Take a listen to a mini-bio on Zora Neal Hurston I composed for Chick History! You think you know Zora? You only know what she wants you to know...
#HerStory Blog: #HerStory 48: Zora Neale Hurston by Tonya Matthews...: Other listening options: Listen in a new window . Visit Archive.org to download an mp3 file . Subscribe through iTunes . Book Recom...
12 March 2011
Some things are missing...
So clearly, I am a terrible blogger! Ummm... 10 days in Kenya and you'd think nothing happened!
Or that I learned nothing.
Neither could be farther from the truth.
Perhaps, I should do some of this blogging in retrospect!
So let me tell you my thoughts on the bui bui (hijab, to the rest of the world) - the head to toe covering of some Muslim women.
Anyone who thinks that covering is by its very nature oppressive and diminuitive has clearly never stood near a woman wearing one. I'm telling you, the sisters are saw were bad. And it was not hard to see... cutting your eyes at other women coming down the street is a universal language! LOL.
In Lamu, the covered sisters were fierce. nails done hair done everythang done. Jeweled cuffs, chic handbags, gilded sandles - and the baddest eyeliner and mascara technique I've ever seen.
They laughed, they rolled eyes, they bargained bartered bantered...
At any rate. It's the woman in the bui bui, not the bui bui.
One.
Or that I learned nothing.
Neither could be farther from the truth.
Perhaps, I should do some of this blogging in retrospect!
So let me tell you my thoughts on the bui bui (hijab, to the rest of the world) - the head to toe covering of some Muslim women.
Anyone who thinks that covering is by its very nature oppressive and diminuitive has clearly never stood near a woman wearing one. I'm telling you, the sisters are saw were bad. And it was not hard to see... cutting your eyes at other women coming down the street is a universal language! LOL.
In Lamu, the covered sisters were fierce. nails done hair done everythang done. Jeweled cuffs, chic handbags, gilded sandles - and the baddest eyeliner and mascara technique I've ever seen.
They laughed, they rolled eyes, they bargained bartered bantered...
At any rate. It's the woman in the bui bui, not the bui bui.
One.
06 March 2011
Some things about children... are universal!
Went to a celebration last night - our welcome celebration! The students from the Girls and Boys school performed for us. I have to say... the girls killed it!! Ridiculous!!
And boys will be boys... and all that heart.
It is what it is!! Got to let the boys be boys.
Wrote a poem about it, like to hear it? Hear it go!
The Boys
the boys, ahh the boys
sometime before puberty takes over
but just about the time you can see it setting in
the boys
the girls have already memorized their lines
coordinated their movements
gone to competition
and won first place
last week
the boys? well, the boys
still learning the words
figuring out the movements
is that his line? yesterday
you could hear him yell 3 alleys down
and 4 houses over
but tonight, he barely whispers above the geckos
the boys, ahh the boys
just let them dance
forget the choreography
madame, just let them be
let them move like men
a wedding dance, a harvest dance
anything with a cane
give them a stick they can bang on the ground
tell manhood to come
quicker
for they are ready
in their own minds
almost
the boys, ahh the boys
And boys will be boys... and all that heart.
It is what it is!! Got to let the boys be boys.
Wrote a poem about it, like to hear it? Hear it go!
The Boys
the boys, ahh the boys
sometime before puberty takes over
but just about the time you can see it setting in
the boys
the girls have already memorized their lines
coordinated their movements
gone to competition
and won first place
last week
the boys? well, the boys
still learning the words
figuring out the movements
is that his line? yesterday
you could hear him yell 3 alleys down
and 4 houses over
but tonight, he barely whispers above the geckos
the boys, ahh the boys
just let them dance
forget the choreography
madame, just let them be
let them move like men
a wedding dance, a harvest dance
anything with a cane
give them a stick they can bang on the ground
tell manhood to come
quicker
for they are ready
in their own minds
almost
the boys, ahh the boys
04 March 2011
Kenya Travelogue - Day 1 (shoulda posted two days ago!
As I sit here 24 hrs, almost to the moment, of getting on a plane to start this trip, I have time for my first moment of “tell all.”
