chronicles of harriet

ARE BLACK MEN ROMANTIC? AKA Balogun gets naked!

We too often define “romantic” in traditional European women’s terms – sending flowers and cards, saving mementos and putting them in a box or scrapbook, gushing over chick romance movies, or listening to romantic songs all day.

Men of African descent, more often than not, do not do these things.

However, most brothers are very loving.

Love and romance are not the same, however, with the nearly three-hundred year popularity of romance novels, we have come to confuse the two as the same.

In a recent survey of 3000 men and women worldwide, when asked “How long did it take for you to get over your lost love?” Several men crossed out all the choices – with the longest choice being ten years – and wrote, “I never got over her!” While, surely, some women never got over their lost loves, only men wrote this comment on the survey.

Men are “not supposed” to cry over lost loves. But many male participants reported that, after their high school sweethearts broke up with them, they cried in private, every night, for months.

On occasions where romance is expected – such as Valentine’s Day, birthdays or anniversaries – we should separate emotions from behaviors.

We may not make scrapbooks of mementos of our love experiences, but we are every bit as loving, loyal, and yep – romantic – as our sisters – and sometimes more so!

Why, then, do Black men get such a bad rep when it comes to romance?

Well, in most “romance” films and novels that target the Black community, Black men are often:

1. Thugs
2. Have “baby mama” drama
3. Unemployed
4. Call women “bitches”, “hoes” and other derogatory terms
5. From single parent homes
6. Violent

It is rare that we get to see Black men in our true, loving light.

I would like to see more realistic portrayals of Black men in romance novels (maybe then I would read some for other than researching this blog) and romantic films.

In truth – for better, or worse – we brothers:

Have delicate egos. A direct result, say experts, of the racism, oppression and systematic discrimination Black men face daily. “In everything from employment to education, Black men are constantly being told they can’t measure up,” says Dr. Julia Hare, executive director of the Black Think Tank and co-author with her husband, Dr. Nathan Hare, of Crisis In Black Sexual Politics. “A tender ego is the psychological price we all pay for this constant assault on their self-esteem.” Washington, D.C., psychiatrist Dr. Harry Edwards who, with his wife, Dr. Alice Edwards, is a contributing author of Black Families in Crisis, agrees. “Black men are very sensitive to rejection because so many of them start off with a sense of inferiority. The world makes them feel they can’t quite measure up. So when it comes to their romantic involvement they can be hypersensitive.” Given this reality, Dr. Hare warns: “Black women need too be aware of the power of their words. Black men remember the negative comments a woman makes about them as if they’d been branded on their brain.”

Are, in general, possessive about our women. I’m not talking about the irrational – “talk to my woman again and I’ll cut you” – type of brother. I am talking about the typical, sane black man who wants to be the only man in a woman’s life. The reasons for this attitude – says Dr. Angela Walker Franklin, a licensed psychologist and professor of psychiatry at Morehouse School of Medicine – are complex and multilayered. “So many things have been taken away from Black men, they feel this [romantic partner] is the one thing they can hold on to and should be able to hold on to,” she explains. Right or wrong, when a Black man is in love with a woman, he is very territorial about her. He wants – and expects – her to be his exclusively.

See love and sex as separate entities. They can be related (or not), yes, but still separate. Unlike most women, most men can make love without any emotional attachment. Unlike most women, most men will have sex purely for the sake of physical release. When little black boys learn about sex, it is usually not tied in with love or emotion. When the boys get together they just talk about the physical side of the sexual act. Little black girls, on the other hand, learn about sex in the context of closeness and love. When – at six years old – I asked my mother about how babies were made, she answered: “Your father and I held hands, kissed and told each other how much we loved the other; then, we got together and made you.” When I asked my father, I got quite a different, more graphic, answer. While most men surveyed said love improves sex for them, they were equally adamant that emotional involvement was not a prerequisite for sex.

Believe subtle flirtation is more attractive than blatant proposition. For most black men, women who come on strong are generally a turn-off.  Most men want to make the first move and a blatant come-on takes that opportunity from the man For us, a glance and a smile are worth a thousand “come-and-get-its”.

