Signs of futures impending,
The inevitable only delayed

Branches, stripped bare and denuded
Masked with the orange glow of fires
Just out of the line of sight
Drawing closer, but only of concern in the heat of emergency

Temperatures rising
The temper of society
What hope for trees of life and the rivers
That once coursed through our plains
That we pay rote notice,
Fig leaves at that, to our fellow men

Once a Riverbed, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Til it's done by D'Angelo
• Roads by Portishead
• River run dry by The Family
• Temperature Rising by Les Nubians
  Some prefer the version with Talib Kweli

File under: culture, observation, perception, environment, climate, dismay, poetry, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log. October 8, 2022

Caribbean Queen by Billy Ocean - One Track Mind

I'm dating myself, but the easiest way to get me to make a fool of myself is to play Caribbean Queen by Billy Ocean. It's like kryptonite to me. By the time the chorus comes around, I'm no longer acting, I have become an actual fool.

I mean Michael Jackson and Prince especially made major moves that year but Billy Ocean essentially won 1984 with just that song. The rest of the album was a bonus.

I just can't resist the groove, it makes me happy, I want to dance, I want to sing (loudly), and act the fool. They say Dionysus was a Greek god but the scribes out of discretion didn't disclose his infatuation with the siren song of a Caribbean queen.

I'm pretty sure Liberian Girl was MJ's belated response to homie for stealing his thunder, despite what the biographers may say. The gloved one with the golden voice always knew a winner (see lifting the synths from 1999).

Incidentally, many sincere apologies to the women I've stepped to while singing that song or variations of it - I'm an equal opportunity prospective lover, and, as I've said, I'm a fool.

The song is so versatile that, not to disclose too much, I've sang of African queens, Nigerian girls, Ghanaian ladies, various European duchesses and American queens and more, not to mention many a real life Caribbean queen.

Musical flirtation must be an occupational hazard of womanhood and it's all for the good. I've found that on occasion, some do get caught up in the rapture of a song so infectious. And even when deflected, the song breaks it down gently.

Now of course there's a long tradition of such celebratory songs. Frankie Beverly and Maze gave us Southern Girl. Earlier, Lou Perez gave us Caribbean Woman, his charanga ode to that fine Caribbean woman. They know what's up.

But to return to the song, give me the extended version. At the very least, you need the seven minute version, a radio edit wouldn't do with something so exuberant.

Even after the insistent anouncement of the opening bars (you have to signal your intentions in these things), the song takes its time to get the the point and lets the saxophone lay down the law to start things off.

There's something quite unhurried yet insistent about the groove, propelled by the synth basslines. It's a pulsing pace yet it still manages to be langorous, as if to savor the dance. Caribbean Queen is a dancefloor anthem, feelgood in four on the floor rhythms.

Start with the voice. The warmth in Billy Ocean's singing just invites you into the conversation. To my ears, there's a lilting hint of Gregory Isaacs and the velvet touch of Dennis Edwards in the voicing.

The honesty also disarms:

"I was in search of a good time
Just running my game
Love was the furthest,
Furthest from my mind"

The kicker comes from the parentheses in the title: No more love on the run. This is about being captured.

With spare lyrics, the scene sets up the drama of the relationship but he makes you wait by doing two verses and bridges, so building up the tension that the chorus is a release. But, just as soon as we're released, the groove settles back down to enjoy the dance.

The drop in the middle, and the build up, also play their part making you savor each element. The bass gets it due, the drum beats and then the synths do their bit. It's like the Soul Makossa breakdown in Wanna Be Startin' Something. By the time the chorus comes back around you want to start singing it again.

The guitar riffs. the sound effects, Keith Diamond's keyboard, synthesizer and production are inspired and really shine here but it's the saxophone solo by Jeff Smith just puts things over the top.

Infectious thy name is Caribbean Queen.

The initial release in Europe was titled European Queen but didn't get traction. Canny marketing forced a new title and Caribbean Queen struck a nerve. I've also heard an African Queen version.

Surveying the 1984 music scene, most would hand it to Prince, you can hardly argue with When Doves Cry and the Purple Rain album and movie, let alone The Time, Sheila E and Appolonia 6. It was his year in music and pop culture.

