ChickenBones: A Journal
for Literary & Artistic African-American Themes
Negro folklore is not a thing of the past. It is still in the making. Its great variety shows the adaptability
of the black man: nothing is too old or too new, domestic or foreign, high or low, for his use. God
and the Devil are paired, and are treated no more reverently than Rockefeller and Ford.
Books by Zora Neale Hurston
* * * * *
The Characteristics of Negro Expression
By Zora Neale Hurston
The Negro’s universal mimicry is not so much a thing in itself as an evidence of something that permeates his entire self. And that thing is drama.
His very words are action words. His interpretation of the English language is in terms of pictures. One act described in terms of another. Hence the rich metaphor and simile.
The metaphor is of course very primitive. It is easier to illustrate than it is to explain because action came before speech. Let us make a parallel. Language is like money. In primitive communities actual goods, however bulky, are bartered for what one wants. This finally evolves into coin, the coin being not real wealth but a symbol of wealth. Still later even coin is abandoned for legal tender, and still later for cheques in certain usages.
Every phase of Negro life is highly dramatised. No matter how joyful or how sad the case there is sufficient poise for drama. Everything is acted out. Unconsciously for the most part of course. There is an impromptu ceremony always ready for every hour of life. No little moment passes unadorned.
Now the people with highly developed languages have words for detached ideas. That is legal tender. “That-which-we-squat-on” has become “chair.” “Groan-causer” has evolved into “spear,” and so on. Some individuals even conceive of the equivalent of cheque words, like “ideation” and “pleonastic.”
The primitive man exchanges descriptive words. His terms are all close fitting. Frequently the Negro, even with detached words in his vocabularynot evolved in him but transplanted on his tongue by contactmust add action to it to make it do. So we have “chop-axe,” “sitting-chair,” “cook-pot” and the like because the speaker has in his mind the picture of the object in use. Action. Everything illustrated. So we can say the white man thinks in a written language and the Negro thinks in hieroglyphics.
A bit of Negro drama familiar to all is the frequent meeting of two opponents who threaten to do atrocious murder one upon the other. Who has not observed a robust young Negro chap posing upon a street corner, possessed of nothing but his clothing, his strength and his youth? Does he bear himself like a pauper? No, Louis XIV could be no more insolent in his assurance. His eyes say plainly “Female, halt!” His posture exults “Ah, female, I am the eternal male, the giver of life. Behold in my hot flesh all the delights of this world. Salute me, I am strength.” All this with a languid posture, there is no mistaking his meaning.
A Negro girl strolls past the corner lounger. Her whole body panging* [* from “pang”] and posing. A slight shoulder movement that calls attention to her bust, that is all of a dare. A hippy undulation below the waist that is a sheaf of promises tied with conscious power. She is acting out “I’m a darned sweet woman and you know it.”
These little plays by strolling players are acted out daily in a dozen streets in a thousand cities, and no one ever mistakes the meaning.
Will to Adorn
The will to adorn is the second most notable characteristic in Negro expression. Perhaps his idea of ornament does not attempt to meet conventional standards, but it satisfies the soul of its creator.
In this respect the American Negro has done wonders to the English language. It has often been stated by etymologists that the Negro has introduced no African words to the language. This is true, but it is equally true that he has made over a great part of the tongue to his liking and has had his revision accepted by the ruling class. No one listening to a Southern white man talk could deny this. Not only has he softened and toned down strongly consonanted words like “aren’t ” to “aint ” and the like, he has made new force words out of old feeble elements. Examples of this are “ham-shanked,” “battle-hammed,” “double-teen,” “bodaciously,” “muffle-jawed.”
But the Negro’s greatest contribution to the language is: (1) the use of metaphor and simile; (2) the use of the double descriptive; (3) the use of verbal nouns.
1. Metaphor and Simile
One at a time, like lawyers going to heaven. You sho is propaganda. Sobbing hearted. I’ll beat you till: (a) rope like okra, (b) slack like lime, (c) smell like onions. Fatal for naked. Kyting along. That’s a rope. Cloakersdeceivers.
Regular as pig-tracks. Mule bloodblack molasses. That’s a lynch. Syndicatinggossiping. Flambeauxcheap cafe (lighted by flambeaux). To put yo’self on de ladder.
2. The Double Descriptive
High-tall. Little-tee-ninchy (tiny). Low-down. Top-superior. Sham-polish. Lady-people.
Kill-dead. Hot-boiling. Chop-axe. Sitting-chairs. De watch wall. Speedy-hurry. More great and more better.
3. Verbal Nouns
She features somebody I know. Funeralize. Sense me into it. Puts the shamery on him. ‘Taint everybody you kin confidence. I wouldn’t friend with her. Jookingplaying piano or guitar as it is done in Jook–houses (houses of ill-fame). Uglying away. I wouldn’t scorn my name all up on you. Bookooing (beaucoup) aroundshowing off. Won’t stand a broke. She won’t take a listen. He won’t stand straightening. That is such a compliment.
That’s a lynch.
The stark, trimmed phrases of the Occident seem too bare for the voluptuous child of the sun, hence the adornment. It arises out of the same impulse as the wearing of jewelry and the making of sculpturethe urge to adorn.
