Monthly Archives: February 2014

For some he was way too left of center: LeRoi Jones (aka Amiri Baraka)

In the late 1980s I remember regularly watching on television a ½ hour arts program produced in Minneapolis, MN known as “Alive from Off Center.”  The program featured a wide range of artistic productions, not always in their entirety, that included the spoken word, music, dance and theatrical pieces of performance art.  I think of this arts program now when I recall Black poet, Amiri Baraka (aka LeRoi Jones), who ultimately proved to be way too left of center while functioning as the Poet Laureate of New Jersey.  Born and raised in Newark, NJ, Mr. Barack died last month at the age of 79.    It was after 9/11 when Baraka wrote what some consider an incendiary poem (entitled “Somebody Blew Up America”) about the events of that day that his title of Poet Laureate of NJ was taken away from him in 2004.   I offer here an earlier poem written in 1961 by Mr. Baraka (under his former name, LeRoi Jones) that depicts this man’s unique sensibility.

For Hettie

My wife is left-handed.

which implies a fierce de-

termination.  A complete other

worldliness.  IT’S WEIRD, BABY.

The way some folks

are always trying to be

different.  A sin & a shame.

But then, she’s been a bohemian

all of her life. . . black stockings

refusing to take orders.  I sit

patiently, trying to tell her

whats right.  TAKE THAT DAMN



to no avail. & it shows

in her work. Left-handed coffee,

Left-handed eggs; when she comes

in at night. . . it’s her left hand

offered for me to kiss.  Damn.

& now her belly droops over the seat.

They say it’s a child. But

I ain’t quite so sure.

–LeRoi Jones (from: Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note, Baraka’s first book of published poems, 1961)

Fire and Ice


Fire and Ice 

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost (1874-1963)

(first published December 1920, Harper’s Magazine & then again in Frost’s book of poems “New Hampshire,”1923)