Are primarily attracted to a woman’s physical beauty. I know that sounds shallow, but it is true. Experts agree that men are fascinated by physical attactiveness. Men may want honesty and intelligence in a woman, but they also want a pretty face and a nice body. Now this is not in defense of men who measure a woman’s worth by her pretty face, “good” hair, or her “3-D endowments”. It is to say that if a man doesn’t find a woman physically appealing first, he isn’t going to be interested enough to spend time discovering her inner qualities. “Black men constantly tell me they want it all – beauty and brains and they’re not going to sacrifice one for the other,” says Dr. Julia Hare. In his article, Beauty and the Beast: The Role of Physical Attraction in the Black Community, Dr. Robert Staples summed up the beauty factor this way: “While Black women need a combination of beauty and brains to attract a high-status husband, it is still their looks that are the decisive factor.”

Now let’s look at some revealing statistics about men, women and romance:

Men who consider themselves romantic: 58%

Women who consider themselves romantic: 72%                

Men who believe in love at first sight: 48%

Women who believe in love at first sight: 49%

Number of married men who aren’t sure they’re in love: 1 in 25

Men’s most romantic weather: A snowstorm

Men’s most romantic season: Spring

Number of men who think it’s okay to start a romance with a Valentine’s Day card: 2 in 5

Men who have sent a valentine to a woman who didn’t know he had a crush on her: 37%; of those men, the number who say it led to romance: 1 in 3

Number of men who don’t bother exchanging valentines with their wives or longtime girlfriends: 1 in 10

The average male attitude toward Valentine’s Day: “I can take it or leave it.”

Runner-up: “It’s for her, not me.”

And yet, the percentage of men who wish their wives or girlfriends would do something for them on V Day: 32%

Number of guys in long-term relationships who tell their woman “I love you” nearly every time they part ways: 3 in 4

Women who think the average man would prefer a night out with friends to a romantic evening at home with her: 53%

Men who would prefer the romantic evening at home to a night out with friends: 73%

Men who have had an office romance: 45%

Men who think a sense of humor is important in a romantic partner: 90%

Men who have made a mix CD or tape as a romantic gesture: 55% The top two reasons for that musical offering are 1) To send their love interest a romantic message via lyrics; and 2) To put together songs that mean something to their love interest or their relationship

The time the average man thinks is the best time to propose: A random date and time

The best place to pop the question: A place that holds sentimental value

Women who would prefer a romantic proposal to a gaudy ring: 84%

Number of married men who got down on one knee to propose: 2 out of 3

Number of women the average man will kiss before he gets married: 24

 

BALOGUN GETS NAKED

Now, I would like to bare my soul and share three love poems I wrote. I write my poetry to be performed, so some might have songs in them, so please, do not write me a comment saying a poem is good, but could work just as well without the song. I know. I like the song and…what? You didn’t think I would actually get naked did you?

Until next time, happy writing!

 

I Ain’t Never Written No Love Poem

I AIN’T NEVER WRITTEN NO LOVE POEM

I AIN’T NEVER BEEN ABLE TO EXPRESS HOW YOUR EVERY UTTERANCE

IS LIKE A BABY’S FIRST SMILE TO MY EAR’S EYE.

I AIN’T NEVER BEEN ABLE TO TELL YOU

THAT YOU ARE SWEET WATERMELON SUMMERS TO ME.

YOU ARE DEW-DROPPED FIG TREES

PLUCKED BARE BY TINY, BROWN HANDS

ON A MISSISSIPI DELTA MORNING.

I WISH I COULD EXPRESS THESE THINGS…

BUT, I AIN’T NEVER WRITTEN NO LOVE POEM.

 

I AIN’T NEVER WRITTEN NO LOVE POEM

I AIN’T NEVER BEEN ABLE TO EXCITE YOU

WITH BITTER-SWEET ART-TALK

NEVER BEEN ABLE TO QUOTE NERUDA, OR ETHERIDGE KNIGHT.

NEVER BEEN ABLE TO HOLD YOU CLOSE,

PRESS MY LIPS TO YOUR NECK AND CROON SOFTLY:

 

“Let’s take a shower

A shower together

I’ll wash your body

And you’ll wash mine, yeah

Rub me down with some hot oils, baby

And I’ll do the same thing for you

Just…turn off the lights.”

 

OH, HOW I WISH I COULD EXPRESS THESE THINGS…

BUT I AIN’T NEVER WRITTEN NO LOVE POEM

 

I AIN’T NEVER WRITTEN NO LOVE POEM

I AIN’T NEVER BE-BOPPED ACROSS THE SUN,

OR STOOD IN THE COLD, ENCRUSTED CORNER

OF THE MOON’S EYE.

I AIN’T NEVER TRODDED ALONG NO ROADS LESS TRAVELLED,

OR STRETCHED IN THE SOIL OF NOBODY’S HAIR.