On the walls of the homes of the average Negro one always finds a glut of gaudy calendars, wall pockets, and advertising lithographs. The sophisticated white man or Negro would tolerate none of these, even if they bore a likeness to the Mona Lisa. No commercial art for decoration. Nor the calendar nor the advertisement spoils the picture for this lowly man. He sees the beauty in spite of the declaration of the Portland Cement Works or the butcher’s announcement. I saw in Mobile a room in which there was an over-stuffed mohair living-room suite, an imitation mahogany bed and chifferobe, a console victrola. The walls were gaily papered with Sunday supplements of the Mobile Register. There were seven calendars and three wall pockets. One of them was decorated with a lace doily. The mantel-shelf was covered with a scarf of deep home-made lace, looped up with a huge bow of pink crepe paper. Over the door was a huge lithograph showing the Treaty of Versailles being signed with a Waterman fountain pen.
It was grotesque, yes. But it indicated the desire for beauty. And decorating a decoration, as in the case of the doily on the gaudy wall pocket, did not seem out of place to the hostess. The feeling back of such an act is that there can never be enough of beauty, let alone too much. Perhaps she is right. We each have our standards of art, and thus are we all interested parties and so unfit to pass judgment upon the art concepts of others.
Whatever the Negro does of his own volition he embellishes. His religious service is for the greater part excellent prose poetry. Both prayers and sermons are tooled and polished until they are true works of art. The supplication is forgotten in the frenzy of creation. The prayer of the white man is considered humorous in its bleakness. The beauty of the Old Testament does not exceed that of a Negro prayer.
After adornment the next most striking manifestation of the Negro is Angularity. Everything that he touches becomes angular. In all African sculpture and doctrine of any sort we find the same thing.
Anyone watching Negro dancers will be struck by the same phenomenon. Every posture is another angle. Pleasing, yes. But an effect achieved by the very means which an European strives to avoid.
The pictures on the walls are hung at deep angles. Furniture is always set at an angle. I have instances of a piece of furniture in the middle of a wall being set with one end nearer the wall than the other to avoid the simple straight line.
Asymmetry is a definite feature of Negro art. I have no samples of true Negro painting unless we count the African shields, but the sculpture and carvings are full of this beauty and lack of symmetry. It is present in the literature, both prose and verse. I offer an example of this quality in verse from Langston Hughes:
I aint gonna mistreat ma good gal any more, I’m just gonna kill her next time she makes me sore. I treats her kind but she don’t do me right, She fights and quarrels most ever’ night. I can’t have no woman’s got such low-down ways Cause de blue gum woman aint de style now’days. I brought her from the South and she’s goin on back, Else I’ll use her head for a carpet tack.
It is the lack of symmetry which makes Negro dancing so difficult for white dancers to learn. The abrupt and unexpected changes. The frequent change of key and time are evidences of this quality in music. (Note the St. Louis Blues.)
The dancing of the justly famous Bo-Jangles and Snake Hips are excellent examples.
The presence of rhythm and lack of symmetry are paradoxical, but there they are. Both are present to a marked degree. There is always rhythm, but it is the rhythm of segments. Each unit has a rhythm of its own, but when the whole is assembled it is lacking in symmetry. But easily workable to a Negro who is accustomed to the break in going from one part to another, so that he adjusts himself to the new tempo.
Negro dancing is dynamic suggestion. No matter how violent it may appear to the beholder, every posture gives the impression that the dancer will do much more. For example, the performer flexes one knee sharply, assumes a ferocious face mask, thrusts the upper part of the body forward with clenched fists, elbows taut as in hard running or grasping a thrusting blade. That is all. But the spectator himself adds the picture of ferocious assault, hears the drums, and finds himself keeping time with the music and tensing himself for the struggle. It is compelling insinuation. That is the very reason the spectator is held so rapt. He is participating in the performance himselfcarrying out the suggestions of the performer.
The difference in the two arts is: the white dancer attempts to express fully; the Negro is restrained, but succeeds in gripping the beholder by forcing him to finish the action the performer suggests. Since no art ever can express all the variations conceivable, the Negro must be considered the greater artist, his dancing is realistic suggestion, and that is about all a great artist can do.
Negro folklore is not a thing of the past. It is still in the making. Its great variety shows the adaptability of the black man: nothing is too old or too new, domestic or foreign, high or low, for his use. God and the Devil are paired, and are treated no more reverently than Rockefeller and Ford. Both of these men are prominent in folklore, Ford being particularly strong, and they talk and act like good-natured stevedores or mill-hands. Ole Massa is sometimes a smart man and often a fool. The automobile is ranged alongside of the oxcart. The angels and the apostles walk and talk like section hands. And through it all walks Jack, the greatest culture hero of the South; Jack beats them alleven the Devil, who is often smarter than God.
The Devil is next after Jack as a culture hero. He can out-smart everyone but Jack. God is absolutely no match for him. He is good-natured and full of humour. The sort of person one may count on to help out in any difficulty.
Peter the Apostle is the third in importance. One need not look far for the explanation. The Negro is not a Christian really. The primitive gods are not deities of too subtle inner reflection; they are hardworking bodies who serve their devotees just as laboriously as the suppliant serves them. Gods of physical violence, stopping at nothing to serve their followers. Now of all the apostles Peter is the most active. When the other ten fell back trembling in the garden, Peter wielded the blade on the posse. Peter first and foremost in all action. The gods of no peoples have been philosophic until the people themselves have approached that state.
