https://digitallis.isg.siue.edu/files/original/1fd2a0071fc6bf3853bb072e7c1d3103.pdf 89736b31f0b96b8d261b2d0e35cebc43 PDF Text Text 'I • SCRIPT ADAPTATION OF DRUMVOICES: THE MISSION OF AFROAMERICAN POETRY ~ (a'critical history) by Eugene B. Redmond . j_ C., ) ( For Presentation at Book Party October 3, 1976: 3 p.m. to 6 p.m., Redwood Room, University Union California State University Sacramento ¥4 �Narrator: . . I run the poemJ Chorus: We are the poemJ Narrator: And the poem is mel Chorus: And the poem is usi Narrator: I am the poem and I came before pen or pencil or paper or printing pressJ I cupped and cuddled the wisdom of the winds in drum-bosoms of ecstasy. Drummer: A. wide range of rhythms, movements, multiple movement-rhythms: · African, West Indian, Af ro-American. Narrator: I write in drum-language and converse with tomorrow, today and the here - t c fo re. Chorus: D:iiUMFEET ON THE SO IL, ON THE SANDROADS OF THE MIND! FLESH - PISTONS PRANCING, THE EARTH'S EN GINE! IT IS A CO MING FORTH, THE NIGHT WIT HI N US CO MI NG FOffi'H ! THE NIGHT WI'l'HIN US COMING FORTH I FEE'T BEATING, BEATING, BEATING SEEDS INTO THE SOIL! Narrator: I return and r eturn and return to my_ magni ficent and reliable arch i ves. Chorus: That love we can depend on! 'rha t love we can depend on t (over) ~ �,• . Voice (singing): Onoborobol Chorus: Onoborobo r Voice: Onoborobo! Chorus: Onoborobol Voice: Onoborobo! Chorus: Onoborobol Narrator: In my dependable cultural vault is the Idea-gram,: the natural cinematography landscaped by thudding thoughts of my totem-family, the living-dead, the breathing, the unborn. I am the poetic flesh-temple with many forms, earth-daughter and agiie inundator of history. I am the poem in motion. Dancer: Rudimentary movements and other elejnents of traditional African and Afro-American dance: isolation, use of pelvis and torso, leaps, twirls, pulls, yanvalou, vigorous stretches and thrusts.(Drum accompaniment) Narrator: I am the Black and Unknown Bard. America put me on a conveyer belt moving ✓ i n ~ different directions at the same time. My African Jubilance turned to anger and a song of sabatage. Hy Indom.ij;able Echo and Idiom flavored my Indomitable press to be human. As a poem, became part of ;,wh$.t ', I .:did, saw •;o.,• 1'1~ \ l i).\I I{ 1~' 1 ~ H ,( • and dreamed on these shores: Field_lHollers, Vendors I Snouts, Chants, ( -,o-.'I ~ _k,r.t,S•uJJ\'\C ~1wtt:K" "'•"' ' Wo~ ~ ng "' , Spirit 1 J1i a-Ti.,., C\vup l\'li \.! , L(l-l11 6"''" n-l , Blue L'ofl-tl\ , Gosptels, Jaz , Rhythm-and-Blues, Soul Musico -rr·. Vk• 1e w1b.'t,o l 0~ - (over) \ o {) l>-Jt hapyy dr,.v h11 PP I/ 1~~1 I fyy,.V ~I~ do..y ,t:v! (J,_6 ,I).!& V;, U.~ ~i LI you sf; l{ Lour l>lf "t.,11,,,, C()/ , �r. _ :. - JJrt.w1v9lc es, .> ---r:-r\,--~•--:---:--. 1 ~ ,c . I l Voice: Did yer feed my cow? Chorus: Yea Mam! Voice: Will yer tell me how? Chorus: Yes Mam! Voice: Oh w'at did yer give 'er? Chorus: Ca'Wn an hay ! Voice: Oh w 1 at did yer give 1 er. Chorus: Cawn an hay J Voice: 1Evahwhuh. I, whuh"'look dis mawnin, Looks lak rain, looks lak rain. Voice: I gotta ~~inbow, tied all roun mah shouider, Ain gonna rain, ain gonna rain. Chorus: Dis is de hammer Kilt John Henry; (over) �w ..... \...-. .,,. .. ...; .l. __::_~ , . :,~·- . ,. ~ , "' Voice: Twon't kill me, baby, Twon't kill me. ~ho.rus: Take dis hammer, Carry it to de captain'; Voice: Tell him I'm gone, baby, Tell him I'm gone. Chorus: I got a rainbow fl'ied :! roun my shoulder, AinJt gonna rain, baby, Ain't gonna rain. Voice: ~ Dis ole harnrner--huh, Ring lak silver--huh, '-, Shine lak gold--huh. I Chorus: Ain't gonna rain, Ain't gonna rain. Voiceffemale): I'm a big fat :rnrumna, got the meat shaking on mah bones, I'm a big fat mamma, got the meat shaking on mah bones, And every time I shakes, some skinny girl loses huh home. Narrator: Yes, as- poem, as cotton-picker, as banjo-player, as preacher and slave-rebellion leader, I emerged as a · new part of the