Truthfully, stuff was much more interesting about 10 hours ago, but I wasn’t in the mood! And didn’t have time to write. Yep. That was when a member of our travelling party lost their passport in Amsterdam. Uh-huh. (Stop giggling. It was a legitimate and completely understandable misplacement of a document that was ultimately recovered.) First of all, let me say, thank God for American Express – and I am not being sacrilegious. I truly mean it. I am ever so grateful for that slightest beacon of sanity amidst the chaos (drama, fear, and panic) of lost passports on foreign soil.
(When I called last week to tell Amex I’d be in Kenya, flying through Montreal and Amsterdam – so don’t shut down the card when you see the charges! kind of call – the representative directed me to the international number on the back of the card. She said, Call us if you need anything. If you lose your baggage, you’re covered – call us. If you have to update travel logistics midstream, call us. Lost documents? Call us. Need a wet team, drop squad, emergency air-evac? Call us.
Okay. I could be exaggerating a tad but, that’s what it sounded like she was saying to me. Felt like I had a Marine on standby in my wallet!
And when shinola hit the fan, “call us” turned out to be the best travel advice I had gotten all month! God save Amex. Seriously.)
Any way.
I’m in typical travel gear, which is to say, prioritizing comfort over pride! Though I did buy a whole new outfit for the plane ride (why, diva, why?) but it’s essentially a semi-fancy set of sweats. Ran out of time, couldn’t tame the fro, so I threw one of my biggest headwraps on it as I walked out the door. That wrap, it turns out, is a crowd favorite, with silver and gold highlights over a simple black and grey pattern.
I love being around international people. Yes, there is a bit of rudeness that pervades a good part of the EU (LOL) in certain areas, but there is also an expectation of radical diversity when you are out. By “radical,” I mean, you expect to see not just people of different colors, but different continents, multiple ethnicities and various faiths when you’re in a truly international airport.
I was stopped twice to inquire of my origin –folks kind of assumed they “knew” who/what I was. You know, those kinds of questions that have built in assumptions of the answers. The first, Are you Muslim? High compliment from a Pakistani man in an elevator. That I suppose is the headwrap combined with the long pants and swing sweater. The second, You’re from Somalia, yes? No, but thanks. I tend to think of the Somali’s as fine featured and smaller – but perhaps my 21 straight days of working out is really doing something!
I tend to smile when people say something that lets me know their thought process is basically, well, since she’s clearly not American, what could she be? I get that at home, as well as abroad. I suppose I enjoy those remarks because sometimes I feel that we Americans can be so rigid, so anti-culture, so still so pre-occupied with deciding on a “norm” and fitting everybody into it. It just breeds “inauthenticity.”
On the other hand, perhaps it’s really just a moment for me to be reminded that we truly are a global community and that includes Black folks, especially. And we’re all over. Like cousins. Just looking like each other and confusing passersby.
And that is a good and comforting thing, don’t you think?
Truthfully, stuff was much more interesting about 10 hours ago, but I wasn’t in the mood! And didn’t have time to write. Yep. That was when a member of our travelling party lost their passport in Amsterdam. Uh-huh. (Stop giggling. It was a legitimate and completely understandable misplacement of a document that was ultimately recovered.) First of all, let me say, thank God for American Express – and I am not being sacrilegious. I truly mean it. I am ever so grateful for that slightest beacon of sanity amidst the chaos (drama, fear, and panic) of lost passports on foreign soil.
(When I called last week to tell Amex I’d be in Kenya, flying through Montreal and Amsterdam – so don’t shut down the card when you see the charges! kind of call – the representative directed me to the international number on the back of the card. She said, Call us if you need anything. If you lose your baggage, you’re covered – call us. If you have to update travel logistics midstream, call us. Lost documents? Call us. Need a wet team, drop squad, emergency air-evac? Call us.
Okay. I could be exaggerating a tad but, that’s what it sounded like she was saying to me. Felt like I had a Marine on standby in my wallet!
And when shinola hit the fan, “call us” turned out to be the best travel advice I had gotten all month! God save Amex. Seriously.)
Any way.