But there were others too. I mean Cherrelle (courtesy of Jam and Lewis) dropped I Didn't Mean To Turn You On, Dennis Edwards and Seidah Garret had the almighty duet Don't Look any Further.

The S.O.S. Band's Just the Way You Like It album heated up the dancefloor. And even in the midst of all this, Sade's Diamond Life had been released and Smooth Operators were moving

A digression: Billy Ocean would win the 1985 Grammy award for Best Male R&B Vocal Performance for Caribbean Queen. But the other nominees that year were quite mistaken. Namely, let's be frank, The Woman In Red is hardly prime Stevie Wonder.

And to pick on the thread, the Grammys have never really rewarded the soul music that moved the masses. Unforgiveably, James Brown didn't get anything after Papa's Got a Brand New Bag until Living in America in 1987.

Sexual Healing is an all-time jam but the Academy barely acknowledged Marvin Gaye's transcendent 1970s run of albums that changed music.

Teddy Riley's only Grammy was for engineering Dangerous in 1993. How are such things possible?

Anyway, the point is that Stevie Wonder kept getting sentimental votes in honor of his Seventies's streak.

It was even harder to square Stevie winning the next year 1986 for In Square Circle when Alexander O'Neal wasn't even nominated.

The same thing goes for 1996 when there was Brown Sugar by D'Angelo or say I Hate U by Prince. For Your Love is a effortless ballad from Stevie but come on, really?

In any case, the fact remains that Caribbean Queen stopped both Prince and Stevie Wonder in the charts that year which is saying something about what it means to black culture.

The song affects me the way its almost contemporaneous Somebody Else's Guy by Joycelyn Brown does - shower song fodder. I Can't Wait by Nu Shooz would disconcert me in a similar manner a couple of years later.

So anyway, catch me singing along with Billy Ocean: Caribbean Queen (No More Love on the Run). Meet me on the dancefloor.

Queens, a playlist

A few more songs in the vein of Billy Ocean's opus. (spotify version)

• Caribbean Queen (No More Love on the Run) by Billy Ocean
  The masterpiece
• Southern Girl by Rahzel and Erykah Badu
  Beat box meats Dallas princess
• Soul Sista by Bilal
  Raphael Saadiq's slinky production never fails
• Brotha by Angie Stone
• Southern Girl by Maze featuring Frankie Beverly
• Liberian Girl by Michael Jackson
• Soul Sister by Dexter Gordon
• The Girl from Ipanema by Stan Getz & João & Astrud Gilberto
  
• Taurus Woman by The Subterraneans
  Mystical acid jazz that never gets old
• Black Magic Woman by Dennis Brown
  Rather than Santana's involved electricity of the same title, I prefer the crown prince of reggae's musings on his muse
• Caribbean Woman by Lou Perez
  The blueprint
• Caribbean Queen (Extended Mix) by Billy Ocean
  Forgive me if I'm dancing

See previously: Janet Jackson and the importance of bubblegum and Baby me by Chaka Khan

This note is part of a series: One Track Mind

File under: music, soul, nostalgia, review, appreciation, culture, virtuosity, youth, dance, voice, groove, observation, perception, One Track Mind, toli

Writing log: April 28, 2024

Field of Light

"While I appreciate art, I fail to see how using 28,000 spheres, no matter how subtly lit, showcases an intersection with nature..."

— Wildflower Center Fails its Conservation Mission by Lighting Up its Landscape (Austin Chronicle, September 23, 2022)

J'accuse. Subtle lighting is no panacea
This really takes the cake, you must have no concern for nature
The ramifications of the act are serious, this is no laughing matter

Let me tell you, wrapping up a disaster, ignoring harmful effects
I'll bet that you haven't even consulted the experts
Light pollution is real, my friends, why don't you think about the birds


...

"Our goal, with any installation, is to be thoughtful and considerate of the landscape, as well as the topography, and wildlife."

— FAQs - Bruce Munro's Field of Light Comes to The Wildflower Center

And now for the rejoinder, the frequently asked questions
The artist composes a deft environmental impact statement
The obligatory show of commitment, for the field of light is sustainable

A celebration of natural topography, the stated goal is to be thoughtful
Materials highly recyclable, light sources for charitable installations
Solar powered and very durable, the aim is reuse without loss of condition


...