old. My African song ushered forth in strange new Biblical language. (over} �., ; : -- Dr:.,,- vqi C ~ s, .::> . Voice: Go down, :Moses, Way down in Egyptland; Chorus: Tell old Pharaoh To let my people go. Voice: Deep River ••• Chorus: Deep Deep Deep River •••• Voice: Deep River, my home is over Jordan; Chorus: ----- River, Lord; I want to cross over into camp ground. ) Voice: And yes, I DREAMED I was riding in that chariot. Chorus! ~wing low, sweet chariot, Coming for to carry me home, Swing low, sweet chariot, Coming for to carry me home. Voice: Green trees a-bending, Po' sinner stands a-trembling The trwnpet~ unds within-a-my soulJ Chorus: I ain't got long to stay here. (over) · �. \ , ... : . Drum.voic e s, 6 Voice: You . named m~: Lucy Terry! , .. Voice: Voice: Britton & Jupit er Hammon. Voice: , ,, Voice: Phyllis Wheatley!. Al2d I mastered Gree~, , La.ti~ a.n,d '- English in my teens . Lonely Black girl, whom the muses befriended, thousands and thousands I pt'/ of miles away fromA~_e sJ African home. I continued to emerge as the poem. Voice: ,. Should you, rrr.y Lord, while you peruse my song, J f Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung, Whence flowi., these wishes for the common good, By feeling hearts alone best understood, I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate, Was snatchJd from Afric 1 s fancy 1 d happy seat; What pangs excruciating must molest, What sorrows labour in my parents' breast? Steel 1 d was that soul and by no misery mov'd That from a father . seiz•d his babe belov~d: Such, auch{my cas; And can I then but pray Others may never feel tyrannic sway? Narrator: You named me George Moses Horton. I did not like the injusti_ce of the . ~ 4C:,:. ,f double standard~ And such resentment turned me into a poem. Even though l (over) �some called me "'r"ne S1ave." ' Chorus: The Slave. Voice: Because the brood-sow 1 s left side pigs were black, v Whose sable tincture was by nature struck, . Were you by justice bound to pull them back And leave the sandy-colored pigs to suck? Chorus: Runagatef Runagatel Runagate! Runagate! Runagate! Narrator: , • f"i'l.fath er work ed roots. In the b i-cultura1 My mother cured ills andA constriction the poem became juju-man, the face hidden by the «.mbtJUOCIJ minstrel smile. Voice: We have fashioned laughter Out of tears and pain; Chorus: But the moment after-Voice: Pain and tears again. Voice: Forgive these erring people, Lord; Voice: Who lynch at home and love abroad. Narrator: )Vr" i Still I wrote--this time just like I talked, though some made fUn of it. But, as maker of song, I could only produce heart-rhythms. (over) �~ I ,' • Dru."Tivoi c e s, 8 Voice: ' De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man, o chillen, run, de Cunjah man! Chorus: O chillen, run, de Cun'juh manl Voice: Him mouf ez beeg ez fryin' pan; Voice: Him yurs am small, him eyes am raid, 7 Him hab no toof een him ol' haid, / • Him hab him roots, him wu'k him trick, Eim roll him eye, him mek you sick-Chorus: De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man, 0 chillen,run, de Cunjah man! Narrator: I knew my rights, my rough-times and my remedies ... :fo-r t-mat aileel me... Voice: Blue-mass, laud-num, liver pills, "Sixty-six, fo' fever an' chills, Ready Relief, an' A. B. An' half a bottle of 11 C., X.Y.z. Narrator: Yo u named me ,Frances Elleri WatkinJ Ha-r per,,_ James Edwin Campbell, James Welaon Johnson, Paul Lawrence Dunbar--son of ·ex-slaves, elevator boy risen to brilliant bard of the race. As the poem I 5~J.e. in several kinds of English. Voice: I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, ( (\-.T p 'Y> ' forth �'· V o:....; ",., -e S , . 