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Role Call: A Generational Anthology of Social and Political Black Literature and Art
""Welcome to the 21st Century"" bids the opening line of this literary ""multimedia"" experience, brought to us by three leading Black author-activists of the post-Civil Rights Movement generation. This collection of more than 300 poems, essays, paintings, photos, and mixed media representations features myriad voices of the generation bridging the gap between the children of the Civil Rights Movement and those of the present hip hop movement.
506 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 2002
44 people want to read
About the author
Tony Medina
22 books7 followersTony Medina is a poet, graphic novelist, editor, short story writer, and author. Born in the South Bronx and raised in the Throgs Neck Housing Projects, Medina earned a BA in English at Baruch College, CUNY, on the GI Bill, and an MA and PhD at Binghamton University, SUNY, where he received the Distinguished Dissertation Award. Medina has published 22 books for adults and young readers, the most recent of which are Che Che Colé; Death, With Occasional Smiling; Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Black Boy; I Am Alfonso Jones; and Resisting Arrest: Poems to Stretch the Sky. Medina’s awards include the Paterson Prize for Books for Young People, the Langston Hughes Society Award, the first African Voices Literary Award, the Lee Bennett Hopkins Poetry Award honor, and Special Recognition from the Arnold Adoff Poetry Award. He has appeared in several documentaries and CD compilations and has read/performed his work all over the United States, as well as in Germany, France, Poland, the Bahamas, Puerto Rico, and the Netherlands. The first professor of creative writing at Howard University, Medina’s poetry, fiction and essays appear in over 100 journals and anthologies, including Sheree Renée Thomas' Dark Matter, Ishmael Reed’s Hollywood Unchained and Kevin Young’s Library of America anthology, African American Poetry: 250 Years of Struggle & Song, and as an advisory editor for Nikki Giovanni’s Hip Hop Speaks to Children. Medina has also been featured on NBC's philanthropic reality show, Give, PBS’ White House Chronicle, CBS’ Great Day Washington, SiriusXM’s Kids Place Live, Medgar Evers College’s Writers on Writing, Forbes magazine, and has worked extensively with the non-profit literary organizations Say It Loud, Behind the Book, and Meet the Writers. Medina's book, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Black Boy, was featured on Let's Learn NYC for PBS. Follow him on Facebook; Twitter: @PoetTonyMedina and Instagram: poettonymedina. His website is tonymedina.org.
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
September 29, 2008
"Paper cuts from words ..."
Role Call: A Generational Anthology of Social & Political Black Literature & Art (published in 2002 and edited by Tony Medina, Samiya A. Bashir, and Quraysh Ali Lansana) is a molasses-thick book of art, poetry, essays, and stories divided into six titled sections (seven if you count section three which contains the contributors' bios). Section one: "What is the role of today's emerging young artists in the current struggle for equality and justice?" Section two: "How do the voices of the next generation define the issues and politics of today?" Section four is "An exploration of our current cultural landscape in poetry, fiction, essays, visual arts and theater-on-the-page." Section five is "A litmus test of – and call to arms – a generation grown fat on the limited freedoms won by the civil rights struggle." Section six "Takes on race, sexuality, education, nationalism, spirituality, AIDS, globalization, hip hop and the prison industrial complex." Section seven is "A journey through the tropics of black rage, black love and black fire." Heavy stuff, right? Some of the section titles sound like poetry and essays already. Don't, however, let the heaviness steer you away from what is one of the most delectable, well written, inspiring, poignant, collections of work I have come across in a long time.
"Welcome to today's thoughts and words. Welcome to young minds free and liberated enough to write, illustrate, think, act, publish and publicly state what is on their young fired up minds." These words belong to Haki R. Madhubuti (the author who penned the forward for this anthology). This anthology is just that: a fired-up generation with a lot to say. This is evident right away in the first section's first poem. The poem, written by Askhari, is called "I write."—
"Because somewhere in Soweto there is a small, brown girl who looks like me… She is hungry, like her sister in South Carolina."
Askhari's poem seems to answer the question that is posed in section one's title: "What is the role of today's emerging young artists in the current struggle for equality and justice?" Angela Shannon's poem "Dear Mama" answers the question, too, with her "…Mama when I am writing seems like fight enters my bones." Not to be left out, poet Kim Louise weighs in on the question, too, in her poem "Sticks and Stones." Kim Louise ponders the question and shoots back,
"Who says the page is silent?
my words scream
and sob, cackle and crash,
chatter and hiss … they scratch
deep itches. paper cuts come
from words."
In this section, on the page following Kim Louise's poem, there is a photograph (by Kim Mayhorn) of a square gasoline can that reads Silver Shell Motor Oil. On top of this can, at a libertine's angle, sits a hat (looks like a felt hat with a dark band around it just above the circular brim). The title: "A Woman was Lynched the Other Day…" It is clear, in the first section, that the artists feel that their role as artists is to speak up— to conjure up the old and then invite it to mingle with the new.
