I have 23 drawings I call "Which Craft," I wish NAGB to own. I wish $15,000 for them. These drawings, reproduced with various colour backgrounds, are included with 145 poems in CHRISTMAS LIGHTS, one of my three recently published books.
I call them "Which Craft". They represent going mad. I call this section of CHRISTMAS LIGHTS, "Tongues Of Fire" but of one thing I am uncertain. Do they express Christianity or is it a 23-minute practice of witch craft?
With them, I did go through fire, resulting in, like Shadrack, Meshack and Abednego, like the apostles in the Upper Room, being born again.
At the time, I was pursuing a degree in Performance, in Speech and Drama with something firry to express which my chosen instrument, my body, could not say.
These drawings were guided by music on a classical station I'd listen to in Memphis. In addition to this temporary lapse into drawing, almost simultaneously, I began to write. What I wrote, two years later, appeared as my first book, BICENTENNIAL BLUES.
At this point, I virtually abandoned theatre. Without completing this degree at Memphis State University, in my seventh semester, I withdrew. I returned home to The Bahamas. I published my first book, taught English Language and Literature for six years before returning to Fisk University and in a year, completed a degree in Dramatics and Speech but I'd become a writer.
By 1986 I'd already published BICENTENNIAL BLUES (1977), 43 POEMS (1979), ICE CUBES (1982), ACTS (1983) and in 1987 I published FRUITS FROM AFRICA.
"Which Craft" were a turning point or a cross roads - but these terms are too weak to represent what occurred. What I was before I expressed them and who and what I became after, represent such a translation I should have changed my name and actually I did.
I have my father's name. I used to be called Junior. After "Which Craft" I was not Junior any more. I'd chosen my craft in which I've been sailing ever since over life's seas, however calm, however rough.
These drawings though, were shaken from me like a storm passing through a tree, relieving it of fruit and leaves. I was but limbs shaking after. That I've survived, that I am as intact as I am, I have only my maker to thank.
Obediah Michael Smith
bestwordsmith@gmail.com
I call them "Which Craft". They represent going mad. I call this section of CHRISTMAS LIGHTS, "Tongues Of Fire" but of one thing I am uncertain. Do they express Christianity or is it a 23-minute practice of witch craft?
With them, I did go through fire, resulting in, like Shadrack, Meshack and Abednego, like the apostles in the Upper Room, being born again.
At the time, I was pursuing a degree in Performance, in Speech and Drama with something firry to express which my chosen instrument, my body, could not say.
These drawings were guided by music on a classical station I'd listen to in Memphis. In addition to this temporary lapse into drawing, almost simultaneously, I began to write. What I wrote, two years later, appeared as my first book, BICENTENNIAL BLUES.
At this point, I virtually abandoned theatre. Without completing this degree at Memphis State University, in my seventh semester, I withdrew. I returned home to The Bahamas. I published my first book, taught English Language and Literature for six years before returning to Fisk University and in a year, completed a degree in Dramatics and Speech but I'd become a writer.
By 1986 I'd already published BICENTENNIAL BLUES (1977), 43 POEMS (1979), ICE CUBES (1982), ACTS (1983) and in 1987 I published FRUITS FROM AFRICA.
"Which Craft" were a turning point or a cross roads - but these terms are too weak to represent what occurred. What I was before I expressed them and who and what I became after, represent such a translation I should have changed my name and actually I did.
I have my father's name. I used to be called Junior. After "Which Craft" I was not Junior any more. I'd chosen my craft in which I've been sailing ever since over life's seas, however calm, however rough.
These drawings though, were shaken from me like a storm passing through a tree, relieving it of fruit and leaves. I was but limbs shaking after. That I've survived, that I am as intact as I am, I have only my maker to thank.
Obediah Michael Smith
bestwordsmith@gmail.com
posted by Obie Quiet at 1:07 AM
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