“Prom-enade” at 47th and South Parkway.

Negro Social Clubs In Bronzeville Club Scene
Alpha Bruton, Synopsis of Echoes of Our Journey

Cicely Tyson - 1933 Off Broadway, dedicated Coltrane honorary street





















These new works are a collaboration between myself and a select few poets from the New Negro Poets USA. Edited by Langston Hughes and forwarded by Gwendolyn Brooks. I selected poems that spoke to me so I could translate into a visual narratives. creative interpretation, echoed the voices, the hopes and dreams of what may have transpired on the “Promenade” at 47th and South Parkway. 


Black Migration to Bronzeville the first time since the plantation days, the challenge of “Black Poets”, “Black Scholars”, “Black Song”, and “Black Power” intersected here at 47th and Parkway. Music, literature and art were a common thread.

Ethel Waters Keys of Life

“Every Negro Poet has something to say, his mere body for that matter, is an eloquence. In his quite walk down the street is a speech to the people. Rebuke is a school. But no real artist is going to be content with offering raw materials.” ---by Gwendolyn Brooks in her forward comment in the Phylon


Charlie Parker- Birdman
 


“May he have new life like the fall fallen tree, wet moist rotten enough to see shoots stalks branches and green leaves and may the roots grow into his side around the back of the mind in its closet is a string I think, a coil around things listen to summertime, think of spring, negro cats in the closet, anything that makes us rock.”

John Coltrane – By Alfred B. Spellman

Legacy My South














What desperate nightmare rapt me to this land lit by a bloody moon, red in the hills, red in the valleys? Why am I compelled to thread again where buried feet have trod, to spread my tears where blood and of the moon, Transports me.
Legacy My South, by Dudley Randall.


“The Sharecropper Heading North, Morning




















“This morning I threw the windows of my room open, the light burst in that crystal gauze and I hung it on my wall to frame. And here I am watching it take possession of my room, watching the obscure love match light and shadow of cold and warmth. It is a matter of acceptance; I guess It is a matter of finding some room with shadows to embrace open. Now the light has settled in, I don’t think I shall ever close my windows again.

This Morning by Joy Wright.

"It is Time"
It is time for the United States to spend money on education so that every American would be hipper thus no war!
It is time for jazz, and more jazz, and still some more jazz.
It is time for a moral revolution in America
 (excerpts)
“It is Time ---By Ted Joans





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