For the Symposium on Manitoba Writing May 9 – 12, 2012, Winnipeg
I’ve nominated my book “Back In The Days” to be added on to Victor Enns list. If you’ve read Back In The Days, and think it is … “remarkable”, please click on the link at the bottom of this article where you can vote for it. Thanks. Addena.

30 REMARKABLE BOOKS BY MANITOBA WRITERS
By Victor Enns
For the Symposium on Manitoba Writing May 9 – 12, 2012, Winnipeg
What are the ten most remarkable books, written by Manitobans in the last 100 years? These are my top 30 I will present at the Symposium, Thursday morning May 10th at 9:00 a.m. My basic criteria; only one book per writer, I’ve read the books, I’ve remembered them, they have taken me outside of myself, they have offered potential of transformation – that is I believe it is possible for these books to change the reader, and as such meet the test of artistic excellence.
The most remarkable book you’ve read by a Manitoba writer not on the list? Nominate your own or vote for one on this list. Come and compare the lists at the Symposium on Manitoba Writing celebrating the 30th anniversary of the Manitoba Writers Guild.
Surely, you have your own opinions. Vote for your favorite Manitoba books of the last century or nominate your own. The Manitoba McNally Robinson’s People’s Choice List of Manitoba’s top 30 books of the last century will be announced in the May/June McNally Robinson’s Newsletter and at the Symposium of Manitoba Writing May 10, 2012.

• http://www.mbwriter.mb.ca/symposium/30-remarkable-books/

Victor Enns was born in Winnipeg in 1955 and raised in southern Manitoba. He graduated from the University of Manitoba in 1979 with a History/English major including the advanced creative writing workshop with Robert Kroetsch which led to the publication of his first poetry collection, Jimmy Bang Poems (Turnstone 1979). A co-founder of the Manitoba Writer’s Guild, he was the Executive Director of the Saskatchewan Writers Guild from 1982 – 1988 and founder of Windscript magazine featuring the literary and visual art of Saskatchewan high school students. Correct in this Culture (5th House) was published in 1985. He spent the next 20 years in arts administration and raising a family taking time out to found Rhubarb magazine, a literary and visual arts magazine for writers and artists of Mennonite descent in 1998. His most recent collection Lucky Man, (Hagios 2005) was nominated for the McNally Robinson Manitoba Book of the Year Award. He lives in Winnipeg and works as Publishing & Arts Consultant for Manitoba Culture, Heritage and Tourism.

http://www.mbwriter.mb.ca/symposium/30-remarkable-books/

family history

For Black History Month I want to add two stories from that little girl you see. Stories are to show you how times have changed. Whew.

As you may know, I am from a 7th generation Black-Canadian family, so my first story is Canadian history.
My father wasn’t Canadian. He was an American. The second story(poem) gives you a glimpse of the other half of my family’s history.

The last Black History month selection is in honour of Miss Rosa Parks.
Thank you to my Mom, my dad, and all the people who helped make the changes that allow us the freedoms, rights, and equalities we enjoy today. “One Love”

TIMES THEY ARE CHANGIN’: THE ISLAND STORY

You’d think I’d remember precisely how I got these scars on my knees, but I’m not sure whether they came from fallin’ down, or whether they came from kneeling on the ‘gravely-ground playing marbles and stick-games, when I was a kid. Either way, both activities would result in tiny gravely stones that covered the ground, imbedding their way deep into your flesh. And for years after, those tiny sharp stones would work their way to the surface of your skin and you had to get tweezers and pluck them out. They left scars crazy zigzag scars. This was “Truro before pavement”, I call it now. And this was the Truro, Nova Scotia that I remember (as a kid) on: “The Island”, where I got lots of my scars from.

Every year our family would use Dad’s, Porter’s- Family-Pass, and take the train from Winnipeg to visit Mom’s family on The Island in Nova Scotia, for the whole summer.

The Island. Sounds romantic and tropical doesn’t it? Well, it was actually swamp–land, right down there next to the town’s dump. Nothing romantic, tropical, or colourful, about it. Unless you count all the people.

That’s where all the ‘Black folks’ lived. And that’s where all the White folks kept them. They kept them down there for years!

The Island.