Art is not for everyone as the field of lights exhibit illuminates
For what to the eye of the beholder may thrill and exhilarate
May leave a mark of indifference to others or even infuriate
The thought occurs: what we have here is a failure to appreciate

Field of Light, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Light my fire by Minnie Riperton
• Turn your lights down low by Bob Marley & the Wailers
• The light by Common
• Blinded by the light by Manfred Mann's Earth Band
• Turn off the lights by Teddy Pendergrass
• Blinded by the light by The Freedub Press
• Into the light by Prince
• Bright lights by Matchbox Twenty
• Blinding lights by Victoria Voss
• Bright lights by Gary Clark Jr
• Blinding lights by The Weeknd
• Lights by Ellie Goulding
• Bright lights by Cannons
• Light my fire by Massive Attack

You can't please everyone

File under: humour, hatchet job, satire, culture, observation, art, appreciation, perception, environment, modernity, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 7, 2022

Intimate Legacies

The height of fulfillment for a Ghanaian woman
The measure of a life well lived
Is to be surrounded by loved ones
Sought out for consultation
And to leave a trunk of fabric
Packed almost full with cloth, new or barely worn
To be shared amongst those she leaves behind

Kente, Dutch wax prints, indigos and batiks
Some with Adinkra designs, and lace too; these are heirlooms
True, some would also cite the beads and the jewelry
Gold sovereigns as befits the site of the Gold Coast
And yes, monies and land, cars - modernity, are fitting contributions
But it is the cloth that is the prized intimate legacy

...

Daa left me some fabric, my inheritance was a sleep cloth
Dark green, a GTP wax print, lightly faded
So soft after years of use that the merest touch
Transports me to happy places
Skin to skin, in contact with her quiet ways
Remembering her voice and her laughter

She left a scarf for our daughter
White lace, a welcome present
She'd held out to meet her, her great granddaughter
The yearslong campaign on her granddaughter-in-law
Had borne a delicate fruit
She carried her with joy that day
And fussed, and gave advice, we listened well
Ineffable joy, she slept well that night
Remembering the long journey, the twists and the turns
Those who had walked along with her
Those now lost, and those who still remained
The happy times - for there were many like today
The reversals, and the times of privation
Internal exile and the hunger seasons
When some had to sell, to empty their trunks
To empty their very souls to provide for their family
But she had made it, and could pass something on
She was ready. She passed it on and carried a glow
She eased through the few weeks that remained of life

...

In this meeting of minds
The foundations of identity
Home, the veins of belonging
Sleep cloths for the children
Memories rest on the fabric itself
Pieces of intimate legacies

Intimate Legacies, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Pass it on by Omar ft. Terri Walker
• Grandma's Hands by Bill Withers
• She Gave Her Angels by Prince
• Sacrifice by Elton John
  In the same vein as the Purple One's ode, the album is fittingly titled Sleeping with the Past
• Sacrifice by Gregory Isaacs
• Grandma's Hands by Gil Scot-Heron

Let's place this under the banner of Social Living

File under: family, memory, fabric, cloth, legacy, history, culture, observation, perception, personal, sensory, Ghana, Africa, textiles, tradition, poetry, Social Living, toli

Writing log: September 22, 2022

Wrath is for the Weak

Wrath, unlike his elder sibling Outrage,
Doesn't bear the burden of permanent necessity
Rather he presents a signal test of character
Nay a temptation, of the allures of impunity
Oblivious to consequence, the bearer gives full sway to Anger
Single-minded, he seeks the imposition of selfishness
Forcing an unseemly rush to be the sole enforcer

But for good reason, social beasts, we live in community
Beholden to the workings of the Law whose wheels turn slowly
For human life is precious and ought to have sanctity
Hence all those quaint rules and regulations that serve to protect
Wrath, in all his disguises, remains a barbed weapon against life itself

And so, like Cain, Wrath would murder Outrage
The tawdry act betraying a signal lack of courage
With misplaced righteousness and indecent haste
All too often the damage is done, an irreversible mistake

