Daisy's Accent

Forever

2011-11-11T10:15:00.000-08:00

I have seen the light. Finally I am free. I have wasted countless hours, days, martinis and poems. I’d been tricked. Not just me. I won’t have you thinking I am the only one. No, some of you have been tricked too. I need your help together there is nothing we can’t do. I was sitting. OK I was lying across my bed. Downloading as many different versions of “My Funny Valentine” as I possibly could. Matt Damon, Anita Baker, Etta James, Rachelle Ferrelle. Who would of thought? Actually I am the type of person who normally would expect to find that many covers of the same song. It is what was in that sentence I ask you to pay particular attention to. I am the “Funny Valentine” type of guy. Sadly this is no more. How did this come to be? Well let’s explore. There was this guy. OK there was more than one. But I don ‘t count them all you see. I can’t count them all. Can’t. Yes I am a 34-year-old man saying he can’t count. That really must be the difference between innocence and cynicism. My nieces and nephews however young or old, have either or will run up to me and say…I can count to ten. I can count to 100. Then it’s I can add 1+1=2. 10+10=20. 4+4=8. 400+400=800. This leads all the way up to 500+500 equals ten hundred. I never have the heart to tell them. There is no ten hundred but there is one thousand. They are so happy. Trust me they learn.

This isn’t really about them. This is about me. This one similarity with counting. I used to love counting just like them. For a moment. A very brief moment. I was actually over counting. Yes, yours truly had fallen victim to the ancient belief, the more ass you had sought out and conquered, the more you were a man. That’s neither here nor there. Well it was right here and then I came out of the closet the rules changed. Unfortunately no longer needed to over count. The truth was much more fun. Little side note. I am offering a reward to anyone who can find the guy who took those pictures in that hotel room near the Oakland Zoo. What? I was high. Besides it didn’t count. Lets recap. Where were we? Loved to count. Over count. Can’t count.

Instead of trying to count the men I have graduated to more complicated schools of thought. I classify them. The one night stands. The bushes. The bathrooms. The baths. Then the most infamous “the bars”. Although many of us won’t admit having ever been to any of the B’s. I just sum them up as the “B’s”. Yes there truly is more than one “B” word. Each one is a bitch honey. There comes a point when in order to learn we have to just get down to the truth and start admitting.

Truth. Steamworks could not possibly stay open 24 hours a day. 7 days a week. 365 days a year with out the help of…I will be kind. A few of the people in this room. Maybe fags are all going to hell; we have actually created an industry that does not stop even for Christmas. Which means what? If they are open for Christmas it is because some one is there. Being that the Steamworks is in Berkeley. I will do the politically correct thing and point out it is also open for Chanukah, MLK, on on and on. That’s right. White, Black, Jew, Christian, Asian. Each and every one going down together pun most definitely intended. Now since I was kind enough not to point at any of you or even stare in your direction while discussing the Steamworks I know you will be just as kind with me. Now that it seems I have begun to ramble. Where was I? Sex, drugs, “b’s”, Need your help. That’s right. I’d been tricked not like I turned a trick. No much less rewarding than that.
Just tricked by one of these people I stopped counting. Love. Should I go any further? I’ve said trick. I’ve said love. Really this is a no brainer. Tragic.

I can’t having you all think that I am some soon to be jaded queen who does not believe in love to the contrary the realization that I had been tricked has freed me. Not too free like those Folsom street fair queers. Just free enough like those 12 CD’s you used to get from Columbia house of BMG (remember that?). Sure there were some restrictions and limitations but if you read the small print you will find that I am only bitter. Either way I was feeling better to know I’d been tricked but most importantly by whom I’d been tricked.

So there I was listening to My Funny Valentine in the dark getting ready to see if Mary J. Blige had done her own snazzy little cover featuring… Ja rule. Remember when rappers had their own songs and little R&B girls were featured on their albums? That has nothing to do with anything does it? That’s what you call “too much and not enough”. I promise I am arriving at the point. I was laying on the bed and instead of getting up I sort of threw my head back in a thrusting motion. No not that kind of thrust. More of the 34-year-old queen trying to be as dramatic as one of those older girls. Thing is those older queens have actually seen enough of those old black and white movies to act that way. Seeing Mommy Dearest along with the occasional drag show had turned me more into a wanna be and a clutz. So instead of having a moment worthy of a Billie Holiday song I fell off the bed. Funny what happens to the Joan Crawford in a person when they fall off the bed.
It really has a sting to it. As I rolled over on to my back I could littereally feel Joan draining from me. I turned my head
Saw several boxes full of notes and cards pictures and rings.
These boxes were known as the X files. You have all seen that show haven’t you? It’s all about the unexplained. I was wanting to be dramatic and emulating tragic when it hit me. Getting me on the floor was a part of a process. It had taken coming out the closet
learning to give head with out gagging. The occasional swallow. A handful of HIV tests. Fairly expensive cologne. Two hoopty’s. An unpublished book of poetry. Alanis Morissette’s first CD. Lauryn Hill leaving the Fugees and sadly a hair bleaching phase.

