The distinguished man on the right is Charles Henry Rowell, one of the deans of American letters. Do not let the John Lennon glasses fool you; he's an old-style, southern aristocrat with a passionate love for African-American visual and literary art. This is evidenced by his 30 year tenure as the founding editor of Callaloo, "the premier journal of art, literature and culture of the African Diaspora, which publishes original works by and critical studies of black writers worldwide. The journal offers a rich mixture of fiction, poetry, plays, critical essays, cultural studies, interviews, photography, and visual art."

Last month, Callaloo celebrated 30 years on the scene with a series of conference panels and readings in Baltimore at John Hopkins University and Enoch Pratt Library. It was a multi-generational gathering that featured writers and critics as aesthetically interesting as poets Crystal Williams and Dawn Lundy Martin, and as vitally important as poet Lucille Clifton and fiction writer John Edgar Wideman. Poet Reginald Harris blogged the event, as did grand dame fiction writer Tayari Jones. Check out Rachel Eliza Griffith's photographs of the event. Enoch Pratt Library podcasted Yusef Komunyakaa, Natasha Trethewey, and Carl Phillips reading, which was exceptional in its range and talent. It was one of the most moving readings I have attended all year.

How difficult it is to assert the centrality of Callaloo and Charles H. Rowell's work to our understanding and awareness of African American, Caribbean, indeed African-diasporic writers and artists of the 21st Century, for Mr. Rowell has systematically introduced and celebrated a host of writers at the early and middle stages of their career in Callaloo's pages long before the general public became aware of those artists' genius and vision. Like most editors, it is a quiet role he undertakes with little fanfare. His interviews of writers and visual artists are legendary, and the literary journal has featured enough artwork in its pages by contemporary artists that could fill several galleries in Chelsea.

In the age of digital technology, the rarefied world of the literary journal is giving way to online publication and print annuals. However, Callaloo has sustained itself through university support at three different institutions; it was founded at Southern University in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and has moved since to University of Virginia and Texas A.M. Keeping any journal afloat requires lissome leadership and creativity. Over the years, Mr. Rowell has developed a few enterprises by which to help promote the literary journal including publishing Callaloo Poetry and Fiction Series which gave us Elizabeth Alexander's The Venus Hottentot, Afaa Michael Weaver’s Water Song, Rita Dove’s Fifth Sunday and Nathaniel Mackey’s Bedouin Hornbook. Currently, Callaloo administers annual creative writing workshops in fiction and poetry that are open to everyone. Last year’s faculty included exceptional writers Terrance Hayes, Mat Johnson, Tayari Jones, and Tracy K. Smith.

Do not expect Callaloo to go the way of recent literary journals. Mr. Rowell's enthusiasm, support, and expansive leadership remain as vibrant as it was thirty years ago when he first conceptualized a literary journal that would highlight the contributions of African American southern writers to American literature and then African-descended writers from around the globe. His assistant is the poet Kyle Dargan, who occupies the role of Managing Editor. With Mr. Rowell’s mentorship and Mr. Dargan’s youthful and competent management, one expects even greater and compelling showcases of contemporary artists and important conversations triggered by such recent special issues of the journal as “American Tragedy: New Orleans Under Water.”

In his own words is the story of Callaloo. I encourage you to urge your local library to subscribe to Callaloo, if they do not do so already, and even if they do, you yourself should have it delivered to your home. Callaloo is a collectible and important literary item and no home or institutional library is complete without it.