All our lives, while we grew up in Winnipeg, my mother told us kids stories about “The Island”, and stories about ‘Nova-Scotia-all-over’ down by where she grew up. She used to always start out by empathizing how prejudiced and hateful the White people acted toward the Black people. And say how glad she was she was not from there anymore.

Whenever anyone talked about the racism and prejudice down South in “The States”, she’d say:

“Don’t you tell me about prejudice … ‘Cause I know! I’m from Nova Scotia. Nova Scotia is ‘more prejudice’ than Alabama!

I’ll bet Nova Scotia is the only province in Canada to ever have race riots. And I know!
Cause I lived through them in Truro. “Hr-umph”.

One of them times, in 1922, I think it was, ‘all of them’ White people got up in a big mob , and they were comin’ down to The Island to kill all of us Black people! Why, we were all hiding in the swamps, to save ourselves. And hiding in the Slews … for days.
And all the men from The Island got together and moved away alla’ the ‘Out-Houses’,
And they hid us kids there. In the SHIT… up to our necks.

Don’t you tell me about those Englishmen and Scotsmen!

I was the first Black person to sit down and eat inside a restaurant in Truro, Nova Scotia in 1950. That’s when me and the kids went there for the whole summer.. during the ‘Big Flood’ here in Winnipeg.

Remember that dad?

She yelled to my dad, who was sitting a few feet away from her on the front porch.

Sumter …. Walter! Are you listening to me!

… I said do you remember 1950?

My father, was sitting there staring into space and she “talked his (and us kids) ears off” telling her story.

We had a big flood here in Winnipeg in 1950, so I took all of you kids home with me to Truro .. (and I left dad here to clean up the house)
One day down there, I had all you kids with me and I went inside the restaurant.
Two of my cousins saw me going in, and started ‘calling me out of there’, knocking on the window, sayin’: “Daisy, Daisy, come out of there! … “Daisy.” (My family nick-named me Daisy).

Daisy come out of there! Daisy … come! …

My mother sucked her teeth exaggeratedly at this point of her story before she continued:

I called the waitress over: “Miss! Miss!”

… Look, (I told her) I ain’t one of them ‘fools’ from here!
I’m from Winnipeg now. And ‘Honey’… you tell your manager, if you don’t serve me some food, this ‘crazy Nigger’ is going to redecorate this restaurant”!

She put her hand to her chest and patted her chest. As she gestured proudly, she stood up even taller it seemed, and said:

“I KNOW THEY SERVED ME!”

We went to Halifax after that, for a visit.

Honest to God, Sumter, .. I still remember all their faces at the hotel desk, when me and all these kids stood at the front desk of the hotel, and I said: … “I want rooms for four!”

They knew I wasn’t from Nova Scotia.

… Not no more!”
____________________________________________________________________________

In memory of my Dad: Walter Lever Sumter.

He Knew

What the hell are you saying
And I’m lucky I didn’t poke myself in the eye
Poke ….
What does that mean to you anyway?
‘Poke-out’ like Janet’s breast
Poke
Like Pokey-slow-poke.
Poke-Chops
Like my Daddy usta’ say

And we’d laugh!
And try to trick him into saying stuff
Like
Sho’ Nuff
G’wan now
And
‘Poke’.. Anything.

Heh, heh, heh, heh,
He’d say
When we’d say
Daddy say this ..
Daddy say that

He knew ya know,
He knew.

Knew stuff about stuff we’d only
Read about

Picket Lines
And Picket Signs
And fiery crosses
In their yard

And Uncle’s body
Thrown
On the porch

That’s why he kept us from knowing

Gwan’ now you kids
Heh, heh, heh, heh,
.. Gwan’ now.

© Addena Sumter- Freitag 2006

Miss Rosa

You were Dog-Tired
And Alabama-parched
Hero was ‘the furthest’ from your mind
When they ‘threw you into the light’

After you’d had so much darkness

Color it Lime.

How they held you up
So honored
And so cherished
On everyone’s lips
In everyone’s eyes
Immortally memorable
Eternally loved.

Strange, that the calendar was your enemy
The clock
Your Foe
It isn’t fair!

It is fair
That one of them ‘chillin’
Whose Rights
You ‘wore your feet out’ for

Took out his tragic rage on you.

He battered your face
Your arms
Your legs
Your heart

For Fifty-three bucks

Then he threw you down
And hurled you
toward
Your final darkness.

© 2007 Addena Sumter-Freitag