There it was half of a letter sticking out of a box. And I read
“I love you For Ever.” Who I thought is “Ever?” And why is there a letter to “Ever” In my X files. Is “Ever” someone I forgot to count? As I rummaged through box after box and letter after letter I realized “For Ever” is signed way to many times to count. So there is the trick. “For Ever” will always be too much to count. Much more than I can see. Why did I believe each time these men “For Ever'ed” me?

Cynical Place

2011-11-10T22:09:00.000-08:00

Every man that has whispered. Has spoken to the wind. A secret flutters never to be heard again. He hopes with all his mischievousness that it finds a lovers ear. He bows his head and turns away from possible lovers sneers. I find the night wicked. Full of wanting, I remember. I do "voo doo" and forgetting. There is not enough "fuck him" in my beer. Tonight I sleep, hot and icy. Rest frigid nicely. I don't know I am alone. Many years ago I was curious. Now I just hope that what I have learned isn't true. Please don't think I am cynical. Someplace deep I am loving too

I Admit It!!!

2011-11-05T13:25:00.000-07:00

So it is true. Once upon a writer was a splendid day. I meant to write. I meant to share. It hasn't happened like it should. So all said and done today I begin. What do I have to say? BIG question HUGE "I have to go shopping now."-did you get the reference? Anyway sometimes poetry is really masterbatory. I am not going to spell check that!!! I see the red squiggly line and I get it. It may not be a real word or I spelled it wrong. SO WHAT!!! "This is my world you ain't nothing but a squirrel trying to get a nut" So here it is...

I have been un-penetratable for like seven years. No that was not a sexual reference. I mean to say for a long time no one has touched me. No not literally. Why do you require so much detail? What I mean is...I have been wearing "nigga repellent" and no one has gotten close. I think that fact just changed. He is close. I am not sure what that means. Yes he is an artist and mysterious. He also does my favorite thing. He never commits to committing but still his ass is in my bed every night. What is that? Is that safety? Is he safe from me? I don't think he is. I think he knows. Why come he can't admit it? Why do men stomp around like they are in-penetratable metal statues when you know they are hard on the outside but all mess blood and guts with in? Why am I a man? Seriously!!! What the fuck? I do all this man shit to identify man shit. Men are really to sensitive to keep up the dog and pony thing. So they try to distract us with complex and overly simple behavior. That's deep. No it's not. It's tired. Deep is a man putting his boots on during sex cuz he wants to get deep. Tell you something else deep. I think I have a menstrual cycle. I cried listening to PINK first thing this morning. What the fuck was that? You over celebrate your weirdness by just being weird. Don't you think he should celebrate his "gayness" by admitting that he wants me? See it doesn't matter what you think. And that is what makes blogging so good.

thank you

2010-03-02T07:28:00.000-08:00

Personal as Political

My identity is simple. I am black and gay. The very nature of who I am at this time in the world is political. Choosing to speak or not is political. When I write about my life experiences I am commenting on the culture I live in and how I am received. In addition I am discussing how the culture I live in perpetuates or stifles my ability to move freely. I can write a poem about gay sex with the goal of celebrating human sexuality. When I perform that piece and it causes the audience to be uncomfortable or feel validated that is consequence or side effect of where that community is. I don’t have to try and be political but I have learned that it is helpful to understand that the work we create and the words we place into the world should be considered and reconsidered. In my experience it is helpful to use personal experiences to illustrate how politics become personal and to make connection between my life and the lives of others.

Creating spoken word

I was twelve years old the first time I wrote a poem. It was a part of my English homework in seventh grade. Poetry had not been a part my upbringing. All I knew about poetry is that it rhymed and that girls liked it. Saying I found it difficult to write that first poem is somewhat of an understatement. I spent over four hours and came up with nothing. I remember several things about the experience: one was crying because I couldn’t do it. Another is my sister saying that it should be fun. The third is walking around my back yard looking at the stars and the garden- I expected that flowers and moonlit nights were full of poetry. At some point I became tired and frustrated and sat down on the back patio and started cleaning my toenails. The end result was my very first poem.
Picking My Toes On a Monday Night
Scratching my head in the pale moon light
Nothing to do Just Hanging around
Sitting Cross legged on the Cold Ground
Worried about and English Assignment
Worried about Academic confinement
Sitting around picking my toes
Next I think I’ll pick my nose

My English teacher was not impressed. I kept that poem and rediscovered it 8 years later.
It was also during this time that I began to write short stories. I was first given writing assignments like: write a Halloween story. I would sit down and this energy would build up in my chest almost like anxiety, and that energy transformed into a force that pushed me from page to page. There was a story that had to be told, it knew what it was, and I had to discover it. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when my first stories were cut short by my teachers because I was turning a two page writing assignment into twelve pages and counting. I just couldn’t stop until I reached the proper end. No one around me helped me to see that I was drawn to writing. My teachers were all too happy to have me out of their hair, so I was given extra time on the computer and I wrote and wrote. This all ended badly.

