 Abiodun Oyewole photograph by Lee Cantelon c. 2007 Abiodun Oyewole grew up Charles Davis in Queens, NY. Listening to his parents' jazz and gospel records and studying Langston Hughes and other great poets in school helped nurture Oyewole's love of poetry. His mother taught him to "throw his voice" by making him recite the Lord's Prayer in their basement so that she could hear him in the kitchen. When he was 15, Charles Davis and a friend went into a Yoruban Temple in Harlem out of curiosity. The Yoruba priest there performed a ceremony with Charles and gave him the name Abiodun Oyewole. He began reading about the Yoruba gods and the significance of one's ancestors, and felt a deep spiritual connection to the religion: "I could say a prayer to my ancestors every morning so they could help me through my life. That made all the sense in the world to me." THE LAST POETS were born on May 19, 1968, when David Nelson, Gylan Kain, and Abiodun Oyewole read poetry at a memorial for Malcolm X. Their goal was to be a poetic voice for Malcolm's call for self-determination and black nationalism. Like many black activists of the time, they were tired of Martin Luther King's integrationist agenda. They were much more influenced by the politics of radical members of the SNCC (Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee), the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society), and the Black Panthers. Abiodun wrote the poem that became the central lyrics for "Is He the Living God?" I ain't Jesus, but I understand where Jesus was comin' from I can feel his passion because it is mine To be blessed in the womb of this earth And nurtured by the trees, the animals, the sun, the moon, and the stars To be touched by them, and dance in the rhythm of nature's flow, Oh what a joy! I ain't Jesus... But I too am displeased with man's inhumanity to man, With the very thought of taking a life, Turning and twisting it into a calloused plant, That hides from the sun and curses the stars at night, The wicked howl, and madness finding residence in our souls, Makes the dark side bright and desirable... No, I ain't Jesus, but I love a good song, fried fish on Friday, Some real poetry of great basketball game, Watching black people rise and take charge of their lives, And cherish the ancestors and children we see every day, And recognize even a fool, may have something wise to say. And I'm working on my freedom, working on my freedom every day. No, I ain't Jesus, but I know I can be an angel. - TEXT BY ABIODUN OYEWOLE, ALL RIGHTS PROTECTED back to THE LAST POETS PAGE |
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copyright 2007 by The Words Group/Wordz from the Street/Pinlight |
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