MAP
#155-1 Theme: Mistress of Heritage House
1.
passing through by Cheryl Latif
history
speaks its sorrow and strife
along
southern country lanes, now paved,
lined
with clapboard houses and
gardens
of wild corn.
dogs
laze in summer sun,
bark
at passing strangers.
nestled
in the shadow of austin's skyline
one
corner house, wood-sided, porched,
arching
crepe myrtle shading the yard,
stands
testament to tradition tempered
by
changing times.
art
fills the air like morning's aroma of
cinnamon
rolls, hot and sticky from the oven,
coffee
percolating on the counter.
art
is the heritage of this house,
resounds
in the grain of its rich wooden floors,
midnight
sighs of shifting foundation.
love
is the prayer of this place,
where
strong boughs shelter from heat,
crickets
speak late at night,
and
long before dawn a woman rises
to
mix flour and water, get coffee brewing,
see
to the art of welcoming strangers
who
cease being so once they pass through her doors.
©
C. Latif 25 Oct 00
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2.
Bennedene Smile by Ivan Miller
I
saw a light at Heritage House
and
she smiled like a great Goddess in the night
making
music in an atmosphere
of
poetic clouds
and
all the poets danced
to
her spirit always reaching and teaching
us
to be like that smile
that
could warm hardened hearts and the bad day blues
as
the whole world wishes there were more smiles
like
her, like love, like Bennedene
©
2000 Ivan Miller
3.
A Prologue by Faraji Salim
One
of the very first things that I noticed about the Heritage House upon
my first stay was its close proximity to the Texas State Capital
Building and the Governor's House. I found it somewhat amusing that
literally miles away from the chaos that George Bush was creating,
rested a house that was filled with love, soul, and art. It is
ironic indeed that The Heritage House sits in the valley of the Texas
Capital Building-In The Heritage Valley of Bush. Once again
reaffirming the old southern parable that, "the fruit is much
sweeter in the valley than the fruit from the tip of its mountain."
With
love and gratitude, this poem is dedicated to Bennedene Walton and
The Heritage House family in beautiful and eclectic city of Austin,
Texas
In
The Heritage Valley of The Bush
Nestled
in the valley of the King George's mountain
is
where you'll find her
In
the Valley of the Bush
While
his justice is swift and unmerciful,
Hers
is a heritage
That
denies the King's mentality
That
aligns with all of humanity
Upon
leaving King George's mountain,
The
pain of persecution is pushed aside
By
the elation of love
Emanating
from the leaves of "Bushes"
Throughout
her very own Heritage Valley
The
Bushes in Heritage Valley so majestically
Frame
the path of the House that her love built.
Standing
tall as the Sentry of her Valley
Guarding
their queen, and her castle from
King
George's spies faithfully
The
Bushes in Heritage Valley sing of the justice
That
longs to scream from the mouths of King George's Bushes
Standing
feebly as the Sentry of his stupidity
Guarding
their king, and his mentality from humanity's reality
While
perched mountain high obliviously
For
in the Valley of the Bush
Things
are planted in ground that is rich in Heritage.
They
chose to Surround the house that
Denies
the King's mentality
That
aligns with the beauty of humanity
If
only our king
Would
visit his own valley
Perhaps
we all could be free.
©
2000 Faraji Salim
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
4.
Divine Mistress
Homage
to Bennedene Walton by Jarry Jaffe
A
woman walks
on
water
calls
herself friend
she
interrupts her life
to
honor others
with
space
for
contemplation
and
sustenance for
creative
minds.
Heritage
House
opens
minds and hearts
a
spiritual cavalcade
like
old time revivals
of
spoken word raining down
on
celebrants
like
Marvin, Floyd
Stazja
and the list goes on…
Bennedene
Walton
takes
us into her life
her
heart
her
spirit
and
we
make
ourselves
at
home.
©
2000 lgjaffe
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5.
For Bennedene: Mistress of the Heritage House by Marvin G. Kimbrough
Up
the concrete steps at 810 East Thirteenth Steet
On
the east side of Highway I-35
Beyond
the loquat tree, past the century-old oak
To
the pale pink, double-story house
Where
poets and peasants, professors and prophets
Sway
on the old wooden swing and sip raspberry tea
And
sample southern tea cakes baked by Bennedene
Where
children and dogs race around the perimeter of the house
Playing
games that only children and dogs can play together
And
where the Austin sun is less hot as the breeze meanders
Through
the trees at the pink house
Yes,
this is the pink house that spawned the anthology Heritage Blue
That
poetry place for both slam poets and sonneteers
That
poetry place for neophytes and laureates
That
domicile of queen Bennedene, who with Victorian elegance
Mingled
with vision and strength of the twenty-first century
Braids
the rope that holds together the heritage and dreams
That
keep alive the memory of the black college Samuel Huston
Where
its president J.W. Frazier and wife Laura
Lived
in the year of 1916 and served as surrogate parents of
First
generation ebony-hued college coeds
The
house where later, Alli Aweusi lived and beat African Drums
And
hawked poetry about black power and liberation and read his own
Poems
about "Bag Ladies of the World"
And
where Ivan Miller is now heard hosting his venue Inner Circle of
Spoken Word
And
where the Austin International Poetry Festival invites global bards
and poetry
buffs
And
where Stazja and Larry and Marla and Moshe and Pat and Jan and Cheryl
And
Carl and Heidi and Tammy and Marvin and Floyd and Taalam and Faraji
And
B.S. and Michelle and Rashah and Circe and Mike and Donn and Akwasi
And
Joseph all gather together to poet together
While
the joy in the heart of Queen Bennedene swells as she watches her
dream,
Her
dreamscape, her playscape, her pink house, her Heritage House
Become
a reality
For:
Those who poet together and play together have no time to destroy or
pollute
the
planet.
©
2000 Marvin G. Kimbrough
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
6.
Bennedene by Floyd Freeman
The
house with its rich heritage
Sits
majestically on a hill
close
to IH-35
almost
overlooking the capitol
As
I approach the white picket gate, swing it open
I
am greeted with a low growl
And
a sharp bark
Challenging
me,
The
dog dares me to approach
I
walk toward the house, the pink house
The
house, former residence of a Huston College president
My
mind races back in time
And
conjures visions
Of
guests, socializing, dancing, and frolicking
On
the front porch
The
dog is silent now
Poets
and guests are seated in chairs on the lawn
Stazja
is the MC
Her
low intriguing voice penetrates the heavy sultry air
I
swing open the creaking screen door
And
join others seated in the living room
Oh!
What a room
High
12ft. ceilings, 8ft. double-hung windows
Framed
by delicate, white lace curtains, wooden floors
Buffed
to a high gloss and a small transom over the door
The
music is playing and poets are chatting
I
move to the dining area
There
she is -- the tall, soft-spoken, gracious
Queen
of the Heritage House
Who
has opened the doors wide to local, national, international poets,
Travelers,
musicians, and students
And
Oh! How she can cook and bake and make you feel so warm,
Comfortable,
and welcomed
Bennedene,
a personality that cannot be duplicated
Because
she is she, she is real, no pretense, no con
Just
sweet, lovable BENNEDENE
©
2000 Floyd A. Freeman
7.
dearest benne, by Mada Plummer
before
the sun
arrived,
just about the time
a
deep blue october sky
was
turning over,
i
came back
with
a flashlight
to
search
for
the fresh footprints
i
left in your flowerbed
the
evening before.
they
got erased
by
torrential night rains,
and
slashing wet winds
that
cleaned the air, silenced
the
streets, and fiercely shook
the
small elms
in
your front yard
until
they dangled,
as
if unplugged.
"the
will of God
will
not take us
where
the
grace of God
cannot
keep
us."
in
sisterly harmony,
we
still share giggles,
swap
recipes
for
a happy day,
plan
a sunday afternoon
tea
time and swing
back
and forth until sunset.
the
first time
i
crossed the threshold
of
the "pink house"
on
east 13th street,
familiar
spirits
met
me at the front door,
tore
my breast, split my blood.
from
my great grandmother's
indigo
scarf, to my father's coffee cup
stain
on your kitchen table, and
my
mother's apron on the doorknob,
my
sister's framed smile on the mantle.
the
sound of your quiet
footsteps
across hardwood floors
rival
slow, deep sleep heartbeats;
the
sight of the old piano
in
the corner stands
like
forgotten cobweb;
the
lacey curtains that hang
at
the windows reminded me of
how
my mother waited, watched
listened
for us to come home
in
playground dirty uniforms.
before
the sun
goes
away today,
we
should
walk
deliberately
in
the garden
among
the tall grass,
leave
behind our
footprints.
©
2000 Mada Plummer
8.
Dear Miss Benne by Ian Bernard
I
remember the first time
I
walked up to the front door
of
the "pink house" on East 13th.
My
mom brought me to you
on
the scariest day of my life
since
coming to Austin,
even
more scary than going
driving
down hill on Spicewood,
my
first day at a new school
with
faces I had never seen.
My
heart felt like it would break
out
of my chest when I saw
the
taillights of my mom's car
move
away from where we stood.
But
then you opened your arms,
and
hugged me. Thank you
for
making my heart feel better,
and
beat slower.
My
mom said that the two of you
share
mothering me.
And
that's cool!
Remember
the morning when
my
mom told you
I
have a stomachache?
She
gave me a teaspoon
of
Pepto Bismol and waited with me
at
home until my stomach settled.
I
want to thank you Miss Benne
for
stopping to the store
on
the way to school to buy a bottle
of
blue colored Gatorade for me and
for
the hug at the gate
when
I had to go my way
and
you had to go yours.
This
Monday morning
while
it was still dark and a little foggy,
we
drove up to your corner
and
there you were,
sitting
on the bottom step
with
the jack 'o lantern we carved
from
a big fresh pumpkin.
And
the candle you lit glowed warmly
through
the openings. Thank you.
Thanks
Miss Benne
for
being in my life.
I
just wanted to let you know
how
I feel about you.
Something
else we share,
the
same birthday, November 12.
Now
that's cool!
Love,
Ian