Another question is posed in section two: "How do the voices of the next generation define the issues and politics of today?" Morgan Michael Craft answers this question with a question:
"How do you start to talk about anything invisible? Cuz when was the last time you saw some music? Those markings on a page like this. That doesn't seem to be music … Sound, a heavy thing now/ notice how we don't have earlids, no real, natural protection from aural attack."
From this, then, it can be said that this generation of artists know the power of sound and they don't want to be just "markings on a page." They want to be heard— even when not speaking. So if you are a writer or a painter or a photographer and your means of conveyance is the page how can you be heard without even opening your mouth? You do what these artists in this anthology are doing— you make your work jump off the page; you immunize your work against invisibility with stanzas like:
"More than blood binds you. There is
the apple , bitten and browning."
(from Mendi Lewis Obadike's poem "Returned to Sender)
"Reba is a state child and what you call fast. She wears
short, tight, straight skirts and smokes cigarettes on the
corner …
The next thing I hear, Reba is pregnant and tries to kill
herself."
(From an untitled poem by Kate Rushin)
You tell it like it is the way Samiya A. Bashir does it in "Benrneatha's Story." Bashir writes (slashes and all):
"Mama always be wantin me to talk to her bout sumptin but I ain't never had nuthin to say/ come on 'Neatha/ talk to mama tell/ mama all about it/she say after she sell me off to Cadillac for a five dollar vile o' crack/ or any other mens what come in wit a 2 finger bottle of gin/ tell/ mama all about it she say/ n then she'd pass away into her snow covered dreams."
Talk about immunizing your work against invisibility! In section two, there is a painting (oil on canvas) called "My Environment" by Kraig A. Blue. The painting is of an African-American male wearing shades; there is an aerosol can sticking out of one ear; tree stumps are stuck in his sideburns and missiles are growing out of his head. Invisible, my foot!
Section four ("An exploration of our current cultural landscape in poetry, fiction, essays, visual arts and theater-on-the-page.") is my favorite section in the anthology— theater-on-the-page is right on! Kim Ranson's poem "Seven" reads like a play (reminiscent of Ntozake Shange's "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf")—
"Life promised her
played her
pimped her
ported her
here with me
more of the same
her funk thick
trippin' on a hit
to her vein
I'm seven.
…can't comb my hair
can't teach little sis how
can't clean
I feel dirty …"
I can see a seven-year-old child (boy or girl) sitting cross-legged in the center of the stage— bathed in spotlight with neck-veins showing, saying, "no one knows I got problems/ f's in conduct/ itching and smelling/ reading below grade level."
"On Days" – a poem written by Melissa McEwen – also reads like a play, but more like the instructions/descriptions before the actual play begins. Melissa McEwen writes:
"Concrete burns and heat smells
the streets are thick long
Cadillacs shake with soul music
foreheads and lips are Vaseline-d …"
The characters in the play are Mrs. Tullis, Francesca (along with her girls the Haitian twins) and the "men with dirty mouths [who:] gather like gnats in front of Corner Market & Deli." I see a stage as well when I read this poem. When Melissa McEwen writes that "[her:] bedroom is hot even with the windows wide open and the fan turned on high" and that her "radio on top of [her:] bible spits static" and that the "sun [is throwing:] patches of light onto the southwest corners of [her:] bed," I see the props in my head. I see the bedroom. I see, as clear as day, the radio (perhaps borrowed from the director's son) and the bible (perhaps borrowed from the director's mama). I thoroughly enjoyed this section of the anthology-- my highlighter went haywire!
In section five ("A litmus test of – and call to arms – a generation grown fat on the limited freedoms won by the civil rights struggle."), the titles say it all: "Warning," "The Escape," and "Try to Remember that South African Man." Section six ("Takes on race, sexuality, education, nationalism, spirituality, AIDS, globalization, hip hop and the prison industrial complex."), is summed up best by the poem called "Faggot" by Thomas Sayers Ellis—
"We nicknamed Robert
Robin because he played
with girls and memorized cheers,
preferred Home Economics to Shop.
In Gym he switched like them
and could control his strength,
hitting volleyballs with his wrist
to boys of his choice.
Like Somebody's sister,
he rolled his eyes and fought
with hands open, backing away,
kicking & scratching, a windmill of self-defense.