In times past, Shame would leap at the opportunity
A rebound fling with Fate to correct the catastrophe
But sometimes it was too late, and Wrath would no longer be willing
Scent of blood in the sinews - Lust, he'd become enamored of killing

The gift of free will frees us from inhibition
Yet binds us also with the shackles of discretion
Albeit neither God nor mankind's History would ever absolve
The guillotines and firing squads, the wages of Thermidor

Wrath is for the weak, shower them with kindness
Kindness, even when wounded, for it was written
The good books advise to turn the other cheek
To resist the temptation of this mortal sin

True, there's undoubtedly been an injustice
Especially as you witnessed their glib insouciance
But even if pausing may seem like a temporary inconvenience
Hindsight guarantees that your act will only worsen the situation
Instead, revel in the powerful exercise of restraint
Change the perspective, change the rules of the game

This too shall pass, do not give in to the anger
Conflicted thoughts about revenge, self-appointed avenger
For any satisfaction of the wrathful impulse is ephemeral
Regret is all, sadly that is the occasion's sole promise
Rather, lasting strength derives from considered justice

The realization of our stories is that the costs are sunk
Histories are only written after the damage is done
Mythologies that celebrate the conquerors as victors
In the moment, we are not bystanders, we can choose to be actors
But the moral lesson is that we don't need further casualties
The collateral damage notwithstanding, wrath is for the weak

Wrath, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Outrage by Joe Gibb & the Professionals
• Right and a Wrong Way by Keith Sweat
• It's a Sin by Pet Shop Boys
• Wrath of Kane by Big Daddy Kane
• Outrage by Booker T & the MG's
  Following up the adrenaline rush of Kane's braggadocio with the chaos and disorder of the MG's, spinning out of control

See previously: The Sense of Violation

File under: wrath, rage, values, anger, strategy, culture, restraint, decisions, observation, perception, humour, life, Social Living, poetry, toli

Writing log. September 25, 2022

His and Hers

Funny how we slipped into those roles
The division of labor, his and hers
The separate spices, the separate shelves
But it was an organic process, there was no deliberation
No dilemmas really, we even finessed the dishwasher situation

As we stand, armed with toothbrushes, looking into the mirror
The back and forth of our morning rituals
The silver hairs that are now starting to adorn our heads
Wondering how we'd be viewed by our younger selves
We gather ourselves and pause briefly
Before we confront the day's agenda
Splash. How did we get here?
Children, mortgages, jobs, responsibility

Rinse with cold water, replace the dental weapons
A hug, a head nod, a kiss, a taste of peppermint
Those things to remember: the doctor's appointment
Missing a screw, the electrical outlet
The light bulb that needs to be replaced (buy L.E.D)
The part of the back fence that's now falling over
Pick up logistics for the kids, the parent teacher conference
Bureaucracy at work, the annual certification, compliance
Calls to make, and even holiday plans

Intertwined, entangled
Concentric, commingled
A small moment: we reach out simultaneously
Touch
A touch to give comfort
A touch again, tender
Care, reassurance
Forever

Side by side, we smile and stand together
And remember that we chose each other
His and hers, we turn away from the mirror and look
And remember why we chose each other

His and Hers, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note, a few ballads of affirmation (spotify version)

• I Know It's You by Donny Hathaway
• By Your Side by Sade
• I'm Glad You're Mine by Al Green
• With You by Prince

Bonus beats: The Lovers by Alexander O'Neal and The Spark by The Roots

File under: life, love, culture, observation, perception, relationships, social, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 18, 2022

Giant Checks

"The Prime Minister then handed out giant checks to the bereaved
A sign, he said, that the state would take care of those who have lost so much"

— Thailand nursery attack (BBC report, October 7, 2022)

Giant checks, devoid of meaning
Thoughts and prayers, the theater of grief
A parade of penance and ritual tributes

Giant checks, post-facto regret
Consolation payments, the language of impotence
The wages of acceptable loss

Giant checks, base calculations of uniformed men
Seasoned with blood, whither the monopoly of violence?
Witness the performance of authority

Giant checks to the bereaved, a duty of care
Not to mention the provision of little urns and coffins
A fine display, the toll unbearable, the final indignities

