A Li'l Somethin' for Dick Gregory
A Li'l Somethin' for Dick Gregory
by BAR poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner
Our white-bearded cannon
fell silent—
The day became grayer…
I know, I know, I know, I know…
He was my Mom’s favorite funnyman—
She bought his books, his vinyl
Speaking to her like Malcolm
(who she shared Turkish Coffee
with on his trips west, fishing for men)
I remember his mantra
He chanted like a Buddhist Priest:
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
Doubling us over,
splitting our sides, shaking our cores…
I remember his mantra
He chanted like a Buddhist Priest:
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
Piercing steel veils with X-ray vision
puncturing absurdities with barbed tongue—
Soul-ar powered bullshit detector
administering smell tests
I remember his mantra
He chanted like a Buddhist Priest:
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
while coming as close as we’ve come to
Having a Super Hero
putting his body
On the line running,
Marching, fasting, speaking,
Teaching us to follow
the money where the
bodies are buried…
Raymond Nat Turner © 2017 All Right Reserved
The inhabitation of the un-gender-specific and “fungible” also mapped the affective grounds for imagining other qualities of life and being for those marked by and for captivity.
The surge of attention to the Israeli occupation is unimaginable without last year’s “George Floyd” protests.
The corporate sports media practices a kind of settler state “Orientalism,” blaming black players for the ills of an industry owned by rich white men.
The US claims that it respects the international rule on law, but instead makes up the rules as it goes along, resulting in the death of millions.
