Lost track of this poem by Robert Hayden a long time ago. Just remembered it and wanted to save it here for future use.

Middle Passage
By Robert Hayden

I

Jesús, Estrella, Esperanza, Mercy:

Sails flashing to the wind like weapons,
sharks following the moans the fever and the dying;
horror the corposant and compass rose.

Middle Passage:
voyage through death
to life upon these shores.

“10 April 1800–
Blacks rebellious. Crew uneasy. Our linguist says
their moaning is a prayer for death,
our and their own. Some try to starve themselves.
Lost three this morning leaped with crazy laughter
to the waiting sharks, sang as they went under.”

Desire, Adventure, Tartar, Ann:

Standing to America, bringing home
black gold, black ivory, black seed.

Deep in the festering hold thy father lies, of his bones
New England pews are made, those are altar lights that were his eyes.

Jesus Saviour Pilot Me
Over Life’s Tempestuous Sea

We pray that Thou wilt grant, O Lord,
safe passage to our vessels bringing
heathen souls unto Thy chastening.

Jesus Saviour

“8 bells. I cannot sleep, for I am sick
with fear, but writing eases fear a little
since still my eyes can see these words take shape
upon the page & so I write, as one
would turn to exorcism. 4 days scudding,
but now the sea is calm again. Misfortune
follows in our wake like sharks (our grinning
tutelary gods). Which one of us
has killed an albatross? A plague among
our blacks–Ophthalmia: blindness–& we
have jettisoned the blind to no avail.
It spreads, the terrifying sickness spreads.
Its claws have scratched sight from the Capt.’s eyes
& there is blindness in the fo’c’sle
& we must sail 3 weeks before we come
to port.”

What port awaits us, Davy Jones’ or home? I’ve
heard of slavers drifting, drifting, playthings of wind and storm and
chance, their crews gone blind, the jungle hatred crawling
up on deck.

Thou Who Walked On Galilee

“Deponent further sayeth The Bella J
left the Guinea Coast
with cargo of five hundred blacks and odd
for the barracoons of Florida:

“That there was hardly room ‘tween-decks for half
the sweltering cattle stowed spoon-fashion there;
that some went mad of thirst and tore their flesh
and sucked the blood:

“That Crew and Captain lusted with the comeliest
of the savage girls kept naked in the cabins;
that there was one they called The Guinea Rose
and they cast lots and fought to lie with her:

“That when the Bo’s’n piped all hands, the flames
spreading from starboard already were beyond
control, the negroes howling and their chains
entangled with the flames:

“That the burning blacks could not be reached,
that the Crew abandoned ship,
leaving their shrieking negresses behind,
that the Captain perished drunken with the wenches:

“Further Deponent sayeth not.”

Pilot Oh Pilot Me

II

Aye, lad, and I have seen those factories,
Gambia, Rio Pongo, Calabar;
have watched the artful mongos baiting traps
of war wherein the victor and the vanquished

Were caught as prizes for our barracoons.
Have seen the nigger kings whose vanity
and greed turned wild black hides of Fellatah,
Mandingo, Ibo, Kru to gold for us.

And there was one–King Anthracite we named him–
fetish face beneath French parasols
of brass and orange velvet, impudent mouth
whose cups were carven skulls of enemies:

He’d honor us with drum and feast and conjo
and palm-oil-glistening wenches deft in love,
and for tin crowns that shone with paste,
red calico and German-silver trinkets

Would have the drums talk war and send
his warriors to burn the sleeping villages
and kill the sick and old and lead the young
in coffles to our factories.

Twenty years a trader, twenty years,
for there was wealth aplenty to be harvested
from those black fields, and I’d be trading still
but for the fevers melting down my bones.

III

Shuttles in the rocking loom of history,
the dark ships move, the dark ships move,
their bright ironical names
like jests of kindness on a murderer’s mouth;
plough through thrashing glister toward
fata morgana’s lucent melting shore,
weave toward New World littorals that are
mirage and myth and actual shore.

Voyage through death,
voyage whose chartings are unlove.

A charnel stench, effluvium of living death
spreads outward from the hold,
where the living and the dead, the horribly dying,
lie interlocked, lie foul with blood and excrement.

Deep in the festering hold thy father lies, the corpse of mercy
rots with him, rats eat love’s rotten gelid eyes. But, oh, the
living look at you with human eyes whose suffering accuses you, whose
hatred reaches through the swill of dark to strike you like a leper’s
claw. You cannot stare that hatred down or chain the fear that stalks
the watches and breathes on you its fetid scorching breath; cannot
kill the deep immortal human wish, the timeless will.

“But for the storm that flung up barriers
of wind and wave, The Amistad, señores,
would have reached the port of Príncipe in two,
three days at most; but for the storm we should
have been prepared for what befell.
Swift as a puma’s leap it came. There was
that interval of moonless calm filled only
with the water’s and the rigging’s usual sounds,
then sudden movement, blows and snarling cries
and they had fallen on us with machete
and marlinspike. It was as though the very
air, the night itself were striking us.
Exhausted by the rigors of the storm,
we were no match for them. Our men went down
before the murderous Africans. Our loyal
Celestino ran from below with gun
and lantern and I saw, before the cane-
knife’s wounding flash, Cinquez,
that surly brute who calls himself a prince,
directing, urging on the ghastly work.
He hacked the poor mulatto down, and then
he turned on me. The decks were slippery
when daylight finally came. It sickens me
to think of what I saw, of how these apes
threw overboard the butchered bodies of
our men, true Christians all, like so much jetsam.
Enough, enough. The rest is quickly told:
Cinquez was forced to spare the two of us
you see to steer the ship to Africa,
and we like phantoms doomed to rove the sea
voyaged east by day and west by night,
deceiving them, hoping for rescue,
prisoners on our own vessel, till
at length we drifted to the shores of this
your land, America, where we were freed
from our unspeakable misery. Now we
demand, good sirs, the extradition of
Cinquez and his accomplices to La
Havana. And it distresses us to know
there are so many here who seem inclined
to justify the mutiny of these blacks.
We find it paradoxical indeed
that you whose wealth, whose tree of liberty
are rooted in the labor of your slaves
should suffer the august John Quincey Adams
to speak with so much passion of the right
of chattel slaves to kill their lawful masters
and with his Roman rhetoric weave a hero’s
garland for Cinquez. I tell you that
we are determined to return to Cuba
with our slaves and there see justice done.
Cinquez–
or let us say ‘the Prince’–Cinquez shall die.”

The deep immortal human wish,
the timeless will:

Cinquez its deathless primaveral image,
life that transfigures many lives.

Voyage through death
to life upon these shores.

If someone told me a few years ago that I would pay $20.00 a month so that I could get up to 3 movies at a time - in the mail - I would have laughed. I would have been laughing at the “in the mail” part of the statement. How, in an era of digital delivery is a traditional mail service laying the lumber to Blockbuster? I laugh thinking about the Blockbuster execs that spent all of their time (hopefully) worrying about how they were going to compete with the On Demand services from cable providers only to have Netflix come out of nowhere and steal their cookies with a mailbox.

How did that happen? And what made the folks at Netflix think that they could even do it? If I was the one that had the Netflix brainstorm, I would have stopped the moment the two way necessity of the United States Postal Service came into the picture. It just doesn’t make sense.

Netflix beat Blockbuster despite the need for mail for 3 reasons:

1. Browsing and searching and cross referencing movies, actors, directors and key grips is easier, faster, and more effective when done online. Going to a physical store before deciding what movie you want to watch is the stuff that ends relationships. Who really thinks in terms of Drama, Action, and Comedy when they get to the store? I don’t. I want to see another film by David Fincher. I want to see something kinda like Cidade De Deus. I want to see anything that my friend Luke recommends. Blockbuster doesn’t make this possible. Netflix does.

2. The Netflix Queue has changed my life. It isn’t perfect yet, but it has transformed the way that I consume movies. I have 350 movies in my queue at anytime - movies my friends recommend, movies that star actors who’s work I enjoy, movies that are recommended by Netflix after seeing my rating activity of movies that I have seen. No more walking into the store, a tabula rasa. No more trying to remember the name of the movie that Luke recommended to me 2 years ago. Forget browsing the suspense shelves, hunched over like Quasimodo, only to realize, after looking at every title, that Panic Room is actually filed under thriller.

3. Late fees. Nuff said. Actually. No. This one is huge. Even Blockbuster tried to do away with late fees but they couldn’t. They couldn’t because if they let me keep the Broadway and 8th copy of Raging Bull for 2 months, then no one else could watch it. Their model of physical locations prohibits them from allowing me to keep a movie for a lengthy (and it is lengthy) period of time.

While not an exhaustive list, Netflix’s queue, their open and cross-referenceable database, and their open ended rental periods are what allowed them to beat Blockbuster. But interestingly, On Demand and other digital delivery mechanisms have the same advantage over Blockbuster and they have obvious advantages over Netflix. When the cable companies or the content providers learn the Netflix lessons, they might very well make Netflix obsolete.

Cable needs to immediately implement the following Netflix lessons:

1. Give me the option of paying a monthly fee. This would eliminate the cable version of a late fee whereby after 24 hours I can no longer view the movie that I purchased. I paid for it, let me watch it when I want to watch it. Hell, let me watch it twice.

2. Let me see any movie ever made (or at least the 50,000 that Netflix offers). When I had cable, nothing was worse than going to OnDemand only to realize that I had seen all of the movies that they were currently offering for the month (50 or so).

3. Offer me the queue function as a service. When I turn on my T.V. I should see a channel - my channel - that has a browseable list of the movies that I have said that I want to remember to watch.

4. Add good search functionality. Make it easy for people to find good movies. This need not be on my television. As evidence by Netflix, users are willing to go online to search and choose movies and then have them delivered in another medium. If they are satisfied to keep a queue online and then wait for movies in the mail, they will be thrilled to choose movies online and then walk into their living room, turn on the television, and watch it.

Once cable companies have implemented the features above, then their natural advantages should knock Netflix out of the box. Digital delivery has several natural advantages. Digital delivery is instant. The one problem I have with Netflix is that my “movie mood” sometimes shifts (drastically) while the movies are in USPS transit. If I add a movie to my queue and it is instantly available on my television, my movie mood is synched to my available movies. Digital delivery is inconsumable. Blockbuster has late fees because they need that damn disk back so they can sell it again. While Netflix has a better distribution structure, they still are still hampered by physical assets that can only be in one place at a given time.

In the end, it is weird that we had to go to a middle step between physical stores and digital delivery - and even weirder still that the middle step involved the mails, but if cable learns the Netflix lessons, then consumers will get an amazing service, one that has been in the wings for a long time now.

If you find yourself in Midtown today or tomorrow between 3:00 in the afternoon and 9:00 at night, stop by Alexander Berg’s temporary photography studio at 112 West 44th Street. He is shooting portraits of the public, for free, for his newest photo exhibit called One Shot. According to Alex’s website here is how it works:

You come to the studio, look at exhibited work from the last session, chat with Alex and Hugo about what you want, and have your portrait taken… in one frame, one shot. He shoots Polaroid/negative film. Alex keeps the negative, and you’ll walk away with a one-of-a-kind 4×5 image. If you choose, you can also title your photograph, and leave a few words of wisdom to accompany your image. Past sessions have been a blast… come in and see for yourself!

One Shot will become a book and will be exhibited at DKNY’s flagship store on Madison Avenue this spring as part of the WHITNEY MUSEUM’s “Where Fashion Meets Art” fundraising event.

Update: Get there early! We showed up at 5:00 and they weren’t taking any more people on the list for the day.

I made a mix last night (music not cake).

As I added a hip-hop track entitled “Love Song” (by K-O’s) to the playlist, I was reminded of the suprisingly little known, but lovely duet of the same name by Madonna and Prince. Same name, but certainly not the same song. I then realized that a favorite song of mine from college - this one a folkish tune from Jonatha Brooke when she was in a band called The Story - shared the same name. Actually, 2 songs from college. The Bush Babees did a collab with De La Soul and Mos Def (before he and Talib formed Black Star) entitled… “Love Song.”

And let’s just say that I have been known to appreciate Tesla’s “Love Song” (and *cough* the Cure’s).

I got to thinking, artists must spend all of their lives trying to write a song that is worthy of the title “Love Song.” You can write love songs everyday, but you have to name them something else. It’s rare when you can just say, this song is so good, I am going to name it “Love Song,” and yes I am sure, and yes I know that I can only name one song in my career “Love Song,” and this is it.

I figured if I downloaded a whole bunch of songs called “Love Song” I would have wicked collection of eclectic music that was, on average, pretty damn good since naming a song “Love Song” is like an endorsement. It is. You can’t name just any old half assed song “Love Song. ” It’ll crack under the pressure. It would be like naming a kid God. You just don’t do that.

Well… apparently some people do.

Spend a few minutes listening to these singers’ contributions to the “Songs entitled Love Song” Canon and you realize that nothing is sacred:

Right Said Fred
Marilyn Manson
Insane Clown Posse
Stone Temple Pilots
Kenny G
Kenny Loggins

And for added insult:

Hanson.

There are actually 636 “Love Song” songs in the canon. (according to allmusic.com).

I saw Dave Chappelle at what used to be the Boston Comedy Club on 3rd Street last year. It was an impromptu show, he literally walked in off the street and asked if he could do a set. I was lucky enough to be next door and was alerted by a friend that he was there. Dave immediately lit into me when I entered the room.

“Damn! Look at this big nigga. You look like you could fuck somebody up! Where you from?”

“Ohio”

“You know I live in Ohio…”

“Oh yeah? Whereabouts?”

“Green County”

“What on earth are you doing in Green County?”

“What the hell you thing I’m doing in Green County?”, he said as he put his index finger and thumb together and made the universal sign for smoking weed.

He was mostly off that night. He seemed drunk or high. Too drunk. Too high. He was having a hard time staying on his stool and his jokes were all off the top. He seemed erratic.

Needless to say, when he quit the show a few weeks later, I wasn’t surprised and was able to tell my “yeah he didn’t look so good” story for the next couple of weeks.

When my friend sent me the link to the Chappelle Theory, I was intrigued. It is authored by an alleged retired public relations executive and posits that a cabal of influential black media moguls and politicos exerted their influence and power over Dave and drove him to mental ruin. Think Oprah, Bob Johnson, Farrakahn, Cosby, et al. The reason? He was making black people look bad. While the theory is preposterous, the story is flawlessly told and it is a fun exercise in the “what if?”

Cut to Chappelle’s recent interview with Oprah.

Read this article from the Washington Post after you have familiariazed yourself with the theory.

Freaky huh?

Update: Chappelle Theory was authored by anti-social.com.

Sidebar from CNN’s politics page. I can’t tell if this is an editing mistake by the folks at CNN or an off color joke about Detroit being a chocolate city. I am referencing the section on Rice below.

When a cartoon makes the Joint Chiefs of Staff angry, you know some truth telling is going on.