Giant checks, props for a national calamity
The sobbing and shrieks, a symphony of despair
An unending stillness in others, more worrying are these vacant stares

Giant checks, empty gestures
Roused by tragedy, the coup maker's show of concern
Balm for communal numbness

Giant checks, strictly by the numbers
Effigies erected to solace, pain underwritten in large print
Sorrow in sans-serif and block letters

Giant checks disbursed in the aftermath of death
Survivor's guilt by way of comfort and healing
Mandatory compensation for those still breathing

Giant checks, lottery winners
A failure to protect, pageantry in the wake of slaughter
This too could happen to you

Giant Checks, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Check out your Mind by Curtis Mayfield
• King of Sorrow by Sade
• Can't buy me by Femi Kuti
• Sorrow, Tears and Blood by Fela Kuti
• Meaningless Money by Kuber Bhaskar
• Sorrow doesn't Resurrect by Ark Patrol

Bonus beats: Sorry ain't enough by Sault

See previously: Ritual Tributes and Action Items

File under: language, hatchet job, outrage, satire, violence, blood, theatre, Thailand, military, crime, humour, culture, observation, perception, grief, mourning, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 7, 2022

Very Reverend

Holier than thou, words like uplift and sanctify
Fingertips outstretched and touching, mist in the eye
Apt at any stage to tear up, so caught up, as he is, with devotion
He takes a few moments to collect himself, overcome with emotion

A full plate of sanctimony embodied in his very person
The righteous testimony he shares, those enduring lessons
The earnestness of his commitment cannot be denied
That apt word again resurfaces: he is sanctified

White handkerchief out, he mops his brow when in a state of beatitude
In a trance, or is it a rapture, the care of his religious attitude
The justness of his cause goes without saying, the certitude
Be thankful for what we've got from the most high, the gratitude

Praise be, he's ever prone to alliteration
Acceptance, adjudication, alacrity, anticipation
Sanctity, sacraments, sanctuary, salutations
Concern, contemplation, corruptions, conjugation

Still, you'll note a deliberateness to his every utterance
The obvious corollary to the seriousness of his countenance
A curious otherness even with the pose of the man of the people
For it is clear that in God's presence every sinner is equal

"We stand here, pious servants, on these hallowed grounds
We greet the occasion with keen reflection and sober sounds
Look no further, my brethren, as we embrace the promises of healing"
Said as if he was the sole one in this audience in touch with his feelings

Authoritative in demeanor, keywords: calm and steady
Serenity now, humorless yet always a smile at the ready
Judge not however, he'll shower you with grace, blessings and kindness
But do know he'll never let you forget that you're in the presence of holiness

Small mercies and hosannas, a focus on morning glories
The full suite of values imparted in his salutary stories
The Very Reverend - get the title right, this righteous teacher
Don't ever mistake him for your garden variety preacher

Preacher, a playlist

I'm a little conflicted about the soundtrack for this note, the long piece I've been mulling on a country preacher was diverted into this hatchet job on a Very Reverend One. Pardon the imprecision, but I can't pass up an opportunity to share a playlist with Cannonball and Jimmy Smith. (spotify version)

• Country Preacher by Cannonball Adderley Quintet
• The Sermon by Jimmy Smith
• The Preacher by Horace Silver & the Jazz Messengers
• The Love Sermon by Al Green
• Wallk Tall by Cannonball Adderley Quintet
• The Preacher by Jimmy Smith

Bonus beats: The Preacher's Tune by Jimmy Mcgriff and two versions of Son of a Preacher Man by Dusty Springfield and Aretha Franklin

File under: humour, satire, hatchet job, culture, observation, perception, shell game, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 9, 2022

Morning

Morning thoughts, of birdsong and optimism
Mist and dew drops collecting as the sun rises
Overnight, the mulberry tree is laden with fruit
Dispensing morning glory in bite-sized increments
Settle down, be thankful for these small mercies

A light breeze courses through - refreshing, a revival
Crepuscular beasts vaguely going about their routines
Before humanity's predatory imposition visits these lands
Sensible, these early adaptations and background activities
Triumphant foraging, observe the contours of these proceedings