I’m in typical travel gear, which is to say, prioritizing comfort over pride! Though I did buy a whole new outfit for the plane ride (why, diva, why?) but it’s essentially a semi-fancy set of sweats. Ran out of time, couldn’t tame the fro, so I threw one of my biggest headwraps on it as I walked out the door. That wrap, it turns out, is a crowd favorite, with silver and gold highlights over a simple black and grey pattern.
I love being around international people. Yes, there is a bit of rudeness that pervades a good part of the EU (LOL) in certain areas, but there is also an expectation of radical diversity when you are out. By “radical,” I mean, you expect to see not just people of different colors, but different continents, multiple ethnicities and various faiths when you’re in a truly international airport.
I was stopped twice to inquire of my origin –folks kind of assumed they “knew” who/what I was. You know, those kinds of questions that have built in assumptions of the answers. The first, Are you Muslim? High compliment from a Pakistani man in an elevator. That I suppose is the headwrap combined with the long pants and swing sweater. The second, You’re from Somalia, yes? No, but thanks. I tend to think of the Somali’s as fine featured and smaller – but perhaps my 21 straight days of working out is really doing something!
I tend to smile when people say something that lets me know their thought process is basically, well, since she’s clearly not American, what could she be? I get that at home, as well as abroad. I suppose I enjoy those remarks because sometimes I feel that we Americans can be so rigid, so anti-culture, so still so pre-occupied with deciding on a “norm” and fitting everybody into it. It just breeds “inauthenticity.”
On the other hand, perhaps it’s really just a moment for me to be reminded that we truly are a global community and that includes Black folks, especially. And we’re all over. Like cousins. Just looking like each other and confusing passersby.
And that is a good and comforting thing, don’t you think?
01 February 2011
Langston Ain't Dead
Seriously. I'd love to say more, but clearly I'm letting the ice rain get in the way of my productivity today - so I gotta make this quick.
Today is Langston Hughes' birthday. HOOray!
Happy Bday, bruh.
So I'm looking for a poem to tweet a line or two from and I found this poem.
OMG. Is he talking to me? Scratch that, is he sitting on my shoulder for every other meeting and dinner occasion I've had this month? Eavesdropping at book club perhaps?
All I can say is sankofa.
And this is why poet's will always have a job.
Dinner Guest: Me
by Langston Hughes
I know I am
The Negro Problem
Being wined and dined,
Answering the usual questions
That come to white mind
Which seeks demurely
To Probe in polite way
The why and wherewithal
Of darkness U.S.A.--
Wondering how things got this way
In current democratic night,
Murmuring gently
Over fraises du bois,
"I'm so ashamed of being white."
The lobster is delicious,
The wine divine,
And center of attention
At the damask table, mine.
To be a Problem on
Park Avenue at eight
Is not so bad.
Solutions to the Problem,
Of course, wait.
Today is Langston Hughes' birthday. HOOray!
Happy Bday, bruh.
So I'm looking for a poem to tweet a line or two from and I found this poem.
OMG. Is he talking to me? Scratch that, is he sitting on my shoulder for every other meeting and dinner occasion I've had this month? Eavesdropping at book club perhaps?
All I can say is sankofa.
And this is why poet's will always have a job.
Dinner Guest: Me
by Langston Hughes
I know I am
The Negro Problem
Being wined and dined,
Answering the usual questions
That come to white mind
Which seeks demurely
To Probe in polite way
The why and wherewithal
Of darkness U.S.A.--
Wondering how things got this way
In current democratic night,
Murmuring gently
Over fraises du bois,
"I'm so ashamed of being white."
The lobster is delicious,
The wine divine,
And center of attention
At the damask table, mine.
To be a Problem on
Park Avenue at eight
Is not so bad.
Solutions to the Problem,
Of course, wait.
29 July 2009
It is so real... (a stolen post from elsewhere!)
the tone is a lil' different... but thought you might enjoy. posted this as a blog for my other life. it's as close to an explanation of 'jahipster' as some folks will ever get...
It is five days post my 11-day poetry-storytelling blitzkrieg in Washington, D.C.and I am not fully recovered.
Ever tried to explain to somebody that you are exhausted from reciting poetry?People look at you sympathetically and purr about how "cool" that must have been; how much "fun" you had; and "oh... you must be tired" – but they don't really mean that last part.
But anyone else out there living a double-life, or even the synthesis of two lives, knows exactly what I'm talking about. No man can serve two masters. But Gen X tries really hard, don't we?
Thankfully, the new world order provides opportunities for synthesis,decreasing some of the stress of the double-life approach. Working in the educational non-profit sector has bridged the gap between my PhD and my drive to use it to educate, rather than lecture to, the masses. Furthermore, if you can find one of those almost hip, first-adopter bosses psyched by the idea of living vicariously through a diva vice president, you can even put "spoken word artist" in your job description.
So what's so tiring about all that? It's supported. It's paid. It comes with trips to DC and readings with American poetry icon Sonia Sanchez (who even remembers your name) and health insurance. It even makes you seem more human to your staff. Where is the strain in all that?
The mental shift.
The mental shift from idealistically practical management vision to a vision of practically idealistic empowerment is huge. Re-read that line. Carefully.
Consider these past two weeks as case study… My trip to Washington was part of my role as scholar-advisor to the Smithsonian FolklifeFestival. This year, the Giving Voice: The Power of Words in the African American Community component was not only being curatedby the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage, but also by the National Museum of African-American History and Culture (set to open on The Mall in a few years) whose liaison to the festival was John Franklin, as in son of the John Hope Franklin.
John Franklin and I have a relationship that dates back to my poet-life in Baltimore working on a major storytelling-poetry project for AARP, and a revived relationship in my work-life via an exhibition hosted by my new job in my new city.
So that's how I got on the advisory committee. Yes. That "who you know" thing works in the non-profit, save-the-babies-not-the-stock-market world of us tree huggers, too.
I up'd my work-life role of scholar advisor to synthesis-life role of scholar-advisor-performer through well-honed poet-life hustle skills. Rule #1: Always know how to talk yourself onto a stage.
Tired yet? Well, breath deep and grab a power drink because at that stage the real work hadn't even begun.
It isn't simply that this project required 8 months of pre-work advising the festival in conjunction with my daily duties at work. It isn't the fact that I did my first ever single-day turnaround – flying in at 6am for a full 10-hr work-life day and then flying back out that evening at 8pm to resume poet- and synthesis-life full throttle. It wasn't even the mad DC subway dash to Macy's(yes, Macy's) for a suit and heels required for an impromptu White House meeting on accessibility in the arts.
It is the mental gymnastics that will tire you out. Fundamentally, managing vision through a company – be it profit or social sector – is about competing in your realm to achieve greatness, irrespective of the impetus being arrogance or beneficence. Conversely, cultivating empowerment through art is about acknowledging every person's right to sing kumbaya loudly and giving them the tools to do so in the absence of competition for perfect pitch.
Granted, the gold standard in business is ethical, humanistic management and the pinnacle of art requires disciplined application of craft, but fundamentally we are talking about two very different personas through which you can interact with the world.
Can you imagine me slipping up? Can you see me in a staff meeting beaming with pride,tears of joy rolling down my face, as I rush to hug my Director of Public Programming for his artful balancing of the Culture Fest budget? Perhaps, you can draw a mental picture of me pausing between poetry sets to create a SWOT analysis of a moderately successful open-mic night and suggesting the emcee consider a Meyers-Briggs approach to managing wayward rappers.
This is not left brain-right brain. This is middle brain trying to prevent matter and anti-matter explosions… until we get a critical mass of double-lifers on the rocket ship. (And that's in addition to trying to figure out how I cover-up the afro from 9 to 5, and hide the cuffed Claiborne suiting after dark.)
No question about it: The folk festivals, open micnights, and underground think tanks across the country are fascinated by my ability to translate across worlds and consider it a valuable asset to mission and movement; conversely, CEOs and executive leadership teams consider my synthesis of double-lives a marketable asset that may ultimately allow dominance in service to non-traditional and 21st century audiences and consumers. It's good to be loved. And has the makings of an awesome resume.
But, this kind of shifting is tiring. Requires constant awareness and mental vigilance. It also requires difficult choices about who to be and when. Radical shifts in language and posture are called for in rapid succession. There are even times when you are expected to convey both existences simultaneously. This is a lot of work. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
So when you blog back, comment or stop me on the street – and I know you will because you've read all the way to the end – tell me about your double life.Tell me how you are or are not choosing to create synthesis and survival mechanisms.Tell me about the double life you are thinking about creating. Because you know us avant-garde, next gen, double-life synthesizers: we're always looking for new tips… and new lives.
05 July 2009
Four Things I've Learned at the Folklife Festival
#1 I learned two new stories. I am pretty serious about this training to be a storyteller thing - my dues to NABS, notwithstanding. (National.Association.of.Black.Storytellers) One about two sisters... definitely requires a slightly older audience and some finesse on the lesson. And one about King Hippo - which I have already told differently twice.
#2 I learned that Sister Sanchez is emboldened and comforted by the work I am my contemporaries are doing. I have known for some time that she is really into the work of building supporting loving young writers, young poets, young black people. But to hear her specifically reference me and other folks I knew was a whole other experience. (and a reminder that i need to stay on my game... for a reason. there is much work to do.)
#3 I learned a new concept around "technology." In chatting with Baba Teju (one of the storytellers who has done some major training as a healer-warrior during his extended stay in Africa in which he discovered he was the oldest living male of his tribe... so that made him chief... a whole other story. i digress...), he alluded to the various technologies associated with particular cultures. The Europeans as "mechanical" technology; Chinese as "body" technology; Native Americans as "nature" technology; and Africans as "spiritual" technology. He, of course, was focusing on the loss or manipulation or disavowing of African spiritual technology by black people... but I began ruminating. So... if you have the keepers or teachers or "naturals" of particular technologies... and each of these technologies is powerful, but none of them are particularly self-sufficient to builing or healing a world... doesn't this work as an alternate ending to the story of what we lost via the tower of Babylon? What if it was the separation of technologies, not the separation of languages... and therefore, in order to evolve and move the planet forward, all the people would have to come together to reunite the technologies into our "whole." hmmm....
#4 I learned I am beautiful in Columbia. Because I now have two Columbian stalkers (and at least ten gawkers and yesmen). Stalkers are never good ... but this has been a clear indication that "I" (meaning what I represent, my general look) am still the standard of beauty somewhere. It has been quite...reinforcing. Yes, we have "These Hips" and, sure, there is "AFRODITE", and .... yes, sisters can compliment each other and write odes to ourselves all daggone day. But there is always something special added to your day when a brother tells you that you are beautiful. And, for whatever reason... that just doesn't happen enough.
#2 I learned that Sister Sanchez is emboldened and comforted by the work I am my contemporaries are doing. I have known for some time that she is really into the work of building supporting loving young writers, young poets, young black people. But to hear her specifically reference me and other folks I knew was a whole other experience. (and a reminder that i need to stay on my game... for a reason. there is much work to do.)
#3 I learned a new concept around "technology." In chatting with Baba Teju (one of the storytellers who has done some major training as a healer-warrior during his extended stay in Africa in which he discovered he was the oldest living male of his tribe... so that made him chief... a whole other story. i digress...), he alluded to the various technologies associated with particular cultures. The Europeans as "mechanical" technology; Chinese as "body" technology; Native Americans as "nature" technology; and Africans as "spiritual" technology. He, of course, was focusing on the loss or manipulation or disavowing of African spiritual technology by black people... but I began ruminating. So... if you have the keepers or teachers or "naturals" of particular technologies... and each of these technologies is powerful, but none of them are particularly self-sufficient to builing or healing a world... doesn't this work as an alternate ending to the story of what we lost via the tower of Babylon? What if it was the separation of technologies, not the separation of languages... and therefore, in order to evolve and move the planet forward, all the people would have to come together to reunite the technologies into our "whole." hmmm....
#4 I learned I am beautiful in Columbia. Because I now have two Columbian stalkers (and at least ten gawkers and yesmen). Stalkers are never good ... but this has been a clear indication that "I" (meaning what I represent, my general look) am still the standard of beauty somewhere. It has been quite...reinforcing. Yes, we have "These Hips" and, sure, there is "AFRODITE", and .... yes, sisters can compliment each other and write odes to ourselves all daggone day. But there is always something special added to your day when a brother tells you that you are beautiful. And, for whatever reason... that just doesn't happen enough.
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