Primarily a writing exercise, this dream journal-inspired blog is a quiet introspective sojourn into the process that we traverse in going from private dream to public art. I see our dreaming as an internalized mythmaking. As I philosophize and expressively exhibit dreams, both private and public, I encourage and delight in creative language as a way to practice experiential metaphors through a “public dreaming." Writing Theory: Creative Dream Fiction

Saturday, 15 October 2011


White Lady of Auahouret by African painter

JUNO SE MAMA came to me
                                           through my father.
He taught me about what it is to be
            Man,         Self,          Strongness,
                        It is a ritual dedicated to
My mother.
          Upon this earth, I want her to see.
I had to understand my father's house
                               before my mother's house.
JUNO SE MAMA is a prayer for all those
           Who have suffered the
                                after effects of Slavery.
Who are we?
      It is also a spiritual for the sick
and poor, light for the blind, comfort
                       to the young and old,
Cradle song for babies,
               Wind...for birds in trees,
The sound of thunder and lightning that
              BURST out over the earth.
It is a rhythm of virtue.
                     When you are all alone,
         Many songs the night,
                                            I am a moon child.
I come from New Orleans
                                    the surge of the bayou.
  In my young life I worked
And dreamed.
                I wanted to sculp,
                                          to squeeze the earth
                        With my hands.
I talk with my hands.
                  Who teach one.
I left my native home, New Orleans.
           My people were not popular with
                                                  the Afro-arts.
           I wanted to build,
                                             to say.
        A first Afro-American art center.
                                 Young boy, with a Man's dream,
             "and a child shall lead them."
                                   JUNO SE MAMA.
While they were running the streets,
                                  was listening.
             a drummer born. American.
My father
             a tuxedo drummer,
"once a tuxedo drummer, always a
                                         tuxedo drummer."
My mother's father was a captain's
F Company, 84th Regiment, Union Army
        during the Civil war, 1863-6.
For the past 12 years I have been a
                    maker, designer,
                           a Son.....of drums.
My Afro-American Art Center will be
                  a home for the homeless,
                                         Future sons of drums.
Coltrane moves in that direction
                A man who knows
       Directions for the future depend
On how we artists of today
                                    cut the road.
Francis de Erdely, the famous artist
           Made his contribution to my
                                                     art center.
     His sketchings of me see into
                                    and understand
                   Rhythm and Afro art.
The ritual, JUNO SE MAMA, begins in a
                      Mighty cloud burst
And the rippling of the water drum
            begins beating against the
                                         air cups of the world.
Moon children...ready to be born.
                 Signs of sky, earth, water.
One is born called JUNO.
                          His father's house is the bird.
You can hear him teaching his son
                                                       how to fly.
           Fly, till you reach the sky, Float,
Fly,                                                                    Float
                       till you make a boat
           Be strong my son and show your arm.
I'm going to show you your MAMA's home
                                       She lives in the sea.
There is birth in the water
                                       in my mother's house.
No matter what has happened to us,
                  we have to sing.
                          There is always land ahead.
Earth is where it is happening,
     It's where we go from here.
             We have to sound the cry
                                              of the conch shell.
Blow the shell...
                                       blow, blow
                         till you see.
And JUNO blowed and blowed till
                                            he grooved
                                                          and grooved.

JUNO LEWIS, December 1966
       text arranged by jo ann cannon

No comments:

Post a Comment