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Johnson Jack - The big smoke

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Johnson Jack The big smoke

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ALSO BY ADRIAN MATEJKA Mixology The Devils Garden THE BIG SMOKE ADRIAN MATEJKA - photo 1
ALSO BY ADRIAN MATEJKA Mixology The Devils Garden
THE BIG SMOKE
ADRIAN MATEJKA PENGUIN POETS
PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
The big smoke - image 2
USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England For more information about the Penguin Group visit penguin.com First published in Penguin Books 2013 Copyright Adrian Matejka, 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this product may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors rights. Purchase only authorized editions. constitute an extension of this copyright page. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA Matejka, Adrian, 1971 [Poems.

Selections] The Big Smoke / Adrian Matejka. pages cm Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-101-61308-5 I. Title. PS3613.A825B54 2013 811.6dc23 2012045786

For my mother Jo Gustin and for my father Robert Matejka Jack Johnson want - photo 3
For my mother, Jo Gustin, and for my father, Robert Matejka
Jack Johnson want to get on board, Captain, he says, I aint haulin no coal. Fare thee, Titanic, fare thee well.

When he heard about that mighty shock, might have seen the man trying to Eagle Rock. Fare thee, Titanic, fare thee well. THE TITANIC, LEADBELLY

HURT BUSINESS
BATTLE ROYAL
Back then, theyd chain a bear in the middle of the bear garden & let the dogs loose. Iron chains around a bears neck dont slow him too much. A bear will always make short work of a dog. & since most creatures are naturally afraid of bears, there wouldnt always be much of a show in the bear garden. & since most creatures are naturally afraid of bears, there wouldnt always be much of a show in the bear garden.

So the handlers sometimes put the bears eyes out or took his teeth to make the fight more sporting. I believe you need eyes more than you need teeth in a fight, but losing either makes a bear a little less mean. Once baiting was against the law, some smart somebody figured coloreds fight just as hard if hungry enough. So they rounded up the skinniest of us, had us strip to trousers, then blindfolded us before the fight. They turned us in hard circles a few times on the ring steps like a motorcar engine before pushing us between the ropes. When the bell rang, it seemed like I got hit from eight directions.

I didnt know where those punches came from, but I swung so hard my shoulder hasnt been right since because the man said only the last darky on his feet gets a meal.

CANNIBALISM
Coloreds were here before these United States were even dreamed of. We have always been on this land. Thats why I dont bother about what Booker T. Washington says. Im a pure-blooded American of the first rate & I dont need to cast down a bucket unless theres no indoor toilet.

After the Great Storm hit, the Times called us black ghouls, cannibals eating coloreds & whites like Sunday chicken. They said we left babies in the street just so we could take a dead mans shoes. They said we sawed off fingers at the fat meat for rings. I was there, so I know whats true: whole families of coloreds shot down by whites. Protecting the dead, the sheriffs said, sending buckshot at any colored in sight. Those dead people didnt need any more protection than the mud & rocks covering them.

After that storm moved through, me & the other Galveston boys slept where we could, spent our days searching for anybody alive. We got paid whiskey & potatoes. We found dead mothers & sons, dead cats & skulls cracked like teacups under the wet wood & rock. Thats all the storm left.

HURT BUSINESS
Willie Morris was much larger than me & struck me in the jaw for no apparent reason. Grandmother Gilmore saw the whole thing & said, Arthur, if you do notwhip Willie, I shall whip you. Its always better to whip than to be whipped, so I took the fight straight to the bigger boy.

Not long after, fighting became a way to make money: on the Galveston docks, the fresh smell of fish & stevedores sweating out lunchtime booze. Thirteen & I was already strong enough to toss a cotton bale out of the way like it was a bad idea & I could jump five feet backward from flat feet. My fists werent good then & those men gave me the kind of beatings that made me want to go back to the schoolhouse. They laughed while they put it on me & seagulls circled us thinking there must be fish in the middle of such a fracas. Those lunchtime brawls taught me to mix it up outside the gentlemans rulesquick punches to the manhood, stomped toes when cornered, eye gouges to get out of a headlock. Of course, I always abide by the rules inside of the ring.

Those dock fights were more about survival than winning.

THE MANLY ART OF SELF-DEFENSE
Chrysanthemum Joe visited Galveston to instruct in the art of self-defense since prize fighting was against the law in Texas back then. Joe was a dandy dressed up as a prize fighter. A sport with blond waves, a little too comfortable in his bright red costume. Joe looked small, but I heard he hit Jim Jeffries so hard the bigger mans teeth came out through his lip. Jeffries once kept a grizzly as a pet, so what does that say about Joes disposition? It didnt matter that Joes hair stayed fixed in place like he used macassar oil or that he looked like he would rather be at a poetry recitation.

Our meeting was the shortest fight of my career. The man pursued me like it was personal & I went down in the third thanks to a hard left to my eye. His fists were so fast Im still looking for them. I was up quick, but the rangers stampeded the ring, six-shooters gleaming in the lights. Joe & I ended the evening in the crossbar hotel. Lucky for us, Sheriff Thomas enjoyed the fistic science & suggested we spar to pass the time.

No ring, no glovesjust an abundance of split lips & name-calling. Joe instructed me during those long, gloveless brawls. Right-hand leads, snake-strike lefts all while working to duck the other mans fists. He told me, A man that canmove like you should never take a punch.

THE SHADOW KNOWS
From day one, we aspireto be more than the averageNegro. None of that yassah, boss & watermelon rindsmile for us. We want quailcooked in butter.

We wantgold where that gap toothshould be. Clarity for Negrocaricature. We want high-styling clothing, gold ringson our fingers like Greekarchitecture, & gold pocketwatches in our vest coats.More women than coats.White women in our architecture.We want peculiar & instinctualsatisfactions. We want to beprize fightings main attraction:the Heavyweight Championof the World. When we rise up,the whole Negro race rises upwith us. When we get to the top,its just us.

No use for Negroesthen, not even ourselves.

BLUES HIS SWEETIE GIVES TO ME
I was out-of-doors, eating snowballs for dinner & sleeping by Lake Michigan. Nights so cold even the Chicago police werent up for rousting me. The soles of my shoes so thin I could step on a dime & tell whether it was heads or tails. If I had a dime. Sparring with Frank Childs was my first bit of Chicago luck. They called Frank The Crafty Texan, but I have yet to meet a colored Texan who isnt crafty.
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