BUT I HAVE TASTED THE JET-BLACK RIPENESS OF YOUR LIPS,

DRIFTED INTO THE COOL BLANKET OF FOREVER-NIGHT

WITH MY HEAD IN THE CRADLE OF YOUR FULL BREASTS

AND BEEN PRIVILEDGED TO MASSAGE YOUR WEARY FEET.

I AIN’T NEVER WRITTEN IT,

BUT YOU ARE POETRY

AND TO MERELY AWAKEN BESIDE YOU

AT THE BREAK OF EVERY DAWN

IS, ITSELF,

A LOVE POEM.

 

SHE DON’T KNOW

SHE DON’T KNOW SHE’S BEAUTIFUL
SHE DON’T THINK SHE’S A DIME
BUT A DIME A DOZEN
YET I WOULD GLADLY CRACK OPEN MY PIGGY BANK
AND SPLURGE THE CHANGE THEREIN
AWW, SHE’S BAD…
BUT SHE DON’T KNOW IT

SHE DON’T KNOW SHE’S BEAUTIFUL
SHE THINKS HER HAIR IS TOO NAPPY
SOMETIMES AIN’T NAPPY ENOUGH
YET I YEARN TO LEAN CLOSE,
BREATHE IN THE SENSEXUAL SCENT
OF HER NAPPY-NOT NAPPY BLACKNIFICENCE
AND FEEL ITS CARESS UPON THE WEBS OF MY FINGERS
AWW, SHE’S BAD
BUT SHE DON’T KNOW IT

SHE DON’T KNOW SHE’S BEAUTIFUL
SHE THINKS SHE SQUINTS TOO MUCH
AND HER LIPS ARE MUCH TOO THICK
YET HER EYES WERE MADE TO GAZE INTO
HER LIPS…
TO KISS AWAY SORROW
AWW, SHE’S BAD
BUT SHE DON’T KNOW IT

SHE DON’T KNOW SHE’S BEAUTIFUL
SHE THINKS HER SOPHISTI-SMART ART-TALK
AIN’T SNAP YA’ FINGERS COOL-SLICK
HER
HIP-SWAYIN’, DROP-IT-LIKE-IT’S HOT
AIN’T SWATSLANTA CRUNK
HER
AFRI-DRUM, COWRIE
BLACK POWER PICK-IN-FRO SOUL
AIN’T ALAAFIA, IBAARI GAANI, HOTEP…
YET HER BLACK IS BLACKER THAN THE BLACKEST BLACKNESS
AS COOL-SLICK DRIPS FROM HER ART-TALK TONGUE
INTO MY THIRD EAR
LAWD I -
HATE TO SEE HER GO
BUT I –
LOVE TO WATCH HER LEAVE
“Shake that Laffy-Taffy…that Laffy-Taffy, girl”…
AWW, SHE’S BAD…
BUT SHE DON’T KNOW IT

SHE IS BAD…
SHE IS
CRACKED PIGGY BANK
NAPPY-NUFF-NOT
SQUINT-GAZED-SORROW
KISSED-LIPPED, SOPHISTI-SWAT
SOULANTA-SLICK BAD!
SHE IS BAD…
BAD…
BAD!!
DAMN…

IF ONLY SHE KNEW.

 

AWAITING THE C.C.T.

I WAS STANDING IN THE ARTS CENTER BUS TERMINAL

ONCE AGAIN AWAITING THAT SLOW ASS C.C.T

WHEN, OUT OF THE CORNER OF MY LEFT EYE

I SPIED THIS CINNAMON-BAKED,

CHOCOLATE BON-BON BEAUTY

WHO HAD SOME DEVASTATING ENDOWMENTS

I MEAN, SISTAH WAS STRAIGHT UP 3-D

AND I DECIDED TO MAKE HER SEE ME

SO, PRETENDING NOT TO NOTICE HER

I PULLED MY POETRY JOURNAL – THIS VERY ONE I HOLD IN MY HANDS –

OUT OF MY BACKPACK

AND BEGAN TO WRITE, IN EXAGGERATED STROKES,

ABOUT THE BEST LOVE

BLACK LOVE

AND OBVIOUSLY, MY PLAN WORKED

BECAUSE CLOSER AND CLOSER AND CLOSER

SHE INCHED TOWARDS ME – FEIGNING NONCHALANCE –

UNTIL SHE COULD PEEK AT WHAT I WAS PUTTING DOWN ON THE PAGE,

WHICH READ:

Your love is like a handful of hot grits…

Hurts like hell

But I can’t let go.

