​
His honor and integrity intact,
He faced the Court of Justice (kangaroo),
Declaring that his word was not an act:
“I testified, and every word was true.”

He scarcely understood the forces that
Arrayed themselves against him, in cabal,
A league of secrecy: he calmly sat
In Law’s tribunal and refuted all.

Was Justice done, or Justice proved a sham?
A jury meanwhile makes deliberation.
His honesty determines, and I am
Convinced, but others harbor reservation.

Why did they “set him up”? It was not him,
The victim merely an inconsequential
Necessity, in acting out their whim,
A sacrifice, so he came providential.

No, he stood innocent; but they arrayed
Such circumstances as would falsify,
But he was not what the appearance made,
Steadfast in this: he had not told a lie.

It never occurred to me that using an X for middle name might appear to connect me with Nation of Islam, the religious group formerly associated with Malcolm X, or with Malcolm X himself, formerly known as Malcolm Little before his affiliation with Nation of Islam.

When I decided to establish a website, my name was taken—and why not? It is a common name. Novak itself is an extremely widespread patronymic, David practically Biblical in its stature of recognition. David Novak the famous theologian was born two decades before me in Chicago, but he is far from the only eminent personage to have that name.

So for the sake of a website, I added an X. It could well stand for Xavier, I reasoned. When I began to put out editions of my books at Lulu.com, I carried over the X in an effort to establish a “brand,” which seemed like a good idea at the time. My previously published books (under the Non Fit Press imprint) came about when I scarcely knew what the internet was; possibly had I the foresight then I’d never have needed the X.

It would be easy enough to revisit the platform at Lulu.com and scrub the initial. I’m wedded to it in the domain name, but as a thing, it’s an artificial external application, of which I feel no need and would gladly see scrubbed for posterity (if I felt there were to be a posterity). But there’s the rub. The world is coming down, and this transitory phase will not be likely to last. Besides, “easy enough” is easy to say, but it requires time, and the platform is not so flawless. Almost with certitude the minor change would not come off without a hitch.


If there is some affiliation or affinity with Malcolm X to be imputed, should I recoil at the thought? Not at all. Neither Malcolm nor the Nation of Islam owns copyright on the letter X. (Hmm... “Letter X” was a poetry zine here in Chicago around the time of my undergraduate years.)

If I had read the Alex Haley edited Autobiography at the time I might never have chosen the X: the connotations would have been readily apparent. That said, it is an embarrassment that I came to reading his book so late in life—truly an American classic like no other—but having done so belatedly (a few years ago) I feel I have nothing to lose, and certainly if anything something to gain, from such a connection (or would were it legitimate).

The portrait—almost a stereotype but certainly not true to life—that has been promoted among the whites of Malcolm X, while not baseless gives only a partial truth. Malcolm had a capacity for gullibility and wrong-headedness that could seem positively tenacious; but he had more than that—the capacity for thinking things out for himself and realizing he had made an error. When he recognized it—that an error had been made—he changed. Most of us would double down or dig in deeper, if not retrench a little. Malcolm’s protean, chameleon-like quality adapted to new circumstances—and new realizations—without wavering, and without apology.

Who would not like to have his name by affiliation conjure up such an icon of strength?

America would be a much better place today had he not been assassinated. In his nineties today, he would have been a moral force in helping this nation cope with—and try to fix—the Anthropocene. This is not the space for speculation, proselytizing, nor history lesson; but I felt that time has come to clarify that X. Friends have adapted to it—a compeer from one of my first jobs as a teenager has gone so far as to call me, “X!” It is a badge I may be stuck with, and either way, what's important is not the name.

As a comic poet I might well have chosen something like “Flat-footed” (Plautus)—but that's already been taken!

​
The scent of blood within the water
Draws predators from near and far,
Eager to capture sides from slaughter
Like vultures in the time of war.

The injured party has begun
To flail—surprised by the attack— 
As now he must face not just one
But thousands must be driven back.

The odds against survival seem
Preposterous—some miracle
To counter peril so extreme
Unlikely, and I see it well.

Jussie Smollett, they circle round,
The predators urged to exploit
If sense in spectacle be drowned— 
No solace in your awful plight.

The facts may never out indeed
(While I have noted lies aplenty),
Miracles prone to intercede
Ten years too late, fifteen or twenty.

Could I raise up a clarion call
I’d rouse defenders in the cause
Of justice—but the rabble all
Clamor for blood apart from laws.

Just coincidentally, as a followup to yesterday’s post about Greta Thunberg, a Facebook posting she made yesterday just came through my feed this morning, and I have likewise shared it. The link is here, and it is a succinct essay putting forth her explanation of what she is doing and why, in the face of misrepresentation and hatred that she has been on the receiving end of.

You may note I refer to Ms. Thunberg as “one of my few living heroes.” There is a tad of hyperbole in that statement—I believe we are surrounded by unsung heroes whom we may not even know about, and some that we do that have nowise achieved sufficient public status to become the recipient of large amounts of hatred. (Here in the USA, as I have lately waxed poetic on, the stirring up of hatred is largely coterminous with one popular group that self-signifies by the wearing of red hats.) Needless to say many of the true heroes of our day are not those commonly lauded as such by our politicians.

The matter of hatred is its own topic.

Greta Thunberg has called out on humanity “to panic.” I am trying to heed her words, though it is hard to know what to do to make that panic actionable. One feels a little that helplessness of Szmul Zygielbojm upon being given the message carried by Jan Karski about the condition of European Jewry during the Second World War.

Certainly one thing we can do is to talk about the problem, and keep it before our attentions at all times. ​

​I dreamt of you last night, a man
Whom I but know because the news— 
And you are hated, even than
Some other, more because your views

On justice and equality:
The men who hate, would have you die,
Entrenched deep in hypocrisy
Because they richly reap thereby.

It augured worried days ahead,
The dream, but only time will tell
If such a murder brings you dead
To heaven, casting them to hell.

So let me see. I said I would try not to be so negative. The play was not so bad, really. It was of the moment, discussing today’s issues in today’s words in a way I never could. It almost felt like I was on Facebook. 😂 It left me with questions about the author's modus. That's all I can say.