9~ D When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore-When he beats his bars and he would be free; It is not a carol of joy or glee, But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core, But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings-I know why the caged bird sings! Narrator: o.Ll.., Above~ song exudes from me. I am song. ~ A •i:511't-e. ~xamine Me. Watch Me. My birthright is my anthem. My song is my sword. Voice: /J-,J. 1-t.J..f~ ~ • $~ Lift every voice and sing! Till earth and heaven ring! Ring with the harmonies of liberty! Voice: Till our rejoicings - ris·e High as the listening skiesJ , c.....:Narrator: As song-poem, I forge pure flames of rhythms without books. James Weldon Johnson called me the Black and Unknown Bard . • And I love to hear Malindy sing. Voice: G1 way an 1 quit dat noise, Miss Lucy-Put dat music book away; What 1 s de use to keep on tryin•? Ef you practise twell you•re gray, You cain•t sta 1 t no notes a-flyin 1 Lak de ones dat rants and rings From de kitchen to de big woods When Malindy sings. (over) �• :ir.··..unvcli c e~, 10 . You ain't got de nachel o 1 gans Fu• to make de soun• come right, You ain•t got de tutns an' twistints Fut :.to make it sweet an• light. Tell you one thing now, Miss Lucy, An• I'm tellin' you fut true, When hit comes to raal right singin•, •~ ain 1 t no easy thing .to do. Easy .1 nough fur folks to hollah, Lookin' at de lines an' dots, When dey ain•t no .one kin sence it, An 1 ·- de chune ·c.omes in, in spo:ts; But fut real melojous music, Dat jest strikes yo• heatt and clings, J _e s r you stanr an' listen wif me When Malindy sings. Ain't you nevah hyeahd Malindy? Blessed soul, tek up de cross I Look hyeah, ain't you jokin 1 ,honey'? " Well, you don 1 t know whut you los•. Y' ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa I blin·~, Robbins, la 1 ks, an 1 all dem things, Heish dey moufs an' hides dey f a ce When Malindy sings. Narrator: Poem that I am and was, I traveled from "oasis to oasis." Voice: (over) �Drumvoices_, 11 Man 's Saharic up and down. Narrator: ~ ~« ,,,,,.vJI' Riverboats, river towns, chaingangs~ bar-room toughs, hard-hearted Hanna, Stagolee, ••• they all knew me. Voice: Hard-hearted Hanna-Voice: , From .Savannah, GEE A. Voice: She was so cold, yall-Chorus: Wasn't she-Voice: She'd poor water on a drowing/1 man! Voice: I It was early one mornin', When I heard my bulldog bark; Voice:~ Stagolee and Billy Lyons Was squablin' in the dark. Chorus: Shine, shine, shine, ••• save po' me. Narrator: You heard me coming from the swollen lips of the bugle, French horn, trumpet, clarinet and saxophone. Horn: A series of short riffs exempla~ of various forms of music played between the advent of the spirituals and the blues-ragtime period. (over) �.. ..·. · -J;l;rw.nv.qice •-i·•- - - -s,. ..1..::: Narrator: I n Paris they called t h e "Oakewalk" the llpoetry of motion. 11 >1'1'he. crevices of ships I wa s transported t o global points to make my splendid sound and dance my splendid poetry of motion. Dancer: Executes a series of movements representing such dances as t h e Caltewalk, aP Charleston, Jitterbug and t h e Bop. ~lements ~W est Indian dances should flavor the movements. Narrator: As the poem I blue horns, shot guns in your war, danced dances and came home to face the Ku · ; Klux Klan, ... Southern Sheriffs and Jim Crow. I got angry. And I got defiant. But I was relatively- cool. Voice: I lnto the furnace let me go alone; Stay you without in terror of the heat. I will go naked in--for thus 1 tis sweet-- Into the weird depths of t h e h ottest zone. Voice: Desire destroys, consumes m~; mortal fears ., .~ :.;, Transforming me into a shape of flame. J I will come out, back to your world of tears, A stronger soul within a finer frame. Narrator: After race riots in several American cities , I lifted my voice into a searing shaft of discontent. 