You are the incarnation of pain

Passion

Sorrow

You are my tomorrow,

Which is forecast for showers

Our love

Our love

Our love ain’t pretty flowers,

A big, white house,

Picket fence,

Or two kids: “Buffy” and “The Beaver”

But our shit ain’t ghetto either

No pissy projects,

Skunk reefer,

Or child named Taquisha

Our love is Black…

Veggie patties,

Djembe drums

And the Orisa

Jumping the broom and a Babalawo,

Not a cheap ring and a preacher

No playa and ho shit

I’m the student,

You’re the master-teacher

Our love

Our love

Our love ain’t pretty flowers…

It’s African Black…

I’m the head

But, you?

You’re the power.

I SLIPPED MY PEN INTO MY POCKET,

LEANED AGAINST A CONCRETE POST

AND HIT THE UNIVERSAL “I’M TOO COOL” POSE

AS THE CINNAMON-BAKED,

CHOCOLATE BON-BON BEAUTY SMILED

AND I KNEW I HAD HER

AND Y’ALL…

WOO…THIS SISTAH WAS BAD, HER

HAIR IN KINKY TWISTS

LIKE A MILLION BLACK-POWER FISTS

RAISED IN VICTORY ON HER HEAD

A CHARCOAL-GREY SPORTS BRA

ACCENTUATED THE FIRMEST OF BREASTS

NAVY-BLUE RUNNING TIGHTS HUGGED A PERFECTLY ROUND

MMH-MMH-MMH…

AND CHARCOAL-GREY RUNNING SHOES ON SIZE SEVEN FEET

AN AU NATURAL ATHLETE

A BEAUTY COMPLETE

WITH SKIN, BLACKER THAN A MILLION MIDNIGHTS

AND SMOOTH AS POLISHED ONYX-STONE

DELICATE, YET STRONG FINGERS

AND SOFT, FULL LIPS…

DAMN,

SHE WAS MAKIN’ ME TRIP

‘CAUSE, PHYSICALLY, SHE WAS THE LOVER IN MY DREAMS

THE AFRICAN QUEEN WHO, NIGHTLY, VISITS MY REM-STATE SCENES

“WORD IS BOND, I’LL SCREAM” I SAID TO MYSELF,

“IF I FIND OUT SHE’S A POET”

THE SISTAH REACHED INTO HER COURIER BAG

AND RETRIEVED A WORN, BLACK SKETCHBOOK

THEN TURNED TO ME AND SAID:  “TAKE A LOOK”,

AS SHE OFFERED ME HER BOOK OF POEMS

WITH THOSE BEAUTIFUL, MAHOGANY HANDS

“OKAY, I’LL TAKE A GLANCE”, I RESPONDED,

TRYING TO SOUND SUAVE-AY

AND I SAID TO MYSELF: “TODAY AIN’T A GOOD, BUT A GOD DAY”

‘CAUSE ONLY OLODUMARE COULD HAVE SENT SUCH AN ANGEL

WITH NO MASK,

NO SCHEME,

NO ANGLE…

JUST ANOTHER POET

SEEKING REALIZATION THROUGH “THE WORD”

BE IT SPOKEN, OR WRITTEN

MY HEART WAS SMITTEN

AND RIGHT THERE, ON THAT BUS STOP,

WE WERE GETTING’ IT ON

AND AS SLOW AS THE DAMNED C.C.T. IS,

I FIGURED WE’D BE THERE ‘TIL DAWN

BUT THAT WAS AIGHT, ‘CUZ

SHE HAD ME FEELIN’ A BUZZ

COULD IT BE LOVE?

THE SISTAH GAVE ME A SOFT KISS ON THE CHEEK

AND A WARM HUG

AND I PLAYED IT REAL SMOOTH,

ALTHOUGH I WANTED TO BUG

I SAID:

“WHY DON’T YOU COME BY MY CRIB TONIGHT

AND WATCH JAY-Z ON MTV UNPLUGGED,

AS WE CHILL BY THE FIREPLACE ON MY FAKE BEAR-FUR RUG”

SISTAH CINNAMON-BAKED, CHOCOLATE BON-BON SHYLY SHRUGGED,

LOOKED UP AT ME WITH THOSE SEA-DEEP, SUN-BRIGHT BROWN EYES

AND WHISPERED:  “IT’S A DATE”

AND I SAID TO MYSELF:

“THANK GOD FOR THAT SLOW ASS C.C.T.”