For this we called him punk,
faggot, sissy …"
This poem takes it all on— and that goes for most of the work in this book. In the final section, Section Seven ("A journey through the tropics of black rage, black love and black fire."), black rage and black love seem to share beds. Take the short, short story "Sarah Nell" written by Melissa McEwen. It tells of a young girl watching her mother walking to the bus stop. While watching her mother, we learn all sorts of things about the mother and the girl's relationship with the mother. At the end of the story, the girl says, "I know that [my mother:] loves me and that she likes being around me, but a daughter can't touch a Mama the way a man can." Issues with a capital I! In the poem "I hate your Guts" – by Rebecca Strait –
there is more black rage coupled with black love:
"[I hate your guts:]
but your ass has
a life of its own;
nothing to do
with anything about my total disgust,
disregard and ambivalence towards you."
Wow! I didn't set out to write about every section of this book, but there is just really too much worthy, well written, thought-provoking work in this anthology to ignore. Do yourself a favor, buy this book— have a pen handy and a highlighter (if you are the type, like me, to mark up books). Read it with your eyes and ears open. Devour it!
PS: In Pittsburgh once I bumped into a girl with this anthology in her hand. I said to her, "Good book choice!" and she said, "We're reading it for class!" Yes, I shouted inside, invisible my foot!
Role Call: A Generational Anthology of Social & Political Black Literature & Art (published in 2002 and edited by Tony Medina, Samiya A. Bashir, and Quraysh Ali Lansana) is a molasses-thick book of art, poetry, essays, and stories divided into six titled sections (seven if you count section three which contains the contributors' bios). Section one: "What is the role of today's emerging young artists in the current struggle for equality and justice?" Section two: "How do the voices of the next generation define the issues and politics of today?" Section four is "An exploration of our current cultural landscape in poetry, fiction, essays, visual arts and theater-on-the-page." Section five is "A litmus test of – and call to arms – a generation grown fat on the limited freedoms won by the civil rights struggle." Section six "Takes on race, sexuality, education, nationalism, spirituality, AIDS, globalization, hip hop and the prison industrial complex." Section seven is "A journey through the tropics of black rage, black love and black fire." Heavy stuff, right? Some of the section titles sound like poetry and essays already. Don't, however, let the heaviness steer you away from what is one of the most delectable, well written, inspiring, poignant, collections of work I have come across in a long time.
"Welcome to today's thoughts and words. Welcome to young minds free and liberated enough to write, illustrate, think, act, publish and publicly state what is on their young fired up minds." These words belong to Haki R. Madhubuti (the author who penned the forward for this anthology). This anthology is just that: a fired-up generation with a lot to say. This is evident right away in the first section's first poem. The poem, written by Askhari, is called "I write."—
"Because somewhere in Soweto there is a small, brown girl who looks like me… She is hungry, like her sister in South Carolina."
Askhari's poem seems to answer the question that is posed in section one's title: "What is the role of today's emerging young artists in the current struggle for equality and justice?" Angela Shannon's poem "Dear Mama" answers the question, too, with her "…Mama when I am writing seems like fight enters my bones." Not to be left out, poet Kim Louise weighs in on the question, too, in her poem "Sticks and Stones." Kim Louise ponders the question and shoots back,
"Who says the page is silent?
my words scream
and sob, cackle and crash,
chatter and hiss … they scratch
deep itches. paper cuts come
from words."
In this section, on the page following Kim Louise's poem, there is a photograph (by Kim Mayhorn) of a square gasoline can that reads Silver Shell Motor Oil. On top of this can, at a libertine's angle, sits a hat (looks like a felt hat with a dark band around it just above the circular brim). The title: "A Woman was Lynched the Other Day…" It is clear, in the first section, that the artists feel that their role as artists is to speak up— to conjure up the old and then invite it to mingle with the new.
Another question is posed in section two: "How do the voices of the next generation define the issues and politics of today?" Morgan Michael Craft answers this question with a question:
"How do you start to talk about anything invisible? Cuz when was the last time you saw some music? Those markings on a page like this. That doesn't seem to be music … Sound, a heavy thing now/ notice how we don't have earlids, no real, natural protection from aural attack."
From this, then, it can be said that this generation of artists know the power of sound and they don't want to be just "markings on a page." They want to be heard— even when not speaking. So if you are a writer or a painter or a photographer and your means of conveyance is the page how can you be heard without even opening your mouth? You do what these artists in this anthology are doing— you make your work jump off the page; you immunize your work against invisibility with stanzas like:
"More than blood binds you. There is
the apple , bitten and browning."
(from Mendi Lewis Obadike's poem "Returned to Sender)
"Reba is a state child and what you call fast. She wears
short, tight, straight skirts and smokes cigarettes on the
corner …
The next thing I hear, Reba is pregnant and tries to kill
herself."
(From an untitled poem by Kate Rushin)
You tell it like it is the way Samiya A. Bashir does it in "Benrneatha's Story." Bashir writes (slashes and all):
"Mama always be wantin me to talk to her bout sumptin but I ain't never had nuthin to say/ come on 'Neatha/ talk to mama tell/ mama all about it/she say after she sell me off to Cadillac for a five dollar vile o' crack/ or any other mens what come in wit a 2 finger bottle of gin/ tell/ mama all about it she say/ n then she'd pass away into her snow covered dreams."