0 kinsmenl we must meet the common foe! Voice: Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back! ( (over) l,,\~~el,,pA ... �l)r p:m;voi ·c e s, lJ ·. Narrator: Still, still my past pulled on me. It was as if we were married to each other, glued, locked, welded togeth~r. It was as if those who left us here on this earth never really, really died. Some African sense kept tugging, tugging at my truncated roots. The bridge of my past rested on t wo shores. Voice: Pour O pour that parting soul in song, ,-_- 0 pour it iJl the sawdust glow of night, Into the velvet pine-smoke air to-night, ••• And let the valley carry it along. And let the valley carry it along. Narrator: Sometimes I wa~ f there, fi ~ ting those who wanted to snatch away rrry humanity by day; and fighting hunger and confusion at home by night . As the poem, S emerged convoluted and wholly new, only to retreat t o a some-other-time refrain. Egypt, Ghana, Madagascar, the Pyramids- Vocdoo Ceremonies--what did they all mean to me1 Voice: · Come with a blast of t r umpets, Jesus l Voice: And the beauty of Susanna Jones in red Burns in my heart a love-fire sharp like pain. Cho_rus a Sweet silver trumpets, Jesus I Voice: Well, son, I 1 11 tell you: Life for me ain 1 t been no crystal stair. (over) I �Narrator: The blur of the veil was always reli eved by song, by dance, by reading about foreign places and looking forward. to the day when Americans would grow up. We were here--in America--but not of it. Simply worryin~ without a plan to change ·thing.,never helped much. We grew stronger, and more beautiful, in the words of Langston Hughes, as we re-embraced our rituals. Chorus: Shake your .b rown feet, honey, Shake your brown feet, chile, Shake your brown feet, honey, Shake 'em swift and wil, __ Voice: Get way back, honey, Do that low-down step. Walk on over, darling, Now! Come out With your left. Narrator: During the watering years, after the Great Depression, I was terrified by lynching end an atmosphere of intimidation. I went to war, as poem and soldier and cook and shining knight of Democracy. The Swastika, The Rising Sun, The Hammer &...-S ickle, I was told, . <~ real enemy• ~ -Meanwhile you had named me 0~ Do~son and I became a witness to the ...r~al~t~e~~of neighborly enemies. Those who caused unnatural deaths. Voice: Wake up, boy, and tell me how you died: What sense was alert last, What immediate intuition about us (over) �You clutched like a bullet when your nails Dug red in your yellow palm. And that map the fortunetellers read Chorus: (this line for money, this for love) Voice: Childish again and smeared •••• Chorus: Wake up,boy, ••• Voice: ••• I go to death tomorrow, Tell me what road you took, ••• Chorus: What hour in the day is luckiest? Voice: ,#- Did your Adams apple explode? Who sewed stitches in your angry heart? Chorus: 0 wake••• Narrator: Yes, yes ••• I was sometimes a tattered poem in the thirties, forties and fifites. But I was a poem anyway: gracious, noble, fundamental, fiery, t WtlkVL firm, relating My People1 Someone called me MargaretK I became a td tape s try of my many selves. Voice: For my people everywhere singing their slave songs repeatedly: ~ heir dirges and their ditties and their b,lues and jubilees, ( praying their pr~y.ers •.nightly to an unknown god, ( bending their knees humbly to an un/se:en-: power; (over) �Di"UlllVOices,- 1 6 Voice: For my playmates in the clay and dus t and sand of Alabama backyards playing }baptizing and preaching and doctor and jail and /s oldier and school and mama and cooking and playhouse and concert and store and hair and Miss Cho omby and company; Voice: Let a new earth rise. Chorus: Let another world be born. Let ·.a bloody peace be written in the sky. ' Voice: Let a race of ~ / now rise and take control. ')-t--•fv-,. .,,,.. I Narrator: Frank Marshall Davis, Melvin Beaunorous Tolson, Sterling Brown, Robert Hayden, Gwendolyn Brooks--these are names by which my · voice is known. Some even call me by the name of HISTORY. Chorus: History, history, history; RunagateJ Runagate!RunagateJ , Voice: Runs falls rises stumbles on from darkness into darkness and the darkness thicketed with shapes of terror and the hunters pursuing and the hounds pursuing . and the night cold and the night long and the river · to cross and the jack-muh-lantems beckoning beckoning and the blackness ahead and when shall I reach that somewhere morning and keep on going and never turn back and keep on going •••• Chorus: Runagatel Runagate! Runagate! (over) �r' Narrator: I wormed into and won hearts and minds. In 1950, America gave ·me the Pulitzer Prize. My name was Annie Allen. I was so -·finely sculpt- ed that no inflection was imprecise. I said what I had to say in a language that dazzled and blinded the world. I stood as a jewel; I talked about a jewel named Satin-Legs Smith. Voice: He wakes, unwinds, elaborately: a cat Tawny, reluctant, royal. He is fat And fine this morning. Definite. Reimbursed. He waits a moment, he designs his reign, I ,. Y That no perfom.ance may _be plain or vain. Then rises in a clear delirium. _ Voice: Let us proceed. Let us inspect, together With his meticulous and serious love, The innards of this closet. Which is vault Whose glory is not diamonds, not pearls, Not silver plate with just enough dull shine. But wonder-suits in yellow and in wine, Sarcastic green and zebra-striped cobalt. With shoulder padding that is wide And cocky and determined as his pride; Ballooning pants that taper off to ends Scheduled to choke precisely. Voice: Here are hats ' Like bright umbrellas; and hysterical ties Like narrow banners for some gathering wat. (111Ver) �· -Drtlmvoices,, l b Narrator: I lmew the power of the rap! Chorus: Ament Narrator: I am the power of the rap! Chorus: Ament Voice: \ Bartender, make it straight and make it two-- ~ /, Voice(pointing): One for the you in me••• Voice(pointing)~ • • • and one for the me in you. Narrator: I became the Be Bopper; somebody called me the oot-suiter; I put on dark glasses and conked my hair. A salesman handed me some bleaching cream and a cadillac as I sped North to join my Brothers and Sisters in the Promised Land • .Richard Wright and James Baldwin cried for IlB • . John Oliver Killens Heard the 'fhunder and Ralph ~llison called me Invisible, adding that once my leaders figured out the riddle of my • my rap they could help me save me. Black, I ~eft a white .. style and country , to fight yellow men in Korea. Ella, Miles, Monk, Billie, Prez,·::. . Chano Pozo, Ornette, Coltrane--they went to war with me. Chorus: Good morning heartache! How do you do? _(over) �.. J_j .L 'i., ;r. - ·- ·. ,, Horn: Brief medley of sounds and tunes reminiscent of the period. Narrator: ~ I returned to myself ~n, ~~ tion t Be~qldl The Stroll! The Kansas City ¢«'\~..,.,. ~ " ' ~ Slop! The Madisonl ~The Twistt~The Funky Chicken! The Karate-Boogaloo! They saw me poeting with my hips and my feet. ~ u .. ~ Poet~_n gl Poetingl Narrator: A.,_er,c. a..1 And took it all back to/\Bandstand and other countries. Voice: There's a thrill upon the hill. Chorus: Let's go, let's go, let 1 s goJ Narrator: I came from knrea to meet the ltlan in ,/.. .'~ll"they woul I t let my ~ ~.,_ l '"__, 1,,L:..aa..~;11::--_t~~ll"\:-:;J' ct'ilew sheet". 1 · ~~•t, if::;;....Btarey on, a bus. ~ ~ ;~J1¼,,,/,•j, tahkJ hit).;F/ luanJ ~ l1f/ Chorus: Montgomery, Montgomery, I remember Montgomery. Voice: And Birmingham--the three little girls. Voice: And Selma! Voice: And Philadelphia, Mississippi! Voice: I recollect Emmett Till! Voice: And Watts! And, in Montgomer)t, . �... , • v_,.· ,,._..i. ,)i ce s,, c:1., ·' Narrator: My name was Conrad Kent Rivers at that time. I became a poem called lfWatts~· ••-hoping that in such disguise I could _fi~d -·my .> wa.y out of this daily nightmare. Voice: Must I shoot the white man dead to free the nigger in his head? Voice: Must I shoot the white man dead to free the ni gger in his head? Voice: And Newark! Voice: And Harlem! Narrator: My color felt good to me. I stretched and yawned and walked around MU7 m~ eigb,borhood. Someonef' called me Black and I didn-1-:s,._ hit him. At a rally, I turried into a voice on the podium shouting. \ Chorus: WE ARE AN AFRICAN PEOPLE! Voice: For all things black and beautiful, The brown faces you loved so well and long, the endless roads leading back to Harlem. (over) ' I rl._,.) �·, Druriivoic e s,, ' 21 · Chorus: Ku:iu Se Mama I Kulu Se Mam.al Voice: Where the stri ng At Some point, Was some umbilical jazz, Or perhaps, ln memory, A long lost bloody cross, Buried in some steel calvary. In what time For whom do we bleed, Lost notes, from some jazzman 1 s Broken needle 0 Musical tears from lost Eyes, Broken drumsticks, why? Pit t er patter, boom dropping Bombs in the middle Of my emotions My father's sound My mothert,s sound •••• Chorus: Is love, Is life. Narrator: I turned to philosophy. In the spit and dart of my new self, there �were utterances I had to make, blood-thoughts I had ·to share. I knew this was another sequel to the dream. I had not believed . those fairy tales. I needed to take a hand and stand and speak the truth. Speak the truth to the people! Voice: It is not necessary to green the heart Only to identify the enemy It is not necessary to blow the mind Only to free the mind •••• Chorus: It is the total black! Voice: It is the total black, being spoken From the earth 1 s inside. There are IllBil y kinds of open. How a diamond comes into a knot of flame How a sound comes into a word, colored By who pays what . ~ar speaking •••• Chorus: Love is another kind of open-Voice: As a diamond comes into a lmot of flame I am black because I come from the earth I s inside : Take my word for jewel in your open light. Narrator: I am the ecstasy of NOW. The fullest realization of my ancestors' wishes. I return, even in the alarm; even in the shadow-body I am often forced to wear. But enough, enough; I beg you, my dear associates, look Now on ourif(tld ltisrjfry~:~j,.,st 1iitca.sv~ • ( "'"'"'Y' I --ti1}0 -~ 1 �Voice ( and Dancer): I am a black woman the music of my song some sweet arpeggio of tears is written in a minor key and I can be heard humming in the night Can be heard humming Chorus: Hums first line of "Nobody Knows i'he ··Trouble I See" Voice: in the night I saw my mate leap screaming ~o the sea and I/with these hands/cupped the lifebreath from my issue in the canebrake e:v I lost ·Nat 1 s swinging body in a rain of tears and I heard my son scream all the way from for Peace he never knew • • • • I learned Da Nang and Pork Chop Hill in anguish Now my nostrils know the gas and these triggered tire/d fingers seek the softness in;_iarrior 1 s beard I am a black woman tall as a cypress strong (over) ~~­ �( beyond all definition still defying place and · time and circumstance assailed , impervious --- ~ indestructible Look · on me and be renewed. Chorus: Look on me and be renewed. ----30---- � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Eugene B. Redmond Digital Collection Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context EBRWritings_09_33_04 Title A name given to the resource Fourth draft of Script Adaptation of Drumvoices: The Mission of Afro-American Poetry (A Critical History), typed with handwritten edits, 1976 Description An account of the resource Fourth draft of Script Adaptation of Drumvoices: The Mission of Afro-American Poetry (A Critical History), typed with handwritten edits, 1976. For presentation at book party on October 3, 1976: 3 p.m. to 6 p.m., Redwood Room, University Union, California State University, Sacramento. Relation A related resource Eugene B. Redmond Digital Collection Language A language of the resource English Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource For digital rights and permissions, see <a href="https://www.siue.edu/lovejoy-library/about/policies.shtml">https://www.siue.edu/lovejoy-library/about/policies.shtml</a> or contact <a href="mailto:library@siue.edu">library@siue.edu</a> for direct inquiries. In copyright. <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Redmond, Eugene B. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1976