{"id":454,"date":"2019-05-19T20:42:15","date_gmt":"2019-05-19T20:42:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/?p=454"},"modified":"2019-05-25T02:07:32","modified_gmt":"2019-05-25T02:07:32","slug":"diary-splash-poet-warrior-sleeping-in-the-grass","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.iforcolor.org\/word\/diary-splash-poet-warrior-sleeping-in-the-grass\/","title":{"rendered":"Diary Splash: Poet Warrior Sleeping In The Grass"},"content":{"rendered":"

diary splash: poet warrior sleeping in the grass<\/em><\/strong> * (louis reyes rivera<\/strong>) * \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0By Arthur Wilson<\/p>\n

\"\"

Photograph\u00a0 by: Mel Wright (c)<\/p><\/div>\n

<\/pre>\n
<\/h2>\n
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<\/h2>\n
<\/h2>\n
Diary Splash: Poet Warrior Sleeping in the Grass<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n
June 11, 2011<\/p>\n
 \"\"<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/address>\n
\u00a0<\/address>\n
\u00a0<\/strong>It\u2019s a mild, warm, conspicuous day<\/strong><\/p>\n
Close to summer in Brooklyn New York<\/strong><\/p>\n
Poet Warrior Louis Reyes Rivera<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Sporting a long peppered gray beard<\/strong><\/p>\n
Resembling a revered leader of a pride of lions<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Lies sleeping hard,<\/strong><\/p>\n
Stretched<\/span> out in the grass on Gates Street<\/strong><\/p>\n
At the Travelled Rhodes International Sculpture Garden<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0\"\"<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n
DAMN!<\/span> Has it been almost 20 years<\/strong><\/p>\n
Since Louis<\/span> and I locked truth eyes with thunder<\/strong><\/p>\n
And re-entered our Brotherhood Rhythm<\/span>,<\/strong><\/p>\n
From when we stormed out of the Brooklyn Print Center<\/strong><\/p>\n
With vision blurry and blood<\/span> shot eyes at day break<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong>In the flotsam of arts\u2019 \u201cyes I can!<\/span>\u201d Storms<\/strong><\/p>\n
Hustling renegade Brothers<\/strong><\/p>\n
Printed & edited Attitude<\/em> Magazine,<\/strong><\/p>\n
Until the Print Center day crew punched in<\/strong><\/p>\n
Near splatters of coffee stains<\/span> & debris covered floors,<\/strong><\/p>\n
Never knowing that Louis<\/span>, Bernadine, and I<\/strong><\/p>\n
Like shrewd mice hiding behind kitchen walls<\/strong><\/p>\n
Had already scurried out to print a universe of words<\/strong><\/p>\n
About the power<\/span> of dance against eternity bones,<\/strong><\/p>\n
While most Brooklyn families slept<\/strong><\/p>\n
Through midnight<\/span> images of life\u2019s eternal tilt & salt<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong>\u00a0<\/strong>Decades later<\/strong><\/p>\n
After screams<\/span> for equality let out \u2013 & screams<\/span> held back<\/strong><\/p>\n
Children to rear & myriad burials to carry deep,<\/strong><\/p>\n
After accomplishments & dusted off dreams & fists stirred up<\/strong><\/p>\n
The sleeping repose of my friend is itself, a sculpture,<\/strong><\/p>\n
And more than a random inconsequential footnote<\/strong><\/p>\n
Clocking in the worn weary years he published miles of Shamal Books<\/strong><\/p>\n
When Louis<\/span>, wrestled with poets to make a noise!<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
To make sense!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n
To tell the truth!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n
And not abandon history & culture<\/strong><\/p>\n
To make a New World<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
From the odds & deficit opportunities America brings<\/strong><\/p>\n
Louis Reyes Rivera<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n
\"\"<\/p>\n
A goliath<\/span> among righteous<\/span> teachers<\/strong><\/p>\n
Carrying the burning<\/span> crosses of our misjudgment<\/strong><\/p>\n
Warped egos, stubborn derailments of consciousness,<\/strong><\/p>\n
Negro-a-zation & self-loathing\u2019s travail<\/strong><\/p>\n
He lies sleeping in the grass at Gates Street<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong>\u00a0<\/strong>Perhaps he is dreaming paradise, backwards, out loud<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Perhaps he is walking through a kale<\/span>id<\/span>osco<\/span>pic<\/span> prism<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Of his beloved homeland \u2013 Puerto Rico<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Partaking in solemn libations with the ancestors,<\/strong><\/p>\n
Wise ancestors who sprint<\/span> logic & myth through his tongue<\/strong><\/p>\n
With the precision of a learned surgeon<\/strong><\/p>\n
Enlightened by truths\u2019 angels of agitation<\/strong><\/p>\n
Dressed for the unity sorely needed<\/strong><\/p>\n
In the here & now of our massive<\/span> confusions,<\/strong><\/p>\n
Lifting mountains through the nourishment <\/strong><\/p>\n
Of his rice & beans strength,<\/strong><\/p>\n
To say it loud! I am\u2026We are<\/span>, still here<\/span><\/span><\/strong>\u00a0<\/strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n
Like a bulwark of destiny\u2019s certitude<\/strong><\/p>\n
A beautiful, attentive, caring sistah<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Seems to be playing the part of a sentinel<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n
Her chair clearly blocking anyone from disturbing Louis<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
And stealing his sleep from silence<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
I ask the sistah smooth as gingerbread & moons<\/strong><\/p>\n
Was she guarding Louis sleeping in the grass<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u201cOh no,\u201d she replies exploding<\/span> with anticipation,<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u201cI too am a poet waiting in hope Louis<\/span> will map out<\/strong><\/p>\n
More images and testimony<\/strong><\/p>\n
As only Louis Reyes Rivera<\/span>\u2019 footsteps to soulful places can divine<\/strong><\/p>\n
 \"\"<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong>\u00a0<\/strong>I sit. I rise. I Rise!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n
When informed that the seat<\/strong><\/p>\n
In which I was about to plop my bones was where Louis<\/span> sat<\/strong><\/p>\n
Carefully stepping in sunshine I spin<\/span> past sistah poet<\/strong><\/p>\n
Touch the Warrior Poet on his shoulder,<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u201cLouis<\/span>, Louis<\/span>.\u201d The lion looks up and stretches<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u201cWow, Ted Wilson.\u201d Louis<\/span> replied<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I say\u2026\u201dIt\u2019<\/span>s A<\/span>rthur<\/span>.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n
Raising his eyebrows Louis<\/span> places on his glasses<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s you! You said you would come\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n
The lion surrounded by love\u2019s levitating flow<\/strong><\/p>\n
Raises<\/span> himself further onto his side with his elbow,<\/strong><\/p>\n
As a rainbow backdrop of paintings & prints caress Louis<\/strong><\/p>\n
Waiting to be liberated<\/span> and sold<\/strong><\/p>\n
To be carried off to someone\u2019s home or museum<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong>\u201cLouis<\/span>,\u201d I say\u2026\u201dtake your seat.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u201cNo, you sit there.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n
Sitting on the edge of a garden wall<\/strong><\/p>\n
Louis<\/span> asks for the ginger ale sitting in the grass<\/span>,<\/strong><\/p>\n
He says his stomach is making war<\/span> on his nerves.<\/strong><\/p>\n
I grab Louis\u2019 hand, and we sit in comrade<\/span> silence<\/strong><\/p>\n
No need to play catch up or pull strings from the past,<\/strong><\/p>\n
We cherish<\/span> the moment. <\/strong><\/p>\n
Poets with no words<\/span>\u2026no masks<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n
Mel Wright, the people\u2019s record photographer appears<\/strong><\/p>\n
Louis, slightly more alert, drinks a few swings of ginger ale,<\/strong><\/p>\n
Turns, then reaches back and puts on his hat.<\/strong><\/p>\n
We smile<\/span> and pose<\/span> for a picture, and that\u2019s that.<\/strong><\/p>\n
I feel Louis needs to escape, to rest, to recharge<\/strong><\/p>\n
To go home<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
I tell Louis that William is out front in the car waiting<\/strong><\/p>\n
I ask Louis<\/span> would he like to go home. \u201cYes, let\u2019s go<\/span>.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n
Moving a slow<\/span> fast floatation through the garden<\/strong><\/p>\n
Moving past paintings talking Caribbean<\/span> Grandeur<\/strong><\/p>\n
Louis<\/span> answers more questions while gathering his wife, <\/strong><\/p>\n
Barbara, heading toward<\/span> their Hancock Street Haven<\/strong><\/p>\n
\n
Walking proudly with my friend I think to myself<\/strong><\/p>\n
It\u2019s no coincidence Louis Reyes Rivera<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Has been nick-named the Janitor<\/span> of History & Poets.<\/strong><\/p>\n
Not because his knowledge or words<\/span> arrive to be discarded<\/strong><\/p>\n
Or abandoned inside some dark landfill of listless & blunted memory,<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u2018Cause Louis<\/span>\u2019 recall, analysis & words sting, clean up<\/span><\/span>\u2026turn you aroun<\/span>d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
And simultaneously drop you next to the Pride<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Power & Connection one should be living in,<\/strong><\/p>\n
To Never Give UP<\/span>!<\/strong><\/p>\n
Never surrendering to lies, injustice, or brutishness<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0\"\"<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong>Poet Warrior sleeping<\/span> in the grass<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Stands, stands<\/span> with his wife, Barbara<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
His Gilbraltar<\/span>\u2026his Underground Railroad Wing<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Where both partners in Hallowed Blackness, Sing<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n
And Louis<\/span>\u2019 poetry always demanding that we & our words<\/strong><\/p>\n
Breathe<\/span> Frederick Douglas\u2019 Command<\/span> to AGITATE<\/strong><\/p>\n
Until the phoenix<\/span> no longer needs to rise from the ashes<\/strong><\/p>\n
And we all can sleep<\/span> in the grass<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Knowing our people are not bleeding<\/strong><\/p>\n
Or posturing to be \u201cA<\/span> Brand<\/span>,\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n
While second by second, injustice & disunity<\/strong><\/p>\n
Sinks us all into further depths of oblivion <\/strong><\/p>\n
Beneath sinking sand<\/strong><\/p>\n
\"\"<\/p>\n
Usually a diary is a spontaneous record<\/strong><\/p>\n
Of a day\u2026a moment<\/strong><\/p>\n
Written once and then sealed.<\/strong><\/p>\n
However, for Louis Reyes Rivera<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
I was again compelled<\/strong><\/p>\n
To stomp my feelings across memory <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
And give Due Praise one mo\u2019 time<\/strong><\/p>\n
To announce to my Brother<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
You no longer need to toil in the vineyard of struggle<\/strong><\/p>\n
As an Army of One<\/strong><\/p>\n
\u2018Cause Mi<\/span> Amigo\u2026<\/span>for<\/span> You<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n
Blessings without Measure<\/strong><\/p>\n
In the form of love<\/span> arriving to stay,<\/strong><\/p>\n
And<\/span> here\u00a0it comes<\/strong><\/p>\n
(c)Arthur Theodore Wilson\u00a0\u00a0<\/strong><\/h6>\n
All rights reserved – August 9, 2011<\/strong><\/h6>\n
\n
(c)