Talk about immunizing your work against invisibility! In section two, there is a painting (oil on canvas) called "My Environment" by Kraig A. Blue. The painting is of an African-American male wearing shades; there is an aerosol can sticking out of one ear; tree stumps are stuck in his sideburns and missiles are growing out of his head. Invisible, my foot!
Section four ("An exploration of our current cultural landscape in poetry, fiction, essays, visual arts and theater-on-the-page.") is my favorite section in the anthology— theater-on-the-page is right on! Kim Ranson's poem "Seven" reads like a play (reminiscent of Ntozake Shange's "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf")—
"Life promised her
played her
pimped her
ported her
here with me
more of the same
her funk thick
trippin' on a hit
to her vein
I'm seven.
…can't comb my hair
can't teach little sis how
can't clean
I feel dirty …"
I can see a seven-year-old child (boy or girl) sitting cross-legged in the center of the stage— bathed in spotlight with neck-veins showing, saying, "no one knows I got problems/ f's in conduct/ itching and smelling/ reading below grade level."
"On Days" – a poem written by Melissa McEwen – also reads like a play, but more like the instructions/descriptions before the actual play begins. Melissa McEwen writes:
"Concrete burns and heat smells
the streets are thick long
Cadillacs shake with soul music
foreheads and lips are Vaseline-d …"
The characters in the play are Mrs. Tullis, Francesca (along with her girls the Haitian twins) and the "men with dirty mouths [who:] gather like gnats in front of Corner Market & Deli." I see a stage as well when I read this poem. When Melissa McEwen writes that "[her:] bedroom is hot even with the windows wide open and the fan turned on high" and that her "radio on top of [her:] bible spits static" and that the "sun [is throwing:] patches of light onto the southwest corners of [her:] bed," I see the props in my head. I see the bedroom. I see, as clear as day, the radio (perhaps borrowed from the director's son) and the bible (perhaps borrowed from the director's mama). I thoroughly enjoyed this section of the anthology-- my highlighter went haywire!
In section five ("A litmus test of – and call to arms – a generation grown fat on the limited freedoms won by the civil rights struggle."), the titles say it all: "Warning," "The Escape," and "Try to Remember that South African Man." Section six ("Takes on race, sexuality, education, nationalism, spirituality, AIDS, globalization, hip hop and the prison industrial complex."), is summed up best by the poem called "Faggot" by Thomas Sayers Ellis—
"We nicknamed Robert
Robin because he played
with girls and memorized cheers,
preferred Home Economics to Shop.
In Gym he switched like them
and could control his strength,
hitting volleyballs with his wrist
to boys of his choice.
Like Somebody's sister,
he rolled his eyes and fought
with hands open, backing away,
kicking & scratching, a windmill of self-defense.
For this we called him punk,
faggot, sissy …"
This poem takes it all on— and that goes for most of the work in this book. In the final section, Section Seven ("A journey through the tropics of black rage, black love and black fire."), black rage and black love seem to share beds. Take the short, short story "Sarah Nell" written by Melissa McEwen. It tells of a young girl watching her mother walking to the bus stop. While watching her mother, we learn all sorts of things about the mother and the girl's relationship with the mother. At the end of the story, the girl says, "I know that [my mother:] loves me and that she likes being around me, but a daughter can't touch a Mama the way a man can." Issues with a capital I! In the poem "I hate your Guts" – by Rebecca Strait –
there is more black rage coupled with black love:
"[I hate your guts:]
but your ass has
a life of its own;
nothing to do
with anything about my total disgust,
disregard and ambivalence towards you."
Wow! I didn't set out to write about every section of this book, but there is just really too much worthy, well written, thought-provoking work in this anthology to ignore. Do yourself a favor, buy this book— have a pen handy and a highlighter (if you are the type, like me, to mark up books). Read it with your eyes and ears open. Devour it!
PS: In Pittsburgh once I bumped into a girl with this anthology in her hand. I said to her, "Good book choice!" and she said, "We're reading it for class!" Yes, I shouted inside, invisible my foot!
January 25, 2008
This isn't a review because I'm unable to be unbiased about it. I'm one of the authors featured in this book.
Read
August 18, 2008My earlier poems and a short story are in this anthology. Some cool artwork in here, too.
April 14, 2009
Very Import read!
Plus a ton of my work is in it!
Shameless self plug :)
Plus a ton of my work is in it!
Shameless self plug :)
July 10, 2009
a must read!
January 23, 2010
There is one essay in here - Sex When I Didn't Want It that blew my mind...
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews