May 8, 2005
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“blackie fortuna” was my first out-personae, and my first major poetry book (1976) was “black bones” under the name blackie fortuna. This was not to pretend that I was black, but to try to see life as someone I was not. I was a middle class white man, I wanted to see how a young black man would view life. Already “he” was homeless. Many of the poems now seem dated, and most contain language some of you would rather not read.
Here are three poems, the first two from the Seventies, the last a newish poem.
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“Purple Thistle Landscape”
________________________
Purple thistles
In green grass drinks
And stings my trumpet eyes,
Tower their mauve fingers around my neck
And suffocate me with cotton wool.
My hammer heart,
Lonely and broken
Steps out of its savage beat
And soaks the cowmud into my bowels
Deranges the blue of the sky
Into an alien mudscape.
All around
Voices whisper
As I wrap my cloak of newspapers
Around my drizzle bones
And try to sleep in the stretched skin
Of my mind.
The sounds
Vibrate in the wind of august leaves
Sticking the gum in the stars
Around my black ears
Hearing the ghostly
Speeches of purple kings
In robes of silk
Shut in their majesty
Of thistledown regiments…
(The night turns cold.)
—
blackie fortuna.
—————
Uncle Tom
__________
the night that my poor uncle tom
kicked the bucket after a night on
the tiles like,
the city-crowd left him
to rot in the neon-gutter
among november leaves
& shitty waste;
said he was a drunk black bastard,
& was not really dead.
but the flies knew that he was dead ok
as they swam his stout-bottled eyes
and drank the stale beer
from his cold lips,
until the sneering voice of a passing copper
swept those pesky flies away.
they sure didn’t tell
us kids of this shame,
not till we asked
to see our uncle tom.
& my mum said that he
was now digging up words
to say sorry to
the family he had left behind.
—
blackie fortuna
——————
In a dirty part of town
where fast-food restraunts share the streets with rats,
they have a place
called a hostel
where you can kip the night
in piss-bed sheets
next to men who talk to themselves
and swear loudly.
In a dirty part of town
the politicians and police demand we stay
keep us off the streets
so no one can see the mess they caused.
Put us in a hostel
a place that replaced
the mental hospitals,
closed to save money
with the pretense it is a good thing.
In a dirty part of town
we are supposed to lie down
a shame to the community
who do not like failures,
who think everyone is a success in life.
Someone said I was too articulate
to be on the streets,
too much the poet.
Well, build me a home,
give me a job
and some honour and some clothes.
Anywhere will do
except in the
dirty part of town.
—
blackie fortuna.
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Someone has fell out with the Sarahs’, read the comments on their latest blog, esp comment 15!
Three_Headed_Sarahs And my comment on their blog-face speaks the truth. I AM pissed off with the fact a lot of people on Xanga do not like me.
Comments (31)
I’m curious about how you find your inspiration? You write so well.
My inspiration comes from my head!
That last one is amazing. It really makes me wonder whath appened that we are so scared and repulsed by people who weren’t “successful” in life that we have to tuck them away as an almost subhuman sect of society. It’s a shame, really.
I saw a movie a long time back and a white man with the help of some medications actually changed the pigmentation of his skin so he could live the life of a black man and experience first hand what the black man goes thru. It was an amazing movie and I wish I could recall the name. It was a long time ago. Your last poem about the dirty side of town is my favorite out of these three and I think for a white man who has not lived the experience you probably have put down some pretty close to reality experience.
Becca
I liked these.
Last one the best. very true.
I hope you are well, Terry.
Rosemary
now that is music that fits for Purple thistle…
I envy those who can write poetry…I wish I could do it even half as well.
well, it’s a good head, with so many facets, and such capacity for empathy.
I remember the name of the book and the movie. I read the book and its very good. Title is Black Like Me, click here for the movie data base info.
Me
hey there. I’ve been lost in problems lately; things not for xanga (livejournal is more my style now). Life is busy, friends are few, and happiness is elusive.
Why am I so jaded while I am so young??
I think blackie was the first one of your personas (that wasn’t THS) I encountered. I have an old word document with some poems I very much liked about 2-3 years ago and it was one of them (along with some poems by people from PQ).
Poetic thoughts escape me now. I’ve been thinking more along philosophical lines with one of my friends… trying to write, but it comes out in short prose pieces that have meaning… somewhere….
Have you ever read Pilgim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard? My english teacher recommended it to me and it’s one of my favorite books (I decided this before finishing the first chapter!), something I think I would write if were to ever have the patience (and talent) to write a book.
sorry i’ve been away… it’s nice to be reading you again ~ jack
i like uncle tom.
it is wonderful how you portray scenes that made me think all of these were actually real. creating a persona and putting yourself into the scenarios are definitely the good ways to create something so incredible.
i wish i can purchase one of your works. but i doubt its on sale here.
Interesting ! @-}-}-
i like uncle tom, its rather sad to know aan like uncle tom realised the things he had done in his life and wanted to make amends for all…sad but it was too late!! Dont let them get to you, the best way to do this is to ignore!! it was such a nasty comment to leave behind, i think we have enough nastiness already going on in the real world!!
I think it is a compliment to be critized by the people who flamed you on the Sarah’s. Who would want their approval?? It is my contention that if you don’t like something go somewhere else.
Your words are often harsh, wonderfully harsh. Beautifully written.
RYN-x-rated site….no, not really. I wrote a steamy blog is all.
Thanks for stopping by!!
Glad to see you are on again – I hope you are feeling better!
So much truth expressed so eloquently!
Hearing the ghostly
Speeches of purple kings
In robes of silk this is peaking my interest i love this one lord thanx magi
To write about the pain of people is never outdated and the good writing alsoill be never outdated.
thanks for sharing.
Darling, sorry about the asses who dare to condemn you… leave them to their pathetic shitholes….they’re probably jealous of this talent you posess *wink*
Cool down now…..
“As I wrap my cloak of newspapers” – let me design a silk cloak for you…to cheer thee up.
Uh, send Uncle Tom my regards….
“Put us in a hostel/ a place that replaced / the mental hospitals,” – I wonder if the ghosts of the mad-men still linger around…
-Elle
You are as courageous as you are brilliant~
I love you~and the Sarah’s~
And I am ever loyal~if not in shadow these many weeks~
Still~you have my devotion~
really like the first one…uniquely vivid.
wonderful set you got here, the first one i most enjoyed.
It’Mor
Wow…where do you find it in you? Those are so bloody powerful – you can so feel the emotions broiling.
And anyway – who can possibly not like you?
As you get so many, I don’t read their comments that people say to you. I think your Blackie poetry was good, not surprised it was published. I think swear words are necessary in some instances ,me and at my age nothing shocks me. Keep up your writing. You should feel proud having so much stuff published not like we weak ones trying to get a little fame Cheers Marj
Blackie Fortuna should have known my great-uncle Edward who was disbarred after using the courtroom to give a eulogy for a squirrel. Diminutive with closed cropped hair and always a three piece suit year-round, in the winter he lined the jacket with newspapers. I wish he were still here so I could talk to him instead of ignoring him as I did as a young person.
I love the last poem its is soo about america. And the 1st and 2nd are very interesting. Where do you think I can find your book?
Hope you are feeling better. I so enjoyed the pictures you linked from the Clowne blog.
RYC…It would indeed make a splendid poem. But what kind of car would ol’ Tiffy have had?
love again the purple king poem re ur comment on pictures in stones ~ i would not doubt it ~ it was the Sarahs who fiorst alerted me to some “greater possibilities~ tho some stones had been growing pics for years ~ i pay attention when a three head speaks ~ thanx for stopping by magi