The rabbit, the bear, the lion, the buzzard, the fox are culture heroes from the animal world. The rabbit is far in the lead of all the others and is blood brother to Jack. In short, the trickster-hero of West Africa has been transplanted to America.
John Henry is a culture hero in song, but no more so than Stacker Lee, Smokey Joe, or Bad Lazarus. There are many, many Negroes who have never heard of any of the song heroes, but none who do not know John (Jack) and the rabbit.
Examples of Folklore and the Modern Culture Hero
Why de Porpoise’s Tail is on Crosswise
Now, I want to tell you ’bout de porpoise. God had done made de world and everything. He set de moon and de stars in de sky. He got de fishes of de sea, and de fowls of de air completed. He made de sun and hung it up. Then He made a nice gold track for it to run on. Then He said, “Now, Sun, I got everything made but Time. That’s up to you. I want you to start out and go round de world on dis track just as fast as you kin make it. And de time it takes you to go and come, I’m going to call day and night.” De Sun went zoomin’ on cross de elements. Now, de porpoise was hanging round there and heard God what he tole de Sun, so he decided he’d take dat trip round de world hisself. He looked up and saw de Sun kytin’ along, so he lit out too, him and dat Sun!
So de porpoise beat de Sun round de world by one hour and three minutes. So God said, “Aw naw, this aint gointer do! I didn’t mean for no thin’ to be faster than de Sun!” So God run dat porpoise for three days before he run him down and caught him, and took his tail off and put it on crossways to slow him up. Still he’s de fastest thing in de water. And dat’s why de porpoise got his tail on crossways.
Rockefeller and Ford
Once John D. Rockefeller and Henry Ford was woofing at each other. Rockefeller told Henry Ford he could build a solid gold road round the world. Henry Ford told him if he would he would look at it and see if he liked it, and if he did he would buy it and put one of his tin lizzies on it.
It has been said so often that the Negro is lacking in originality that it has almost become a gospel. Outward signs seem to bear this out. But if one looks closely its falsity is immediately evident.
It is obvious that to get back to original sources is much too difficult for any group to claim very much as a certainty. What we really mean by originality is the modification of ideas. The most ardent admirer of the great Shakespeare cannot claim first source even for him. It is his treatment of the borrowed material.
So if we look at it squarely, the Negro is a very original being. While he lives and moves in the midst of a white civilisation, everything that he touches is re-interpreted for his own use. He has modified the language, mode of food preparation, practice of medicine, and most certainly the religion of his new country, just as he adapted to suit himself the Sheik hair-cut made famous by Rudolph Valentino.
Everyone is familiar with the Negro’s modification of the whites’ musical instruments, so that his interpretation has been adopted by the white man himself and then re-interpreted. In so many words, Paul Whiteman is giving an imitation of a Negro orchestra making use of white-invented musical instruments in a Negro way. Thus has arisen a new art in the civilised world, and thus has our so-called civilisation come. The exchange and re-exchange of ideas between groups.
The Negro, the world over, is famous as a mimic. But this in no way damages his standing as an original. Mimicry is an art in itself. If it is not, then all art must fall by the same blow that strikes it down. When sculpture, painting, acting, dancing, literature neither reflect nor suggest anything in nature or human experience we turn away with a dull wonder in our hearts at why the thing was done. Moreover, the contention that the Negro imitates from a feeling of inferiority is incorrect. He mimics for the love of it. The group of Negroes who slavishly imitate is small. The average Negro glories in his ways. The highly educated Negro the same.
The self-despisement lies in a middle class who scorns to do or be anything Negro. “That’s just like a Nigger” is the most terrible rebuke one can lay upon this kind. He wears drab clothing, sits through a boresome church service, pretends to have no interest in the community, holds beauty contests, and otherwise apes all the mediocrities of the white brother. The truly cultured Negro scorns him, and the Negro “farthest down” is too busy “spreading his junk” in his own way to see or care. He likes his own things best.
Even the group who are not Negroes but belong to the “sixth race,” buy such records as “Shake dat thing” and “Tight lak dat.” They really enjoy hearing a good bible-beater preach, but wild horses could drag no such admission from them. Their ready-made expression is: “We done got away from all that now.” Some refuse to countenance Negro music on the grounds that it is niggerism, and for that reason should be done away with. Roland Hayes was thoroughly denounced for singing spirituals until he was accepted by white audiences. Langston Hughes is not considered a poet by this group because he writes of the man in the ditch, who is more numerous and real among us than any other.
But, this group aside, let us say that the art of mimicry is better developed in the Negro than in other racial groups. He does it as the mocking-bird does it, for the love of it, and not because he wishes to be like the one imitated. I saw a group of small Negro boys imitating a cat defecating and the subsequent toilet of the cat. It was very realistic, and they enjoyed it as much as if they had been imitating a coronation ceremony. The dances are full of imitations of various animals. The buzzard lope, walking the dog, the pig’s hind legs, holding the mule, elephant squat, pigeon’s wing, falling off the log, seaboard (imitation of an engine starting), and the like.
Absence of the Concept of Privacy
It is said that Negroes keep nothing secret, that they have no reserve. This ought not to seem strange when one considers that we are an outdoor people accustomed to communal life. Add this to all permeating drama and you have the explanation.
There is no privacy in an African village. Loves, fights, possessions are, to misquote Woodrow Wilson, “Open disagreements openly arrived at.” The community is given the benefit of a good fight as well as a good wedding. An audience is a necessary part of any drama. We merely go with nature rather than against it.
Discord is more natural than accord. If we accept the doctrine of the survival of the fittest there are more fighting honors than there are honors for other achievements. Humanity places premiums on all things necessary to its well-being, and a valiant and good fighter is valuable in any community. So why hide the light under a bushel? Moreover, intimidation is a recognised part of warfare the world over, and threats certainly must be listed under that head.
So that a great threatener must certainly be considered an aid to the fighting machine. So then if a man or woman is a facile hurler of threats, why should he or she not show their wares to the community? Hence the holding of all quarrels and fights in the open. One relieves one’s pent-up anger and at the same time earns laurels in intimidation. Besides, one does the community a service. There is nothing so exhilarating as watching well-matched opponents go into action. The entire world likes action, for that matter. Hence prize-fighters become millionaires.
Likewise love-making is a biological necessity the world over and an art among Negroes. So that a man or woman who is proficient sees no reason why the fact should not be moot. He swaggers. She struts hippily about. Songs are built on the power to charm beneath the bed-clothes. Here again we have individuals striving to excel in what the community considers an art. Then if all of his world is seeking a great lover, why should he not speak right out loud?
It is all in a view-point. Love-making and fighting in all their branches are high arts, other things are arts among other groups where they brag about their proficiency just as brazenly as we do about these things that others consider matters for conversation behind closed doors. At any rate, the white man is despised by Negroes as a very poor fighter individually, and a very poor lover. One Negro, speaking of white men, said, “White folks is alright when dey gits in de bank and on de law bench, but dey sho’ kin lie about wimmen folks.”
I pressed him to explain. “Well you see, white mens makes out they marries wimmen to look at they eyes, and they know they gits em for just what us gits em for. ‘Nother thing, white mens say they goes clear round de world and wins all de wimmen folks way from they men folks. Dat’s a lie too. They don’t win nothin, they buys em. Now de way I figgers it, if a woman don’t want me enough to be wid me, ‘thout I got to pay her, she kin rock right on, but these here white men don’t know what to do wid a woman when they gits herdat’s how come they gives they wimmen so much. They got to. Us wimmen works jus as hard as us does an come home an sleep wid us every night. They own wouldn’t do it and its de mens fault. Dese white men done fooled theyself bout dese wimmen.
“Now me, I keeps me some wimmens all de time. Dat’s whut dey wuz put here forus mens to use. Dat’s right now, Miss. Y’all wuz put here so us mens could have some pleasure. Course I don’t run round like heap uh men folks. But if my ole lady go way from me and stay more’n two weeks, I got to git me somebody, aint I?”
Jook is the word for a Negro pleasure house. It may mean a bawdy house. It may mean the house set apart on public works where the men and women dance, drink and gamble. Often it is a combination of all these.
In past generations the music was furnished by “boxes,” another word for guitars. One guitar was enough for a dance; to have two was considered excellent. Where two were playing one man played the lead and the other seconded him. The first player was “picking” and the second was “framming,” that is, playing chords while the lead carried the melody by dexterous finger work. Sometimes a third player was added, and he played tom-tom effect on the low strings. Believe it or not, this is excellent dance music.
Pianos soon came to take the place of the boxes, and now player-pianos and victrolas are in all of the Jooks.
Musically speaking, the Jook is the most important place in America. For in its smelly, shoddy confines has been born the secular music known as blues, and on blues has been founded jazz. The singing and playing in the true Negro style is called “jooking.”
The songs grow by incremental repetition as they travel from mouth to mouth and from Jook to Jook for years before they reach outside ears. Hence the great variety of subject-matter in each song.
The Negro dances circulated over the world were also conceived inside the Jooks. They too make the round of Jooks and public works before going into the outside world.
In this respect it is interesting to mention the Black Bottom. I have read several false accounts of its origin and name. One writer claimed that it got its name from the black sticky mud on the bottom of the Mississippi river. Other equally absurd statements gummed the press. Now the dance really originated in the Jook section of Nashville, Tennessee, around Fourth Avenue. This is a tough neighbourhood known as Black Bottomhence the name.
The Charleston is perhaps forty years old, and was danced up and down the Atlantic seaboard from North Carolina to Key West, Florida.
The Negro social dance is slow and sensuous. The idea in the Jook is to gain sensation, and not so much exercise. So that just enough foot movement is added to keep the dancers on the floor. A tremendous sex stimulation is gained from this. But who is trying to avoid it? The man, the woman, the time and the place have met. Rather, little intimate names are indulged in to heap fire on fire.
These too have spread to all the world.
The Negro theatre, as built up by the Negro, is based on Jook situations, with women, gambling, fighting, drinking. Shows like “Dixie to Broadway” are only Negro in cast, and could just as well have come from pre-Soviet Russia.
Another interesting thingNegro shows before being tampered with did not specialise in octoroon chorus girls. The girl who could hoist a Jook song from her belly and lam it against the front door of the theatre was the lead, even if she were as black as the hinges of hell. The question was “Can she jook?” She must also have a good belly wobble, and her hips must, to quote a popular work song, “Shake like jelly all over and be so broad, Lawd, Lawd, and be so broad.” So that the bleached chorus is the result of a white demand and not the Negro’s.
The woman in the Jook may be nappy headed and black, but if she is a good lover she gets there just the same. A favorite Jook song of the past has this to say
Singer: It aint good looks dat takes you through dis world.
Audience: What is it, good mama?
Singer: Elgin [“Elegant (?)” from the Elgin watch [Ed.]] movements in your hips. Twenty years guarantee.
And it always brought down the house too.
Oh de white gal rides in a Cadillac, De yaller gal rides de same, Black gal rides in a rusty Ford But she gits dere just de same.
The sort of woman her men idealise is the type that is put forth in the theatre. The art-creating Negro prefers a not too thin woman, who can shake like jelly all over as she dances and sings, and that is the type he put forth on the stage. She has been banished by the white producer and the Negro who takes his cue from the white.
Of course a black woman is never the wife of the upper class Negro in the North. This state of affairs does not obtain in the South, however. I have noted numerous cases where the wife was considerably darker than the husband. People of some substance, too.
This scornful attitude towards black women receives mouth sanction by the mudsills. Even on the works and in the Jooks the black man sings disparagingly of black women. They say that she is evil. That she sleeps with her fists doubled up and ready for action. All over they are making a little drama of waking up a yaller [yellow: light, mulatto]wife and a black one.
A man is lying beside his yaller wife and wakes her up. She says to him, “Darling, do you know what I was dreaming when you woke me up?” He says, “No honey, what was you dreaming?” She says, “I dreamt I had done cooked you a big, fine dinner and we was setting down to eat out de same plate and I was setting on yo’ lap jus huggin you and kissin you and you was so sweet.”
Wake up a black woman, and before you kin git any sense into her she be done up and lammed you over the head four or five times. When you git her quiet she’ll say, “Nigger, know whut I was dreamin when you woke me up?”
You say, “No honey, what was you dreamin?” She says, “I dreamt you shook yo’ rusty fist under my nose and I split yo’ head open wid a axe.”
But in spite of disparaging fictitious drama, in real life the black girl is drawing on his account at the commissary. Down in the Cypress Swamp as he swings his axe he chants
Dat ole black gal, she keep on grumblin, New pair shoes, new pair shoes, I’m goint to buy her shoes and stockings Slippers too, slippers too.
Then adds aside : “Blacker de berry, sweeter de juice.”
To be sure the black gal is still in power, men are still cutting and shooting their way to her pillow. To the queen of the Jook!
Speaking of the influence of the Jook, I noted that Mae West in Sex had much more flavor of the turpentine quarters than she did of the white bawd. I know that the piece she played on the piano is a very old Jook composition. “Honey let yo’ drawers hang low” had been played and sung in every Jook in the South for at least thirty-five years. It has always puzzled me why she thought it likely to be played in a Canadian bawdy house.
Speaking of the use of Negro material by white performers, it is astonishing that so many are trying it, and I have never seen one yet entirely realistic. They often have all the elements of the song, dance, or expression, but they are misplaced or distorted by the accent falling on the wrong element. Every one seems to think that the Negro is easily imitated when nothing is further from the truth. Without exception I wonder why the black-face comedians are black-face; it is a puzzlegood comedians, but darn poor niggers. Gershwin and the other “Negro” rhapsodists come under this same axe. Just about as Negro as caviar or Ann Pennington’s athletic Black Bottom. When the Negroes who knew the Black Bottom in its cradle saw the Broadway version they asked each other, “Is you learnt dat new Black Bottom yet?” Proof that it was not their dance.
And God only knows what the world has suffered from the white damsels who try to sing Blues.
The Negroes themselves have sinned also in this respect. In spite of the goings up and down on the earth, from the original Fisk Jubilee Singers down to the present, there has been no genuine presentation of Negro songs to white audiences. The spirituals that have been sung around the world are Negroid to be sure, but so full of musicians’ tricks that Negro congregations are highly entertained when they hear their old songs so changed. They never use the new style songs, and these are never heard unless perchance some daughter or son has been off to college and returns with one of the old songs with its face lifted, so to speak.
I am of the opinion that this trick style of delivery was originated by the Fisk Singers; Tuskegee and Hampton followed suit and have helped spread this misconception of Negro spirituals. This Glee Club style has gone on so long and become so fixed among concert singers that it is considered quite authentic. But I say again, that not one concert singer in the world is singing the songs as the Negro song-makers sing them.
If anyone wishes to prove the truth of this let him step into some unfashionable Negro church and hear for himself.
To those who want to institute the Negro theatre, let me say it is already established. It is lacking in wealth, so it is not seen in the high places. A creature with a white head and Negro feet struts the Metropolitan boards. The real Negro theatre is in the Jooks and the cabarets. Self-conscious individuals may turn away the eye and say, “Let us search elsewhere for our dramatic art.” Let ’em search. They certainly won’t find it. Butter Beans and Susie, Bo-Jangles and Snake Hips are the only performers of the real Negro school it has ever been my pleasure to behold in New York.
If we are to believe the majority of writers of Negro dialect and the burnt-cork artists, Negro speech is a weird thing, full of “ams” and “Ises.” Fortunately we don’t have to believe them. We may go directly to the Negro and let him speak for himself.
I know that I run the risk of being damned as an infidel for declaring that nowhere can be found the Negro who asks “am it?” nor yet his brother who announces “Ise uh gwinter.” He exists only for a certain type of writers and performers.
Very few Negroes, educated or not, use a clear clipped “I.” It verges more or less upon “Ah.” I think the lip form is responsible for this to a great extent. By experiment the reader will find that a sharp “i” is very much easier with a thin taut lip than with a full soft lip. Like tightening violin strings.
If one listens closely one will note too that a word is slurred in one position in the sentence but clearly pronounced in another. This is particularly true of the pronouns. A pronoun as a subject is likely to be clearly enunciated, but slurred as an object. For example: “You better not let me ketch yuh.”
There is a tendency in some localities to add the “h” to “it” and pronounce it “hit.” Probably a vestige of old English. In some localities “if ” is “ef.”
In story telling “so” is universally the connective. It is used even as an introductory word, at the very beginning of a story. In religious expression “and” is used. The trend in stories is to state conclusions; in religion, to enumerate.
I am mentioning only the most general rules in dialect because there are so many quirks that belong only to certain localities that nothing less than a volume would be adequate.
* * * * *
Zora Neale Hurston, folklorist and writer, became a central figure in the Harlem Renaissance. Hurston was born and educated in Eatonville, Florida, the first incorporated black city in the United States. At the age of 16, she left her home to work with a traveling theatrical company. The company ended up in New York City , where Hurston studied anthropology at Columbia University. She then attended Howard University as well as Barnard College.
In 1931, Hurston collaborated with Langston Hughes to write the play Mule Bone: A Comedy of Negro Life in Three Acts. She wrote her most acclaimed work, Their Eyes Were Watching God in 1937. After writing her autobiography (Dust Tracks on a Road) in 1942, she went on to teach at what is now North Carolina Central University. Her work, revived by feminists in the 1970s, has gained her considerable recognition as one of the most important black writers in American history.
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By Robert E. Hemenway (Author) / Foreword by Alice Walker
Zora Neale Hurstonnovelist, folklorist, anthropologist, and child of the rural black Southtransformed each hour of her life into something bubbling, exuberant, and brimming with her joy in just being. Robert Hemenway captures the effervescence of this daughter of the Harlem Renaissance in his brilliant and original literary biography. He provides for the first time a full length study of Hurston’s life and art, using unpublished letters and manuscripts and personal interviews with many who knew her.
His sensitive reconstruction of Miss Hurston’s life details her two marriages, her relations with her patron, Mrs. R. Osgood Mason, her mentor, Franz Boas, and her friend Langston Hughes; her indictment on a morals charge in 1948; and the sad, final years leading to her death as a penniless occupant of a Florida welfare home. But most important, his interpretation of her art and scholarship, including her extraordinary novels, autobiography, and popular treatment of black folkways, underscores her deep and abiding commitment to the black folk tradition.
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Charley Patton (1891-1934)
Grandfather of Rock ‘n’ Roll
Charlie Patton born Mississippi, April 1891 was an experienced performer of songs before he was twenty years old and was first recorded (Thankfully) in 1929. His influence is everywhere and was arguably the first of the greats. An influence on Son House, Tommy Johnson, Bukka White and without doubt Howlin’ Wolf. We have to thank archivists, the likes of Harry Smith, that we can hear these inimitable songs today.
Some people tell me, oversea blues ain’t bad
It must not been the oversea blues I had
Everyday seem like murder here
(My god, I’m no sheriff)
I’m going to leave tomorrow,
I know you don’t bid my care
I ain’t going down no dirt road by myself
If I don’t carry my rider, going to carry someone else
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I’m going away to where I’m known
I’m worried now but I won’t be worried long
My rider got somethin’ she try to keep it hid
Lord, I got somethin’ find that somethin’ with
I feel like chopping, chips flying everywhere
I’ve been to the Nation, lord, but I couldn’t stay there
Charlie Patton was the first great Delta bluesman; from him flowed nearly all the elements that would comprise the region’s blues style. Patton had a coarse, earthy voice that reflected hard times and hard living. His guitar stylepercussive and rawmatched his vocal delivery. He often played slide guitar and gave that style a position of prominence in Delta blues.
Patton’s songs were filled with lyrics that dealt with issues like social mobility (pony Blues), imprisonment (High Sheriff Blues), nature (High Water Blues), and morality (Oh Death) that went far beyond traditional male-female relationship themes. Patton defined the life of a bluesman. He drank and smoked excessively. He reportedly had a total of eight wives. He was jailed at least once. He traveled extensively, never staying in one place for too long.
Charley Patton was “the” delta blues man of course, his playing was raw and expressive, a distinctive style, rather dissident to the other blues players of the time. A monument !
The Dockery farm was the sawmill and cotton plantation where Charley and his family lived from 1900 onwards.
Spoonful Blues (spoken: I’m about to go to jail about this spoonful) In all a spoon’, ’bout that spoon’ The women goin’ crazy, every day in their life ’bout a . . . It’s all I want, in this creation is a . . . I go home (spoken: wanna fight!) ’bout a . . . Doctor’s dyin’ (way in Hot Springs !) just ’bout a . . . These women goin’ crazy every day in their life ’bout a . . . Would you kill a man dead? (spoken: yes, I will!) just ’bout a . . . Oh babe, I’m a fool about my… (spoken: Don’t take me long!) to get my . . . Hey baby, you know I need my . . . It’s mens on Parchman (done lifetime) just ’bout a… Hey baby, (spoken: you know I ain’t long) ’bout my. . . It’s all I want (spoken: honey, in this creation) is a . . . I go to bed, get up and wanna fight ’bout a . . . (spoken: Look-y here, baby, would you slap me? Yes I will!) just ’bout a… Hey baby, (spoken: you know I’m a fool a-) ’bout my . . .
Would you kill a man? (spoken: Yes I would, you know I’d kill him) just ’bout a . . . Most every man (spoken: that you see is) fool ’bout his… (spoken: You know baby, I need) that ol’ . . .Hey baby, (spoken: I wanna hit the judge ’bout a) ’bout a . . . (spoken: Baby, you gonna quit me? Yeah honey!) just ’bout a . . . It’s all I want, baby, this creation is a… (spoken: look-y here, baby, I’m leavin’ town!) just ’bout a . . . Hey baby, (spoken: you know I need) that ol’ . . . (spoken: Don’t make me mad, baby!) ’cause I want my . . .Hey baby, I’m a fool ’bout that… (spoken: Look-y here, honey!) I need that… Most every man leaves without a… Sundays’ mean (spoken: I know they are) ’bout a . . .
Hey baby, (spoken: I’m sneakin’ around here) and ain’t got me no . . . Oh, that spoon’, hey baby, you know I need my . . .
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Ida Cox (February 25, 1896 November 10, 1967) was an African American singer and vaudeville performer, best known for her blues performances and recordings. She was billed as “The Uncrowned Queen of the Blues” Cox was born in February, 1896 as Ida Prather in Toccoa, Habersham County, Georgia (Toccoa was in Habersham County, not yet Stephens County at the time), the daughter of Lamax and Susie (Knight) Prather, and grew up in Cedartown, Georgia, singing in the local African Methodist Church choir.
She left home to tour with travelling minstrel shows, often appearing in blackface into the 1910s; she married fellow minstrel performer Adler Cox. By 1920, she was appearing as a headline act at the 81 Theatre in Atlanta, Georgia; another headliner at that time was Jelly Roll Morton. . . .Wikipedia
Wild Women Dont Have the Blues
By Ida Cox
I hear these women raving ’bout their monkey men About their fightin’ husbands and their no good friends. These poor women sit around all day and moan wondering why their wandering papas don’t come home. But wild women don’t worrywild women don’t have the blues. Now when you’ve got a man, don’t never be on the square because if you do he’ll have a woman everywhere. I never was known to treat no one man right. I keep ’em working hard both day and night because wild women don’t worrywild women don’t have no blues. I’ve got a disposition and a way of my own. When my man starts kicking I let him find another home. I get full of good liquor, walk the streets all night go home and put my man out if he don’t act right. Wild women don’t worrywild women don’t have no blues You never get nothing by being an anger child. You better change your ways and get real wild. I wanna tell you something, I wouldn’t tell you no lie. Wild women are the only kind that ever get by. Wild women don’t worrywild women don’t have no blues.
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For July 1st through August 31st 2011
#1 – Justify My Thug by Wahida Clark #2 – Flyy Girl by Omar Tyree #3 – Head Bangers: An APF Sexcapade by Zane #4 – Life Is Short But Wide by J. California Cooper #5 – Stackin’ Paper 2 Genesis’ Payback by Joy King #6 – Thug Lovin’ (Thug 4) by Wahida Clark #7 – When I Get Where I’m Going by Cheryl Robinson #8 – Casting the First Stone by Kimberla Lawson Roby #9 – The Sex Chronicles: Shattering the Myth by Zane
#10 – Covenant: A Thriller by Brandon Massey
#11 – Diary Of A Street Diva by Ashley and JaQuavis
#12 – Don’t Ever Tell by Brandon Massey
#13 – For colored girls who have considered suicide by Ntozake Shange
#14 – For the Love of Money : A Novel by Omar Tyree
#15 – Homemade Loves by J. California Cooper
#16 – The Future Has a Past: Stories by J. California Cooper
#17 – Player Haters by Carl Weber
#18 – Purple Panties: An Eroticanoir.com Anthology by Sidney Molare
#19 – Stackin’ Paper by Joy King
#20 – Children of the Street: An Inspector Darko Dawson Mystery by Kwei Quartey
#21 – The Upper Room by Mary Monroe
#22 Thug Matrimony by Wahida Clark
#23 – Thugs And The Women Who Love Them by Wahida Clark
#24 – Married Men by Carl Weber
#25 – I Dreamt I Was in Heaven – The Rampage of the Rufus Buck Gang by Leonce Gaiter
#1 – Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention by Manning Marable #2 – Confessions of a Video Vixen by Karrine Steffans #3 – Dear G-Spot: Straight Talk About Sex and Love by Zane #4 – Letters to a Young Brother: MANifest Your Destiny by Hill Harper #5 – Peace from Broken Pieces: How to Get Through What You’re Going Through by Iyanla Vanzant #6 – Selected Writings and Speeches of Marcus Garvey by Marcus Garvey #7 – The Ebony Cookbook: A Date with a Dish by Freda DeKnight #8 – The Isis Papers: The Keys to the Colors by Frances Cress Welsing #9 – The Mis-Education of the Negro by Carter Godwin Woodson
#10 – John Henrik Clarke and the Power of Africana History by Ahati N. N. Toure
#11 – Fail Up: 20 Lessons on Building Success from Failure by Tavis Smiley
#12 –The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander
#13 – The Black Male Handbook: A Blueprint for Life by Kevin Powell
#14 – The Other Wes Moore: One Name, Two Fates by Wes Moore
#15 – Why Men Fear Marriage: The Surprising Truth Behind Why So Many Men Can’t Commit by RM Johnson
#16 – Black Titan: A.G. Gaston and the Making of a Black American Millionaire by Carol Jenkins
#17 – Brainwashed: Challenging the Myth of Black Inferiority by Tom Burrell
#18 – A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose by Eckhart Tolle
#19 – John Oliver Killens: A Life of Black Literary Activism by Keith Gilyard
#20 – Alain L. Locke: The Biography of a Philosopher by Leonard Harris
#21 – Age Ain’t Nothing but a Number: Black Women Explore Midlife by Carleen Brice
#22 – 2012 Guide to Literary Agents by Chuck Sambuchino #23 – Chicken Soup for the Prisoner’s Soul by Tom Lagana #24 – 101 Things Every Boy/Young Man of Color Should Know by LaMarr Darnell Shields
#25 – Beyond the Black Lady: Sexuality and the New African American Middle Class by Lisa B. Thompson
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By Isabel Wilkerson
Ida Mae Brandon Gladney, a sharecropper’s wife, left Mississippi for Milwaukee in 1937, after her cousin was falsely accused of stealing a white man’s turkeys and was almost beaten to death. In 1945, George Swanson Starling, a citrus picker, fled Florida for Harlem after learning of the grove owners’ plans to give him a “necktie party” (a lynching). Robert Joseph Pershing Foster made his trek from Louisiana to California in 1953, embittered by “the absurdity that he was doing surgery for the United States Army and couldn’t operate in his own home town.” Anchored to these three stories is Pulitzer Prizewinning journalist Wilkerson’s magnificent, extensively researched study of the “great migration,” the exodus of six million black Southerners out of the terror of Jim Crow to an “uncertain existence” in the North and Midwest. Wilkerson deftly incorporates sociological and historical studies into the novelistic narratives of Gladney, Starling, and Pershing settling in new lands, building anew, and often finding that they have not left racism behind. The drama, poignancy, and romance of a classic immigrant saga pervade this book, hold the reader in its grasp, and resonate long after the reading is done.
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Edited by Miriam DeCosta-Willis
Blacks in Hispanic Literature is a collection of fourteen essays by scholars and creative writers from Africa and the Americas. Called one of two significant critical works on Afro-Hispanic literature to appear in the late 1970s, it includes the pioneering studies of Carter G. Woodson and Valaurez B. Spratlin, published in the 1930s, as well as the essays of scholars whose interpretations were shaped by the Black aesthetic. The early essays, primarily of the Black-as-subject in Spanish medieval and Golden Age literature, provide an historical context for understanding 20th-century creative works by African-descended, Hispanophone writers, such as Cuban Nicolás Guillén and Ecuadorean poet, novelist, and scholar Adalberto Ortiz, whose essay analyzes the significance of Negritude in Latin America. This collaborative text set the tone for later conferences in which writers and scholars worked together to promote, disseminate, and critique the literature of Spanish-speaking people of African descent. . . . Cited by a literary critic in 2004 as “the seminal study in the field of Afro-Hispanic Literature . . . on which most scholars in the field ‘cut their teeth’.”
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By Melissa V. Harris-Perry
According to the author, this society has historically exerted considerable pressure on black females to fit into one of a handful of stereotypes, primarily, the Mammy, the Matriarch or the Jezebel. The selfless Mammys behavior is marked by a slavish devotion to white folks domestic concerns, often at the expense of those of her own familys needs. By contrast, the relatively-hedonistic Jezebel is a sexually-insatiable temptress. And the Matriarch is generally thought of as an emasculating figure who denigrates black men, ala the characters Sapphire and Aunt Esther on the television shows Amos and Andy and Sanford and Son, respectively.
Professor Perry points out how the propagation of these harmful myths have served the mainstream culture well. For instance, the Mammy suggests that it is almost second nature for black females to feel a maternal instinct towards Caucasian babies.
As for the source of the Jezebel, black women had no control over their own bodies during slavery given that they were being auctioned off and bred to maximize profits. Nonetheless, it was in the interest of plantation owners to propagate the lie that sisters were sluts inclined to mate indiscriminately.
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From The World and Africa, 1965
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posted 13 September 2010