Below are the texts that make-up this collaborative tribute to poets Langston Hughes and William S. Burroughs:
them nowhere home blues
(for brothah from another other langston hughes)
by jamika ajalon
blues?
carry in my shoes
from one go to another
stop nowhere
imprints pissed stained
pleasured worlds of road
avenues & boulevards
askLangston
Hughes would agree--
the poetry of the city marianates
skull high sands
in loose coin & blues bones
tide in black froth & indigo
tied upin a knot
outbackmy throat
got me up and left me gone
this road aintso short
but it don't seem so long
them blues sisters
been sitting ‘round me
in they kingdom thrones
singing me they songs
and I been taking notes
like who evah heard
why she take to the road
when nowhere is home for long …
no nowhere is home for so long
NOWHERE BLUES cut up
by fork burke
Langston would agree – black and froth & indigo – pleasured worlds – throat sands – taking notes
who imprints singing – why this road – pissed one go to don’t
they songs - nowhere got avenues
avenues shoes round me kingdom – bones hughes blues loose coin stop
taking when agree
to poetry they kingdom
poetry nowhere marinates like notes
it thrones
stop ain’t sitting indigo city up
songs the & to
they & tied to pleasured
avenues notes long long the kingdom
they me
short of blues? she and indigo up gone
the indigo my nowhere
from for when worlds back pleasured thrones brothah
the nowhere
don't the in tide been other
to in poetry
brothah bones blues don't road blues
worlds sitting road Langston
been city
another no gone
my the marinates heard coin of blues
when is ask this don't
sands Langston hughes
longroad they singing Langston
go brothah it from brothah
boulevards go pleasured
road tide them home
worlds why worlds
city
________________________________________________________________________________
Name: Jamika Ajalon
Hometown: St. Louis, Missouri
Current City: Paris, France
Occupation : Poet/ writer /pluri-disciplinary artist/musician
Why Langston?:
Langston Hughes is the blues.
Why Burroughs Cut-up?:
William Burroughs is another artist whose form inspires me in the various mutations of my artistic practice. My ode to Hughes had already gone through several permutations as a text on paper, and I wanted to transform it further. Fork Burke is probably one of the biggest fans of Burroughs that I know, and his influence is also very present in her work, so I invited Fork to do a cut up of my poem, my ode to Langston—“Them Nowhere Home Blues.”
Why experimental audio-visual mash-up?:
The word is always the root of my practice, and I often re-work poetry and prose into visual/sonic pieces. In the end, with “Nowhere Blues,” the video has become a kind of a cut-up of the cut, of the cut-up expressed through layers of voicings, sound, and dissected images. The mood, tone, and theme of the poem speaks to Langston, but the transformation reflects Burroughs’ form, technique, and philosophy as an artist. Besides, I get a kick out of bringing seemingly disparate elements together to create a whole new beast.
Name : Fork Burke
Hometown: Detroit, Michigan
Current City: Biel-Bienne - Switzerland
Occupation: Poet
What does poetry mean to you?
Poetry is like Spirit—It is in everything seen and unseen—I think of poetry as a communication I encounter all the time—All subversive moments are poetry and all poems are love poems—Poetry holds space—I am constantly taking notes—the poem emerges over a period of time, and it is the poets calling to witness possibility of truth—Poetry is both destructive and restorative, and writing poems is the work of Poetry.
Favorite poem:
Where Flesh Circulates
by William S. Burroughs
Its so hard to remember in the world – – Weren’t you there? Dead so you
think of ports – – Couldn’t reach flesh – – Might have to reach flesh from
anybody – –
And i will depart under the Red Masters
for strange dawn words of color exalting their
falling on my face impending attack satellite in a
Gold and perfumes of light city red stone
shadows brick terminal time wet dream flesh creakily the
the last feeble faces fountains play stale
spit from crumpled cloth Weimar youths on my face
bodies where flesh circulates Masters of color
exalting their dogs impending attack of light
unaware of the vagrant shadows on the Glass and Metal Streets
silver flying scanning patterns electric dogs
dark street life “Here he is now” staring out
from the dawn he strode toward the flesh jissom webs drifting
where identity scarred metal faces masturbating
“Who him?” spitting blood laugh on the iron afternoons
ejaculates wet dream flesh in red brick Terminal Time
red nitrous fumes under the orange gas flares
grey metal fall out on terminal cities
to the shrinking sky fading color sewage delta
caught in this dead whistle stop post card sky
dead rainbow flesh and copper pagodas flickered on the
in a city of red stone black skin work fish smell and
dead eyes in doorways red water words spitting blood laugh
sharp as water reeds fish syllables
stirring this Moroccan sunlight vagrant noon station
spent in the mirror dawn jissom webs drifting rainbow
speeded up from afternoon’s slow ferris wheel flesh.
(Originally published in Floating Bear 24 in September-October 1962. Republished by RealityStudio in August 2010.)
Why do you like this poem?
William Burroughs asked—What are words and how do they function?—Writers work with the enemy—The idea of freeing text and breaking the spell cast over words resonated with me deeply—The work of Burroughs goes beyond writing and storytelling—It is visionary work—Everything vibrates—I listenspeak—Burroughs seemed to be the keeper of a whole relationship to language that extended off the page and that is happening all the time—The Cut-ups—The recordings —Burroughs said, When you cut into the present the future leaks out”—There is no separation.
