Poet’s Prerogative | Tales, by Leroi Jones

Passion is often times an expression that is misconstrued and innately perceived in the negative due to the incandescent arousal of emotions. Truth be told, passion when expressed through the illumination of  a Black poet is often just that. Often described as Polarizing: in subject matter, oratory prowess, and decade shifting rhetoric and ideologies, LeRoi Jones, later to become Amiri Baraka is helmed as one of the most pivotal writers in American Literature. 

Energy is transferrable, and there is not a soul on this planet who has had the privilege of sitting in the same room as the writer, poet, and playwright who would deny this. 

An observation not noted enough about the Poet Laureate is that he had a smile and charisma that lit up the room. He was just as fiery behind a podium as he was out in the streets speaking about his love of Black people, Black art, and Black culture. All with a capital - B. 

A 2004 FADER interview with another revered poet, Saul Williams,  describing Baraka saying “The most beautiful thing about the man is his smile.” In 2008 I too, was granted the great honor to sit with the once beatnik poet, founding force of the 1970’S Black Arts Movement, and thought leader of his time blending the intersections of art, music, culture, and politics. 

I fiddled with my press pass as I somewhat nervously yet patiently waited for my turn to speak with him. I was the last to enter the room and my nerves came to ease as I was greeted with a huge smile. I extended my hand and was gently pulled into an embrace. An advisor approached and reminded me “We don’t have much time.” As Co-Editor of the Virginia State University newspaper “The Statesman” I’d been granted a brief interview with Baraka. He hushed them waving his hand in dismissal “Oh we have plenty of time” as he beckoned me to sit. I remember not wanting to ask a lot of questions, I just wanted to hear his stories.  And if you are at all familiar with the depth of his artistry, he has a lot.  We briefly spoke about rich tapestry of experiences, about his fortitude to evolve time and time again - where we delved most were what his hopes were for the future of Black Writers and the culture at large. 

The next is an excerpt from my original transcript in 2008.

We sat in momentary silence as he thoughtfully considered my question. He then answered “We must get the original text published again. A lot of the influential materials aren’t out there anymore. I had about twenty books published; you know how many are still out? Only two. We need to create the need for those essential materials to be within our reach, once that happens; the rest is up to future writers and poets to continue on.” He then looked me in the eye and said “You’re next my dear; your turn will come soon enough.”  

Let’s propel ourselves 10 years into the future. On an early Sunday morning before my shift at Downtown LA’s beloved The Last Bookstore, I eagerly rummaged through an assortment of Black literature that was pulled aside for me by my loving colleague Tony. You see, I’d decided to turn my unconscious book collecting obsession into a very intentional project tentatively titled “Long Story Short” and was met with immediate support by those in my bibliophile circle. 

In the collected assortment up turned “Tales” by LeRoi Jones. Seemingly a whole lifetime after my interview, it took me a moment to realize what I was holding. Such a pristine copy of a book published in 1967 and a captivating orange and black cover of a close up on a contemplative young man. I added it to my purchase pile and later that day it came home with me. I shortly thereafter seemingly connected the dots and on my shelf it’s rested for years. 

That is, until recently. I awoke from a dream almost 2 weeks ago and something in my dream referenced this title. Though it’d been in my collection for at least 6 years, I hadn’t read it. What I found were short stories written in an almost stream of consciousness format. Truth be told, “Tales” is not an easy read, but it’s a surreal one. It reminded me of how much a master of language Jones/Baraka was, but it also reminded me of how flawed he was at points in his growth, as we all are. Writers are burdened in a sense to have our growth edges immortalized in written word. If I could speak to the man again, almost 15 years after our initial interview, i’d love to ask him how he felt his works aged. I’d be curious to know how it feels to write from a heart that will inevitably change. Does one become apologetic or do we charge it to the game? I guess he was right, it’s up to me to see. I’ll touch back in 15 years and let ya’ll know how that goes.