Al Young,
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Al Young was appointed Poet Laureate of the State of California in Spring 2005. His many books include
The Sounds of Dreams Remembered: Poems 1990-2000, which received the Before Columbus American
Book Award in 2002, Heaven: Poems 1956-1990, Mingus/Mingus: Two Memoirs (with Janet Coleman), and
several novels, among them Who is Angelina? and Sitting Pretty. Born May 31 1939 at Ocean Springs,
Mississippi, on the Gulf Coast near Biloxi, Al Young grew up in the South and in Detroit. From 1957–1960
he attended the University of Michigan, where he co-edited Generation, the campus literary magazine.
In 1961 he emigrated to the San Francisco Bay Area. Settling at first in Berkeley, he held a variety of color-
ful jobs (folksinger, lab aide, disk jockey, medical photographer) before graduating from U.C. Berkeley with
a degree in Spanish. From 1969-1976 he was Edward B. Jones Lecturer in Creative Writing at Stanford near
Palo Alto, where he lived and worked for three decades. In 2000 he moved back to Berkeley.

Al Young travels internationally and extensively, reading, lecturing and often performing with musicians.
His poetry and prose have been translated into Italian, Spanish, Swedish, Norwegian, Serbo-Croatian,
Polish, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, German, and other languages. Current projects: A Piece of Cake
(a novel), Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know: Or, Opus de Funk (an account in verse of Lord Byron and
Lady Caroline Lamb's infamous romance), a screen adaptation of Seduction By Light, [his 1988 Hollywood
novel); volume two of The Literature of California, co-edited with scholar-critic Jack Hicks, and novelists
James D. Houston and Maxine Hong Kingston, and CitiZen: Spirit & Democracy, a collection of column-
length dialogues between Young and O.O. Gabugah on the current state of democracy in the U.S. (inspired
by Langston Hughes’ Simple Speaks His Mind).

 
Ba-Lues Done Gone Ballistic

“Ba-lue Bolivar Bal-lues-are” is Thelonious Monk’s title
for the slow 12-bar blues he composed for his close friend
the Baronness Pannonica de Königswarter when she
resided at Manhattan’s Hotel Bolivar in the late 1950s.
The blues link the DNA of all of America’s music.


Ba-lues (as in red-white-and) done gone ballistic
all over the world, gone crazy, gone postal,
gone fishing, gone every goodbye but gone.

Ba-lues, Ba-lues (as in Basie’s “Bleep, Blop, Blues”)
say E=MC2 (only inelegantly) don’t equal much,
don’t equal rights, don’t equal action, don’t

add up to nothing but slavery. Only this time
Ba-lues got plenty new niggers chained up:
Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Syria, Nigeria, Mexico—

plenty places Texaco can pull a Colombia, U-Haul
Yugoslavia (the former, that is), actively hate Haiti,
preach Jesus and, like a God who don’t like ugly,

take this one out, put that one in. Ba-lues
taking names. Ba-lues’ song say: “Bring ’em on!”
Ba-lues ain’t letting nothing pass. Ba-lues kick ass

and laugh about it. Ba-lues don’t care what it cost.
Ba-lues don’t care nothing about loss. Truth, youth,
the Constitution, global resolutions, Simon Bolívar—

Ba-lues don’t care nothing about freedom, Declarations
of Independence. Ba-lues in the democracy business.
Ba-lues run past you the terms of agreement for its

I Accept, I Do Not Accept democracy installations.
For males a Ba-lues tax cut means cutting your nuts;
clitoridectomy for females. No tickee, no laundry.

Ba-lues know if it ain’t no money in the treasury, they
in the black, even if it’s the white poor who get bled
out the red-white-and-blue. We spoilers. We victors.

Ba-lues gone ballistic. Ba-lues can’t remember nothing
about Vietnam, the corporate scam, the millions
of bombs and people it dropped; the CIA agents, the FBI,

the Agent Orange, the how now brown cow Dow
of chemistry, physics, the darkening pain of an insane
refrain. Ba-lues deals fear, Ba-lues deals jail, Ba-lues

allows only the news it chooses. Ba-lues know Uncle
Tom been done died. Ba-lues smooth your eyeball
with Dr. and Ms. Thomas. Ba-lues think tanks bankroll

books like The Bell Curve. All you boodie-call novelists,
get in line. Ba-lues’ message to the world: “We still
know better than to give a nigger an inch. The lynch

mob, all electronic now, has jazz by night and anthrax
by day. Ba-lues got statistics. Ba-lues gone fascistic.
Ba-lues (as in red-white-and) done gone ballistic.
 
“Ba-lues Done Gone Ballistic” © 2004 by Al Young, originally published in nocturnes (re)view of literary arts, 2004.