For if, for mankind, morning is a time of beginnings
To perceive the reverse of the coin, on coming to an end
For our counterparts, it is the dawn of our modernity
A stillness in time, a weighted pause for deliberation
We make to savor these quiet sparkling moments
Full of careless comfort and fleeting joy
Before, like them, we fall back down to earth

Morning, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note, one of my favorite playlists - there's something about the theme. (spotify version)

• Good Morning by Gregory Isaacs
• In the Morning by Omar
• Morning Glory by Jamiroquai
• Morning by Amel Larrieux
• Happier than the Morning Sun by Stevie Wonder
• Greatdayndamornin' by D'Angelo
• The Morning Papers by Prince
• The Morning After by Alexander O'Neal
• I Think I'll Call it Morning by Gil Scott-Heron
• Good Morning Heartache by Billie Holiday
• Morning Loving by Carleen Anderson
• Morning Sunrise by Twennynine featuring Lenny White
• Joy in the Morning by Alton Ellis
• Early in the Morning by The Gap Band
• Morning Bird by Sade
• Good Morning Blues by Count Basie

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time.

File under: culture, observation, perception, life, nature, sensory, lyricism, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 17, 2022

Drop, Chain and Accordion

Harbingers of malnutrition
The Four Horsemen of hunger season
While the first three duly entered our vocabulary
The fourth, left to shame, was pushed to the recesses of memory

The drop was the most embarrasing of these musketeers
Because, when first encountered, he caught you unawares
The sudden drop of your clothing - you were now half your size
Exposing your nether regions to the fresh air and curious eyes

By the time you got to the chain or the accordion, you'd find yourself spent
Having long made your peace with this state of affairs: eternal Lent
Accustomed as you were to - call it by its name, starvation
After all, you were living through a proper People's Revolution

Marking the spot on your belt where you would pierce the extra notch
Or wearing belts where you previously had none - acceptable loss
Improvised contraptions for your skirts and trousers hopefully holding
Under military rule, we were at a remove from skirt-and-blouse voting

The second horseman, the chain, spoke to tears and sorrow
A cynical description of a neckline that was now hollow
Jewelry of a sort, a macabre, if fashionable, decoration
Thriftiness embodied in your very person, a celebration

The third horseman, the equal opportunity composer, the accordion
Orchestrated skinny rib cages visibly appealing to both old and young
A skeletal music of fatigue, unmet needs and quiet exhaustion
He devised a twelve bar blues, if you will, of quotidian suffering

As to the fourth, rickety, he mainly dealt with little children
Confounding in his physicality as should be readily apparent
Kwashiorkor, quite a mouthful, the dreadful disease
The characteristic bloating, the ironic mark of the beast

Weight loss, hair loss, failure to thrive, and apathy
And then we come to those now-distended extremities
And even with the outrage and the sense of violation
The question still remains, why were these men laughing?

Nature may be a cruel companion, what with droughts and brush fires
Yet it was a man-made disaster, preventable, and caused by these liars
With limited food resources, this had all the makings of a tragedy
Worse, they were warned well in advance at the time yet they carried on stubbornly

Quite bewildering though, and damaging to the psyche
To be branded as requiring all the world's charity
Stalking horses of hunger seasons past, harrowing and dubious legacies
Ancestral memories passed across the ages, fear and survival strategies

The fourth horseman, although it must be said, was rather solicitous,
Didn't lend himself to a coinage that was quite so felicitous
The lived experience was stark and dispiriting, disturbing in its dismay
Awful enough that even that angel Euphemism couldn't summon an uneasy phrase

Drop, chain and accordion, then, were the fateful entries
Albeit History gave unkind placement in the dictionaries
They would be prefixed in the lexicon by his name
To the Flight Lieutenant's great and everlasting shame

Such however is the way of privation, the nature of its exigency
That, even in the darkest hours, in the depths of an emergency
Gallows humor reigns, it calls forth linguistic innovation and whimsy
Proverbial zingers, sharp aphorisms, etched forever in memory

...

Basket cases
Tiny coffins
Circling vultures
Calmly watching

Weeping mothers
Hunger pangs
And the crowds
Scrambling for crumbs

...

