Looking Out: The harvest
By Brandon Astor Jones
"That time we all heard it, cool and clear, cutting across the hot grip of the day.
That major Voice. That adult Voice. forgoing Rolling River,
forgoing tearful tale of bale and barge
and other symptoms of an old despond.
Warming in music — words devout and large, that we are each other's harvest:
we are each other's business:
we are each other's magnitude and bond." — Gwendolyn Brooks
The poem above is entitled "Paul Robeson". It speaks clearly to who and what all people are and must be to, and for, each other.
Some years ago I wrote a letter to the poet laureate of the state of Illinois, Gwendolyn Brooks. I sought her help in my efforts to inspire my grand-daughter Tanisha Marie's poetic expression and creativity. She was only seven years old at the time, and had written a very impressive poem about race-based fighting that was taking place at her school.
The poem also impressed Ethelene Dyer Jones, who then was the editor of the Georgia State Poetry Society's newsletter. Mrs Jones published Tanisha Marie's poem in that publication.
Not long after that, Brooks sent me an autographed collection of some of her poems. They were written for, and inspired by, young urban children. I sent that collection to Tanisha Marie, as a gift for her eighth birthday.
If you have ever wondered who qualifies as heroes for me, Paul Robeson and the mellowing Ms Brooks are very near the top of the list.
Robeson had a thirst for life and love of people — all people — second to none. He was a soldier in the ongoing fight for civil rights long before many of those we hear so much more about knew the fight was going on. He championed the causes of indigenous people in many of the places that he visited — including Australia's Aborigines.
His first visit to Australia took place when he was age 62. I am reading from a book sent to me by another one of my mellowing hero-friends, Nancy Wills. On page 23, she, along with a friend, shares a humorous moment in a photograph showing Robeson's earlier stages of mellowing. Throughout it he is shown with the likes of Dr W.E.B. DuBois, Lena Horne and others.
The book is really a condensed version of the script for the stage play Deep Bells Ring, written by Nancy Wills and directed by Errol O'Neil. If you would like a copy of this inspiring work, send $10 along with your name and address to Ms Nan Wills, 229 White Road, Lota Qld 4179. Nan was very fond of Robeson, and she cherishes his memory.
Tanisha Marie Jones is one of my younger heroes. She will become a teenager on May 30. If you are one of those sincere and truly caring people — and feel that you can be an instrument in the positive growth and development of her life — please send her a note of love and encouragement through me, and I will pass it on. Please be sure to include your name and return address so that she can respond; tell us about yourself.
For us Joneses, the struggle and fight continue and, for a young girl whose grandfather is on death row, life will not be easy. Tanisha Marie will need all of the friends and heroes she can get. We "... are each other's harvest: we are each other's business: we are each other's magnitude and bond."
Happy birthday, Grand-daughter! I love you; heed the words that follow. The day will come, when you too will mellow and pass them on.
YOU ARE THE HARVEST
Never see your world in as tiny a space as these less than United States
For your domain and range is so much bigger and diverse than that; know this fact:
Our blood lines are everywhere — places like Africa, Australia, England, France and Japan are also Jones Family Estates
Do not limit yourself when you leave; let America be but one of many countries that will draw you back
Soar high so that your spiritual-eye can see as if you are the seed in the bill of the great feathered Mother's Spirit
Go equally high and low so that the folk atop mountains, as well as those in the valley, will know who you are
Do not be ashamed — be proud — to tell them how the Joneses have fared ... if they will hear it
Yet, in all of your travels, fearless be cautious and from your true self never stray too far
As your youthful time for leaving draws near, try to remember that your journey began in courage a long time ago
And that the road is marked with the Diasporial-Blood of those African Americans who, before you, made the way
There were many others too, we all will be watching you, and we expect you to do us proud. Can you hear us, low?
If you listen, with your heart, carefully, you will feel the whispers of our Love wishing you a Happy Birthday,
YOU ARE THE HARVEST
[The writer is a prisoner on death row in the United States. He welcomes letters commenting on his columns. He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, EF-122216, G3-77, Georgia Diagnostic & Classification Prison, PO Box 3877, Jackson, GA 30233, USA.]