Anthology in Tribute to Malcolm
[In the following review of For Malcolm X, Gow praises anthologies of its type for paying tribute to important figures in black history.]
He fell upon his face before
Allah the raceless in whose blazing Oneness all
Were one. He rose, renewed, renamed, became
much more than there was time for him to be.
“Labbayk! Labbayk!,” Robert Hayden
The prose additions to this collection [For Malcolm X] are almost as interesting as the poems themselves. The book begins with a six-page biography of Malcolm X and a brief introduction explaining the contents. In the latter the editors claim: “There is no black, regardless of his agreement or disagreement with Malcolm's politics, goals, or racial theories, whether he's a serf in Mississippi, a cat on the corner in Chicago, or a black bourgeois in Westchester, who didn't feel a stiffening of his spine and pride in his blackness when he saw or heard Malcolm take on all comers, and rout them.”
A preface, “Why I Eulogized Malcolm X” follows. It is written by actor-playwright Ossie Davis—one of the first persons to express shock, horror and sorrow over the fatal shooting. The entire text of the eulogy appears in the appendix. One reason for paying tribute to the dead hero was explained in these words: “Malcolm was our manhood, our living black manhood! This was his meaning to his people. And, in honoring him, we honor the best in ourselves.”
Near the back of the book are photographs and biographical notes about each author. A bibliography of books, pamphlets, periodicals and unpublished manuscripts is also available to students seeking reference material concerning Malcolm X.
The poetry is divided into four sections: The Life, The Death, The Rage, The Aftermath. There is a wide array of well-known authors in each part. Familiar names such as Gwendolyn Brooks, LeRoi Jones, Mari Evans and Ted Joans are scattered throughout. “Jungle Flower” by Marcella Caine—reprinted from Negro Digest—is a warm, lyrical study of this outstanding leader.
Jungle colors,
Fluted and starred
Blossom at night
Without regard
For the dying blight
Long overgrown
Of rotting log
And crumbling stone.
As a ghetto child
He blossomed and grew
Without regard
For the blight he knew
That hatred is black
And fear is white,
But death flowered redly
One awful night.
Edward S. Spriggs begins his poem “For Brother Malcolm” with these lines: “there is no memorial site / in harlem / save the one we are building / in the street of / our young minds.” Anthologies of this type help keep alive the memories of those who made significant contributions to the history of black people in the world today. Poems are memorials of a kind—as illustrated in this poignant expression of loss by Julia Fields:
His eyes were mirrors of our agony.
They are closed.
His lips were testaments of our hunger.
They are closed.
His ears were circuits for our cries.
They are closed.
His hands were petitioners against our bondage.
They are closed.
When shall such another
Pierce and sting this land?
“For Malcolm X”
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