Afrobeat Journal Issue 1 : Fall 2010

by SuAndi

Handsome
My cousin John tells
Not handsome
Beautiful
B e a u t i f u l
Most beautiful man who ever walked
This city
The earth possibly
And could dance
Light foot three feet in the air
Michael still a twinkle in old man Jackson’s eye

And style
Stylised in a fashion no-one had ever seen before
First Afro, Dread
And a voice that Bob would have envied
And Nat practised to achieve
Roots, Jazz, culturally cool
Lucky boy
Unlucky man
Living in a war zone

The Ritz sprung floor
Helped cha cha, tango and waltz get some style
Rockers to roll
Gave bounce to clumsy youth with red pimples
Now green-eyed to see this man
Brown skinned and too damn good looking
Twirling local lasses in perfect circles
Synchronised to the rhythm

How they scowled at him
And he involved with music
Danced with closed lids so his soul could hear
Did not eyeball them back
So never saw them hatch a plan
That followed him into the street
Past the hospital where I first kicked into life
Crossing over to the dark of the Palace Theatre
And forward to Princess Street near the bridge by the water

There
They took him
Pushing scrawny bodies stacking up tense
Mouths screaming savage names
From their own savage mouths
And marking the first bruises on this beauty of manhood
Grabbing now
Bits of him
An arm a leg
Grabbing his head his hair
Using everything they had to keep a hold
Teeth nasty with decay
Missing his cheek (maybe God was watching)
And found instead the tip of his ear
As a morsel for supper

That up-tempoed his footwork into a new rhythm
Faster with more deft then he had ever danced
His legs filled with the electricity of terror
And let out a roar that no Mancunian had ever heard before
Causing the ancestors to quake in memory

He pulled himself forward
But they clung, clung fast
Until arm and socket stressed
So radius and ulna left the zone of humerus
With a gunfire crack of departure
That freed him
And now his captors ran
Away

No fleet footfalls
But the stumbling falling pushing shoving stampede of beasts
No not beasts for at least they have innocence
These were demons in the face of God
The threat of daylight
Returning to the squalor of their lairs
Where George and Jack hang grey in grime covered windows
That aid to conceal the filth within

Where was his beauty now
His proud head lowered
Those arms that raised hands to clap out beats
Wave the breeze to attract a gal to dancing

SuAndi

Now the two hang loose like his soul
Music is a silent memory
The glitter ball has cooled its glow
And yellow lamps
Mask the dark street ahead

He senses the splash of rats
His ears still deaf with obscenities
The air is so foul
That his nostrils are confused
Sending a stench much worse
Then the decay of the canal
To sit in his stomach

His heart cries for freedom
Home and freedom
Freedom and home
A distance too far to travel
This night
Any night in his lifetime

So to Hulme he turns
Where women,
Mother and sister
Will bathe his wounds
Bind his arms
And spit out vile curses
To the enemies in the ‘hood

Who is SuAndi?

SuAndi was born in Hulme, Manchester, with absolutely no aspirations to be a writer – though at an early age she joined a dancing school and had dreams of a life not as the first Black ballet dancer, but as a contemporist. She literally walked into the arts as a model, the poet was quick to follow, and since 1985 she has expanded her portfolio of work into diverse locations, from galleries to public artwork. She is the freelance Cultural Director of NBAA, a recipient of a NESTA Dreamtime award, and in 1999 she was awarded an OBE in the Queen’s Honours list for her contributions to the Black Arts Sector.

[with a font that looks like hand writing]: I like to call myself a poet because the word has such hidden depth. Being a poet has allowed me to be a novelist, playwright, live artist and even write opera. I can use poetry when I am speaking at conferences. I can share words ideas with young people from knee high to grey toppers. I love that it has such a strong link to my ancestry, the African oral tradition, and fits so neatly on the page right here in 21st Century Manchester. Why on earth would I want to be anything different when I can be what I am, a poet, and a SUSSEDBLACKWOMANCELEBRATINGLIFE? –SuAndi

Links to SuAndi’s work:
The ASHA Centre
Gyenyame for Performing Arts
Revealing Histories REMEMBERING SLAVERY
Moving Manchester Writers Gallery