NYU Black Renaissance Noire Spring/Summer 2014 | Page 7

i’m slammin death’s door.
after taking jayne, yusef
and so many others gone, this
time you’ve gone too far, too fucking far.
just got beside yourself, took amiri,
knew you was wrong, did the wrong thing.
couldn’t help yourself.
well, fuck you, death,
you gets no more respect from me.
When I ran into Amiri I was always
prepared for the verbal joust
coming up, but not planning to
come out on top. He liked to jibe
I was longer in the tooth than he.
I said once, how could that be: we
colleged together. His comeback
was “You forget I was a phenom,”
the fact being that he started
college at fourteen. I never forgot
he was a phenom.
His favorite opener was “How’s
your Boy?” which always cracked
me up, ever since the first time,
answering my innocent question
“Who’s my Boy?” he said “Stanley.”
I would have to work at hating
Crouch, but Amiri knew I had no
slack for the retrograde Negro
commentaries that paid for Stanley’s
steaks and wine. Amiri enjoyed
playing a kind of social, political
Dozens. I always took it as a jab of
friendship, an acknowledgement
of the complicity or conspiracy
(breathing with) of brotherly feelings
that we shared with many others.

But one night, at a Mel Edwards
exhibition in Chelsea, he surprised
me by saying something not smart
ass at all, even almost vulnerable,
something like “Everybody likes
to hear something good about
themselves sometimes.” I’ve
published four pieces or more,
snatching glimpses of his flashing
genius, but he was intuitive
enough to know that I could have
reservations about one thing or
another within our communal
context. The moment stayed with
me; a lump of surprise. Even he
with all his talent, charm and
courage, as well as his image as
the angriest Black man in America
(which didn’t bother those who
shared his anger), could need
a friendly stroke once in a while.
So about two years later, on
November 8, 2010, at 3 am, I sent
him this email. I was out of
the country and this was my last
personal contact with him.

So in the Blood cosmic harmony
I’m into this moment, I’m not
only digging the bright moments
we’ve shared, but the thousands
we didn’t, at least not in any
physical immediacy, but in the
wide psychic mutuality that you’ve
helped to foster.
There will never ever be another you.

BLACK RENAISSAN 4R