Starving children don't cry
Tears waste too many calories
Shame, that so many had to die
Shame, again, their swollen bellies

Hunger, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Pearls by Sade
  Melodramatic as befits the tragic scene she describes, mournful this ode to wounded pride.
• Hungry Blues by Jimmy Johnson & His Orchestra
• Never Mind the Hungry Blues by Larry Carlton
• Got the Hunger by Alice Russell
• Them Belly Full (But We Hungry) by Bob Marley
• Man Hungry by Sugar Minot
• When Hungry Walks by Gregory Isaacs
• Hungry Belly Pickney by Freddie Macgregor
• Hungry Belly Dub by King Tubby
• Very, Very Hungry by Brian Eno & David Byrne
  An instrumental track from the experimental album My Life in the Bush of Ghosts

Bonus beats: Hungry Belly by Frankie Paul & Pinchers, mainly for the title for this is a story about girl from Flatbush named Aisha. And of course, three live versions of Sade's Pearls, a show stopper ever since she composed it.


...

After Hunger for Sale (Talking Drums, October 3, 1983)

And also for that friend who startled me with the vehemence of his reaction when I teased him about his short stature. "Some of us didn't have our growth spurt during those years, we had Rawlings chains instead". A brief, damning silence ensued before joviality made its return. With my vaunted exile meshed with his explicit denial, our friendship, perhaps, was salved by the balm of the musical imagery. But the bitterness lingered.

And if archeologists can detect the evidence of famines and stunted growth like tree rings, etched in human bones, linguists and social historians can similarly escavate matters. Both earthquakes and man-made disasters leave their marks. Dzorwulu becomes 'the place that dropped', the valley of urban remembrance. Drop, chain and accordion as pointed modes of resistance in our hunger season.

Poetry as cultural memory then. Coinages bear the tide marks of social distress. In any case, this one's for you.

See previously Identification Haircut and, retrospectively, AFRC Member

File under: humour, hatchet job, satire, culture, observation, perception, language, Ghana, Africa, coup, rogues, dictator, military, famine, disaster, failure, outrage, memory, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 18, 2022

They Don't See You

He started muttering to himself in French
Because that's what you do at such times - sigh
Then switch to your native tongue or thereabouts

"They don't see me
... Again ...
They don't see me"

The tiredness of an immigrant
The tiredness of an African
The tiredness of an older black man
The face of someone who has seen too much

"No, they saw you. I think they'll serve you... eventually"

Surprised that someone had understood what he'd said
Someone from the old country or thereabouts was here
Speaking his language
The hint of a smile began to broach his weary face - well-lined

"I know. They saw me but they didn't see me.
That's how they are.
They don't see you in this country. They don't see you.
If you only knew what it takes for them to see you..."

He was getting into it, winding up, getting ready to make a scene

"Well I see you, my uncle. I see you. Have faith. I see you"

Tonton, he appreciated that. That I named him. That I saw him

"They don't see you. Ils sont impolis dans ce pays. Impolis..."

Raised voice

"Well now they've heard us. They know we are waiting. Now they see us"

He chuckled.

"They don't see you. Really...
They don't see you.
They hear you, but they don't see you"

There was movement
The young man roused himself
Slowly making his way from behind the counter
To attend to this foreign crew now chatting away at the front
The old man was purposeful when he was finally addressed
And deliberate. He made him wait
He finished telling me his story before he turned
Then he cleared his throat,
And tried to summon up the English words
He started to explain whatever it was that had brought him to this place
As I went my way moments later, he again interrupted himself

"Au revoir, mon fils"

Then, loudly again, in English this time

"They don't see you"

They Don't See You, A Playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• You Don't See Me by Amel Larrieux
• Invisible by Alison Moyet
• Breakfast at Denny's by Buckshot Lefonque
• Invisible by Courtney Pine
• Don't Keep Me Waiting by Kwesi Arthur
• You Don't See Me by Al Jarreau
• Don't See Us by The Roots ft. Dice Raw

See previously Defensive Accounting and Normalcy Prohibition

File under: immigration, culture, observation, perception, life, race, USA, displacement, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 20, 2022