I found out later that the two teachers who had put me down and basically written me off as hopeless were using the stories I wrote as examples of their student’s creative writing abilities. You have to understand that I was a failing student who was placed in a special education class so that I would no longer be disruptive to my core middle school teachers. I walked into my old classroom to find my teacher had made two large poster boards that stood on their own, showcasing five of my short stories that she had illustrated herself. I became enraged and I cursed out my teacher and then walked into my principal’s office without knocking and proceeded to cuss him out. This was in many ways the beginning of the end for me in school. Within two years I dropped out as a freshman in high school. I learned a great deal from this experience. I have spent so much time wondering what would have happened if I had that one teacher who pulled me aside and said “what you are doing is great, we need to figure out how to get you this focused about your other studies.” After seventh grade I quit writing creatively all together. Because I never finished high school, and the years of education I had beforehand were so turbulent, I stayed away from writing. Writing called for very basic English skills and grammar skills that I to this day still struggle with.

I was seventeen before I wrote again. It was Valentine’s Day and I was sitting in a Burger King parking lot waiting for my older brother and his girlfriend to come back to the car. I was sad, because I was alone on Valentine’s Day. Again I got this anxious feeling in my stomach and it moved up to my chest. I heard a voice in my head that said.

Emptiness fills my soul
Sends chills down my spine
Leaves me cold
The hate from this world is in me
I refuse to believe what I’ve been told
Something inside tells me different
This life is mine I promise to live it
Feeling empty feeling sad
Regretting time that you were glad
Lift your head tilt your mind
Stand tall young brother
Unity you’ll find
Happiness fills my soul

I wrote this the way I write many poems, the feeling comes, and I listen and write as quickly as I can because when the moment is gone the poem is gone. My brother’s girlfriend read what I had written and said she didn’t know I wrote poetry. I remember thinking “neither did I”. From that moment on whenever I feel any emotion I lift the energy up to my chest and I listen.

Originally I wrote poetry. When I say poetry what I mean is that I intended for the work to be read. I actually would leave the room if someone were reading my work because I couldn’t handle seeing their reaction to what I wrote. I learned to use the page to allow me to exist in a way that didn’t involve a great deal of conflict. I could silently and quietly record my thoughts, shape them, and hand them to someone so that they could be experienced without ever having to be present for any kind of rejection. My friends and family members were my only audience until I was asked to read one of my poems at a graduation for a program I worked for called Bay Area Youth Agency Consortium or BAYAC AmeriCorps. I read a poem called “Corruption.” This is actually the first poem I wrote that I thought was good. The poem was unique for me in other ways as well: it did not rhyme and it incorporated aspects of who I was in a way that was more narrative.

As The Wrinkles of maturity embrace my inner soul
Memories flood my mind
Regrets full of shoulda coulda woulda’s
But I didn’t
What I learn today teaches me the answers to questions I was taught not to ask
Quenching my thirst for knowledge
My momma told me not lie or steal while on the news I learned of another corrupted president
Don’t hit she’d say
I hear the sounds of war exploding on my TV screen
Growing up in a world with no real heroes or role models you ask where my morals lie
They lie in bed with a cheating father
He is caught and kicked out of the home
They lie with that little boy whose dad wasn’t around to teach him football
You know the neighborhood sissy
They lie with all those who recognize the problems in a world where
13 year olds are killing each other
15 year olds are having babies
17 year olds are dying of AIDS
And an 18 year old just received a diploma he cannot read
I refuse to ignore the irony of the thin line between what I know
And what I am told
This is the country where so many of us are starving
Others throw out pots full of left overs
They would rather have pizza
Where do my morals lie?
I may not know
But it seems yours are a lie.

The speaker who came after me was a politician of some sort. I was eighteen and was blown away when he quoted my work twice in his speech. That moment made me feel smart. It also made sense out of experiences that up to that point were nonsense. They were just painful thoughts and ideas that had no purpose, but there on that stage they were my education. I had never walked across a stage in a cap and gown. I had never finished any of the things that people my age were finishing. I wasn’t on my way to college but suddenly I learned that I had an education. I received it from a place that had no name, a place without colors, letterhead, or a mascot. But it was a real place, a place that not everyone was given the opportunity to go. I learned to reverse what I had been taught about who I was and who I could become. I learned to write in a language and style that is my own, I adhere to a set of rules and guidelines that may not be referred to as grammar but I call my flow. The poems that you read earlier in this paper are pieces I have not read in at least two years. I was able to write them out from memory because writing is who I am. When I say it’s who I am, I mean that it is a simple process of elimination, I know what my writing is but I also know what it isn’t. So even if I have not looked at something for a period of time I only need one or two lines and I can find the essence of the piece. That is what the oral tradition is based upon. It is knowing what something is.

I recently had my laptop, filled with countless poems, stolen. At this moment I realize that no one can ever take my work away from me. I have learned that spoken word is me. I write and speak my truth. I have spoken terribly and brilliantly but always I speak. I speak because I know people who can’t. I speak not because I know there are people who can’t, but because I know people who can’t. I speak because it allows me to make a prayer out of a pain, to find purpose in the accident. I have learned that we are having a conversation. All of us are talking to each other. I need to know that my voice and voices like it are represented, that they are clear, and that they are decisive. I have to know that voice is fearless and capable, so I choose the one voice I am most familiar with, I choose my own. I welcome criticism today. I accept that part of having a mouth is having a place to put your own foot. For me being corrected only helps the conversation reach its destination quicker. I don’t write polite. Manners and being politically correct is useless. I like to get a bit muddy, speak the truth, locate ideas, and change my mind and the minds of others. I love to discover ways to say something that has been said a thousand times in a way that makes it new and fresh. The real question on every poets mind is how to do this with the phrase “I love you.” I write to rise and to catch myself when I have fallen. I speak like my father speaks, like his father spoke before him. I speak to maintain my origin whether that is familial, ethnic, or cultural. I speak because I was told a long time ago not to. I speak because they said I had nothing to say. Today I speak, and I speak, and I speak.

Why Spoken Word

2010-02-02T16:48:00.000-08:00

Writing has afforded me the opportunity to confront myself as an artist and as a human being. I have always connected with myself through my writing. The page is a safe place to play and explore. Once the exploration of a particular thought or idea is complete the next question is whether or not to take that complete thought, idea, poem, or story and place it in the world. I have learned through my experiences, and sharing my work that not all work needs to be shared. The artist needs to evaluate if they can share the work with the audience or reader in a relevant manner. Can he or she stand behind that piece of work? I have written many pieces that I am hesitant to share because I know that the work is controversial. I pick and choose my battles carefully. Spoken word requires this consideration even more because it places me, and my work in the same room as the audience. While this allows me to connect directly with the audience, the connection is often challenging. Who I am as a person and artist is being judged at one time. The spoken word community is an audio community. They are not shy about letting you know that they agree or disagree with your work while you are on stage. Spoken Word takes me from the page and pushes me further as an artist. The work is not complete until it is performed. Every performance brings with it new discoveries about the writing and its meaning to self and the larger community. Often when performing at a spoken word event I find my work is having a conversation with the work of other artists. When this occurs I learn how we are all affected and that we belong to a similar experience.

I recently bumped into a spoken word artist named Lady Gravity. She pulled me aside and asked to read me a poem she had written in response to a poem I had performed several months before. My poem was an erotic poem that I somehow got the nerve to perform at a hip hop club in Oakland. I was verbally bashed and called faggot repeatedly. I finished my poem and left the venue. I read that piece there because I knew there were gay people present that chose to be silent about their identity. I think it is wonderful to perform gay work in the gay community. But the question my work then asks me is: how can I be useful? I build up my strength performing work in a nurturing environment, but then it is my responsibility to take risks and get called faggot in order to demonstrate the importance of taking a space that is created for artists and using it to do more than get applause. Lady Gravity has written and now performs a poem in that space about the courage it took for me to be as candid about my identity as a gay man. Experiences like these have taught me the importance of taking risks. Spoken word connects the art with a person. It is a lot easier to dismiss a page than it is to dismiss a human being.

Rap

2010-01-23T06:58:00.000-08:00

As the 1970’s were coming to a close and the disco era was coming to an end, three distinct forms of urban expression were preparing to change how we define music and give people of color everywhere back the voice the United States had ignored since the late 1960’s. Hip-hop is a culture that combines three different art forms into a single movement. The first form is graffiti, a visual expression of the mind. The second form is break dancing, the body’s language of expression. The third form is Rap; it is the voice of the movement, the audible story of urban life in America. It is necessary to identify which form of expression you are referring to when you speak of Hip Hop and Rap. If you are talking about the style or the sound of the music you are referring to Hip Hop. If you are talking about the lyrics or musical poetry on a track you are talking about Rap.
Rap has to be one of this country’s most fascinating creations. Although there are many people who dislike rap music and believe that it is inherently violent I would argue that Rap music is everything the United States of America is. If it were not, it could never have been produced nor proved so popular. It crosses socio-economic and race barriers. Rap enthusiasts initially were predominantly black. However over the years it has drawn the attention and admiration of a larger niche of society. Rap music, much like the Jazz and the Blues, is the direct result of a time and culture. To understand rap you have to first understand where the music comes from.

Rap was born on the streets of New York. It is undeniably connected to poverty, hardship, and the seedier side of urban life. Clearly when we are talking about New York City’s poor we are talking about people of color but in this case specifically young blacks. It is no wonder to me why the sight of a black youth with a microphone would make people uncomfortable. It is the epitome of what this country does not want to see: A black man with the courage to speak and the ability to be heard.

Rap began as a result of block parties on New York City Streets. A DJ would set-up his turntables and speakers, steal electricity from the power lines, and throw parties on the street. Originally it was the DJ that the crowds came to see, different DJ’s would build up their names, gaining a reputation and a following based on their ability to cut and scratch the record. This is a sound that is distinctive to Hip Hop. The DJ didn’t work alone- normally he would work with an MC, or a Master of Ceremonies. It was the job of the MC to keep the crowd moving, sometimes giving “shout outs” (calling somebody by name i.e. announce a birthday or event) to the crowd.

A skilled MC was able to go beyond giving shout outs, they also made up rhymes. The ability to make up rhymes is referred to as free styling. The difference between a rapper and an MC is the ability to do this on the spot for any reason and about anything. Free style for a Hip Hop artist is what improvisation is for an actor. The difference in skill is important and indicates true ability. MC is not just a title- it is a definitive, and further more had to be earned on the streets.

As the DJ began to evolve his sound by using the extended versions of records in order to scratch, the MC was given more freedom through his ability to impress the crowd with his lyrics. This phenomenon grew into what we experience today as Hip Hop culture. Almost every aspect of the Hip Hop culture has come to be based on poverty and class. What it has been able to create is an industry that takes necessity and transforms it into trend. Not only does it dictate trend, it is now a multimillion dollar industry. There was a time when oversized or baggy clothing was worn not because it was fashionable but because the clothing originally belonged to an older brother or cousin. The reality that most inner city youth do not have access to musical instruments or music lessons translated into sampling music. Sampling is when an artist uses the melody base line or hook of another artist, usually directly from a recording, and incorporates it into his or her own sound. Simply put, it is recycling or reinventing a song because this was the only option available.

It is particularly important to focus here on how poverty influenced the birth of Hip Hop. Inner city youth are disempowered and disadvantaged not because of who they are, but instead because minorities statistically have limited/no access to institutions that guide and define the hierarchy of the larger culture they live in. For this reason few if any of these individuals are given the opportunity to acquire a means for survival much less a platform from which they can be heard. If these opportunities make themselves available, it frequently is not to their benefit, on their terms, or in their language. As a result gaining access to these existing platforms is not looked upon favorably. Doing so poses with it a risk of being identified as a “sell out” This is not a new ideology- in fact it originates during slavery. This is where we first heard of house niggers and Uncle Toms. “House Nigger” refers to a slave who works in the house giving them a direct relationship to their so called masters. When a slave was protective of the house or their so called masters well being it was said to be because they were House Niggers. Uncle Tom is the name of a character from the book Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Who had a deep affection for the children of the family he was enslaved by. Uncle Tom reappears as one of the popular images used in black caricature that were used post civil war in order to defend slavery. The main idea being that Uncle Tom was happy slave.
To “sell out” is to exchange one’s identity, experience, or belief systems in order to benefit from the privileges afforded by an institution or culture that is not your own, specifically when that culture oppresses, discriminates against, or alters your culture’s ability to define itself on its own terms. In other words, taking what you can get at the cost of your own people is looked upon as an unforgivable offense.
Hip Hop is inherently anti-system simply because it has been created in direct response to a system that has continuously sought to ignore the day to day lives for inner city youth. Hip Hop culture’s ability to amplify its own experience, while gaining the interest of middle class white America as its primary fan base is a phenomenon. White people have assisted in creating a music empire whose primary purpose has been to celebrate the stories and experiences of the black community. This same community was formed as a result of decades of oppression and racism.

What Hip Hop culture originally created is a system through which its community became capable of judging and measuring its own worth. This value was not based on monetary success. Instead it was a person’s skill that became currency. If an MC, break-dancer, or graffiti artist wanted to increase the value of his name he would challenge one of his contemporaries to a battle. The battleground, or competition, of an MC or break-dancer would be at a block party, in a club or on the streets. The graffiti artist would battle on the side of subway trains or on the buildings of the city.

Hip Hop culture’s potency lies with the authenticity of its followers. It is a fact that as rap music has become more popular it has lost its street credibility. Instead of an MC earning his name in the streets, record companies are giving them their names. In fact a large portion of the rap music one hears today is about how much money an individual has been able to acquire through the production of music. This is an experience that few people can relate to and because of this rap music is quickly becoming irrelevant. Instead of being the place we go to hear and share our stories it has become a place we hear and share our fantasies.

“What People want is fantasy but what they need is reality and I have just retired from the fantasy.” These words were spoken by Lauryn Hill, formerly a member of the Fugees. She wrote and produced, The Score, one of the top selling hip hop records of all time and received a 6 Grammy’s including the record of the year, making her the first rap artist to receive this award for her solo work "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.".
Spoken Word vs. Hip Hop: Compare and Contrast
At a time when rap music’s icons and MC’s have chosen silence and the music itself has begun to lose its relevance, we see the culture of spoken word maintaining the oral and hip hop traditions. The similarities between rap and spoken word poetry depend on the artist. Because spoken word has given birth to so many types of artists, some who are comedic others who are political or concerned more with storytelling. Because spoken word existed before rap music as far back as “The Beats” in the late 1950’s it makes more sense to look at rap music as a form of spoken word. Spoken word relies much more upon metaphor and creative imagery, where rap requires a hook or a repeated motif that is catchy yet simple. The purpose of a hook in rap music is to employ the same call and response technique used in gospel and R & B (rhythm and blues). This allows the MC to dissect the music, and bring the audience into the experience.
At a rap concert the elements of music and dance are used to excite the crowd. A spoken word performance generally does not involve more than the poet and a microphone. Rap is now a part of popular music in this country. The ability of the music to be “popular” influences the artist and rap audiences’ concept of what good rap is. There are rappers and rap enthusiasts who follow and record rap music that is now considered to be part of a more authentic underground movement. The spirit of hip hop lives in this music but is greatly eclipsed by the music being produced by the larger “hip hop machine.” Spoken word poetry has not offered even its most well known performance artists monetary success or mainstream fame. It is for this reason that spoken word attracts and promotes those interested in spoken word as an art, not as a viable source of income. The artists and the audience are in it for the love of the work. In addition, because spoken word does not have its roots in popular music, production and resource availability does not dictate the need to create more work. A rap artist needs a music producer, recording studio and record label in order to have a chance at success with in the community. Once having acquired all these things the record or single is then measured against artists that have gone platinum (sold a million or more records). The spoken word artist needs a pen, a pad of paper, and an audience.

Spoken Word Performance

2010-01-23T06:57:00.000-08:00

I went to my first Spoken Word performance in 1995. I was blown away- the performances were amazing. In one of the poems a man talked about “The Revolution” I was so inspired that I thought the “Revolution” was about to happen and then I became aware of how homophobic the rest of his work was. In response I wrote my first spoken word poem “Revolution Revealations.” It took me two years before I was able to read that poem in front of an audience. When I did my hands and voice shook uncontrollably. I decided that I wanted to show respect to my work by gaining the ability to perform it without allowing my personal fears control me. This is what drew me into the performance poetry scene and eventually into The Experimental Performance Institute at New College of California.
Originally in order for a poet to share their writing they would travel from town to town and recite their works. This was done mainly out of necessity because the printing press had not been invented. It was publishing that made poetry accessible to the masses. Although spoken word never truly disappeared it wasn’t utilized a great deal again until the 1950’s when publishing companies realized they could sell books more if the writer was at an event reading their book. There wasn’t a conscious effort by any writer to truly revive spoken word again until “The Beats.” The Beats were a non-conformist group of writers that became culturally relevant during the sixties. One of the hardest things about spoken word as a movement is the fact that it is a blanket term. The description of spoken word often depends on who is using the term. When poetry is read aloud it is obviously spoken but not all spoken word is poetry. This is because the audience and many of the poet’s aren’t invested in form. They are invested in language and performance. After the sixties spoken word didn’t appear again as a movement until the 1990’s. This is likely because rap music in many ways had prepared the world to hear poetry instead of reading it. Rap opened up our ears, for a long time people debated whether or not rap was music. Now I find that people are more likely to call rap a kind of music than a kind of poetry.
In the early 90’s Slam Poetry began to find its way in to major cities in the United States. A Poetry Slam is an event that occurs in a number of spaces usually cafe’s or bars. Slam poetry’s defining characteristics are that the poetry is spoken original and no longer than 3 minutes. Then 5 judges are selected from the audience at random. A Poetry Slam is a competition. Contestants perform their work and are then judged on a scale of one to ten. There are usually 3 rounds of poetry the winner takes home a cash prize in addition to the prize is the title of Slam champion for your city or possibly the country. The Poetry Slam has grown so large that it now holds nationals once a year where 75 teams compete. Some people go to see the competition but more are interested in the work that is being produced. Some poets refuse to perform at Poetry Slams because they believe that artists should not be judged others because they do not want to compromise the length of their work. I originally determined that I would never compete at a poetry slam because I did not want the scores or the audience to change the way that I write. Writing has always been about me first. Writing a poem with the intention of competing in a Poetry Slam causes my internal editor to criticize the writing before the pen touches the page.

The New Negro

2009-12-28T04:11:00.001-08:00

When I was in my early twenties I was employed as an HIV test counselor in Berkeley, California. This gave me the opportunity to come into contact with people from diverse backgrounds. It was during a HIV test counseling session that a woman came in and sat down at my desk holding a book titled The New Negro. My response was to ask, unable to suppress my laughter, “There are going to be some new Negroes? Well what was the matter with the old ones?” It was my candor and my perspective on the title that caused the woman to ask me to join a group of 15 people who had decided to read 17 books over the course of the summer. The purpose was to read books that were used as models for different literary movements that occurred in black literature. The New Negro was one of the first. It was written during the Harlem Renaissance. What I learned from the reading was to consider the political climate for black people during the time something was written. Slavery and racism have such an impact on black thought and black speech that I am unable to think of any part of the African American experience that is not tainted. As a black person I have been asked to explain my choice to not dread or perm my hair. Not only are the choices we make judged by people, so are the choices we don’t make. What is specific to the black artist’s experience in this country is no matter how brilliant a writer or how insistent a writer is that the work is fictional, there is always an attack or praise given based on that piece of work’s ability to promote the general good or bad of the black community within the context of The United States. In the case of the New Negro the attempt to redefine who black people are and who they were becoming is clear. The title says it all. The “new” and “improved” Negro.

Today we are still explaining who we are. I once wrote “Some people are so busy being black that they can’t be themselves.” The ‘New Negro mentality’ thrives on the idea that if we as black artists are able to create bodies of work that explain and justify our existence- not just as artists but as human beings- we can then create work and tell our stories in an authentic way. I have learned through the creation of work that explaining who I am and what I am capable of is actually a product of racism. To justify who I am as a creative individual by my ethnic background can easily belittle the part of me that is simply imaginative. It is a given that a person’s life experiences are going to affect the kinds of work they create or don’t create. To create work that simply rationalizes your right to create work is distracting from the work that I feel drawn to create. I can admit that this attitude is easier to take being that artists have done so much in the past. I have learned that it is a privilege to create work without having to explain my worth as an artist. I have learned that one of the best things I can do with the privileges offered to me now as a person of color is to claim those “privileges” as what they are, my right.

The Harlem Renaissance and the New Negro started an important conversation about how we should write as black artists. Written word is judged partially based upon its grammatical form. Education is an issue when it comes to black speech and grammatical form. The question of whether or not to claim that speech as a dialect or to avoid that speech as slang comes up repeatedly. Writing and performing affords me the opportunity to write and speak using the tongue of the characters whether they are fictional or based on real people,
Reading the New Negro and studying the Harlem Renaissance taught me about Zora Neale Hurtson and Langston Hughes. Both of these artists are revered today, but during the Harlem Renaissance, Zora Neale Hurston work was attacked primarily by other black people. They resented her choice to write in a dialect that reflected the actual phonetics used by black people at that time. This is no different than Alice Walker’s experience when The Color Purple was turned into a film. People who had not read the book attacked even called her a “sell out” because they felt she had made negative commentary about the black male/female relationship in the United States. The idea being that we should be more concerned with what people might think of our work then we are with creating work that is real. The most fascinating part of this reality is that it usually occurs when the writing is based in fiction. Fictional writing should be a playground for an artist’s imagination. As a black artist I have discovered that racism and internalized racism can feel like prison. Studying the work of other black artists has taught me about adversity and the importance of celebrating who we are as black people. It has introduced me to ideologies that guide my writing today. We need to stop looking over our shoulders and worrying about what people say or think. We do not need to stop being who we are, in order to halt the deluge of criticism from our own community. We should not alter our own experiences and measure it against a flawed standard that neither validates or promotes the well being of our community.

The African Oral Tradition

2009-12-23T19:25:00.002-08:00

In Africa the primary method for recording history for many tribes was, and in many places still is, oral. It was while reading an interview in Playboy magazine about Alex Haley and his research for his book Roots that I learned that Africans have men and women who are called Griot’s. According to the “story,” Alex Haley heard the words Kunta and Kinte being mentioned by elders in his family when he was a child. When he went to Africa to research his family history he tried to locate someone who could tell him what the meaning of those words were. He thought maybe they were related to ancient African symbols, hieroglyphics, or maybe even the name of a tribe. When no one was able to tell him what the words meant he was sent to consult a Griot. What this person was capable of telling him astounds me. Alex Haley was told that Kunta and Kinte were not hieroglyphics or the name of an African tribe. The Griot told him there was a boy around the age of 17 who disappeared over a century before and was never heard from again. That boys name was Kunta Kinte. It is now common knowledge that Kunte Kinta was a slave and is one of Alex Haley’s ancestors. Griots are gatekeepers, storytellers, musicians and historians. They train their entire lives to serve a single purpose. They are living history books. Typically a person is born into the role and taught by a parent. Depending on the Griot they may be responsible for knowing a single family’s history or at other times entire villages. They are peacekeepers and are called upon in difficult times to help during negotiations between tribes who are at war. Their wisdom becomes song, becomes poetry, and becomes counsel. As apprentices it is their duty to acquire both history and storytelling skills. When they are ready they become Griots and pass that same history on. History had no reason to be written. If you wanted to know the history you had to know the person, the people, the Griot.

The Oral History is the Only History

During the period of time that African Americans were enslaved in the United States there were many different tools used in order to control both their actions and their minds. Some of the tools were used to promote fear, yet others were used to keep them from being able to plan escapes or uprisings against their so called Masters. Literacy was not permitted for a slave. In fact a slave could be killed for being caught trying to learn how to read. The only option that was left for the slave was to utilize the oral tradition they would have used in Africa. The word slavery immediately conjures up images of men and women working in the fields. Slave songs wafting through the hot and humid air. The songs that the slaves sung had multiple purposes. One was to help pass a hard day’s work, at other times the slaves would sing as a way to communicate that a slave was trying to escape or that a slave had been caught. Directly in front of the overseers the slaves would send messages to one another using music. At this time in African American History it is clear that the oral tradition was the only real method that slaves had. During these times slaves who did learn to read, were taught in secret. Not only weren’t slaves allowed to read, they were not allowed to gather in any significant number. There were few exceptions to this rule: one was marriages and the other during worship. On Sundays, when white men and women and children were attending religious services, the slaves were permitted to gather.
The image of the black preacher is loud and full of fire. It was his responsibility to excite, inspire, and move a church full of people to their feet. The same feet they had stood on all week, the same bodies that were at times literally worked to death. What is a preacher if not a spoken word artist? As a child, while attending church services, I discovered the power that words had. I watched in awe as a man would speak with earnest and conviction. I watched and I listened as the issues that traumatized people’s daily lives were worked out within the community and before God. I learned in church that the only time a slave was allowed to read was so that he could read the Bible. These men and women who delivered sermons during slavery were often granted this privilege and became a bridge between the illiterate and a God. This set the standard that I still see today, not just in regard to church, but also in the information that is passed from person to person in the black community. There is a preference for the way information is received and it is almost always from person to person or at community gathering. The method: spoken word.

African Oral Tradition

2009-12-23T19:25:00.001-08:00

Spoken Word and The African American

2009-12-22T05:49:00.000-08:00

Words are symbols. We use them to identify people places and things. These symbols we are calling “words” change meaning when influenced by both time and emotion. Before man could have developed a system utilizing these symbols they would have relied almost entirely on the spiritual intention of the communication. These symbols would have first been sound and later represented visually. Choose any sound and reapeat it using different emotions and one can communicate. Spoken Word is an art form that has been created as a result of peoples evolving relationship with language. Spoken Word is poetry that is created to be performed instead of read. Spoken word is not speaking alone the language must have an intention that relies on artistic delivery. Another way of saying this is the “speaking” is performed.
Performance is an act or style of presentation. The quality of this presentation determines its relevance. An action becomes a performance the moment it deviates from the popularly accepted “normal’ way of presenting a thought or idea using the “symbols” or vocabulary of that place or time. As Americans we accept what I will call white English as the standard for proper speech. It is drone like, lacks emotion intentionally relies on grammar and definition leaving it susceptible to distortion. The irony is that the desire to limit communication has created a secondary language where these words can be manipulated by intonation alone. The sentence “nice sweater’ means one thing or the page but when we place it into the world it can change a great deal. It can be used to compliment, harass or dismiss. This means that who says it and how can make the sentence a performance.
If there is anything that is inherent to the African American it is percussion, rhythm and a awareness of spirit or soul. White people think of “a soul” being an energy source that returns to God. Black people think of “soul” as something that returns to God but also as a persons essence. When it is said that someone has soul, really what is being said is that person is connected. If a person is “connected” the way they move speak or sing carries a spiritual imprint as detailed and traceable as a finger print. No two souls are entirely alike. The differences between one soul and another paired with a persons ability to demonstrate an understanding of those differences is soul. Aretha Franklin has a very distinctive sound. That sound is her soul. Soul music is a reference to that connection. Imitating another person’s soul is a contradiction to the belief system. Anyone can imitate another persons “soul” few can discover and amplify their own. Black people don’t’ have more soul than whites. Instead I would say that history has created the enviroment for black people to be more connected to there souls than whites. As descendents of people whose symbols or language were taken black people rely heavily on self and God. We cannot rely on government or country so we are less likely to get confused about who we actually are in the world. The sound of a people’s music, speech, and dance is a language of its own. By nature black speech is a deviation from white speech. Because White people are set on maintaining there way as being the “standard” they have made it standard and severed themselves form self. Black speech is inherently performative by definition because it deviates from the white standard. Spoken Word amplifies thought and poetry. It embraces the characteristics of our culture. It can be considered militant because it breaks free of rules and into the human soul. It is not just poetry, it is poetry as music. It is verse with your voice as a drum. Spoken Word is based in classical poetry, though it does take liberties with both English grammar and syntax. The intention of Spoken Word is to elevate language and performance art.
Metaphor and sound are both key. It has been through music and Spoken Word that we African Americans have maintained our history, inspired and communicated with ourselves and American culture as a whole. It is in the voice of the pastor and the sound of the choir. It is in the words of our most famous speeches, in the way we walk and undeniably in the way we talk. Spoken Word: to speak, to allow melody and rhythm to create the rhyme. To liberate ourselves from constraints and tell our stories the way they were meant to be told.
The African American experience is unique. We have perpetually been involved with self assessment and reinvention. This is because our experiences have not been recorded or distributed in a way that is consistent with whom we actually are. In my experience anyone who is black and has received their education in the United States knows, that in order to get a clear sense of African American history, we must find a source outside of the one most of us have access to, public education. What we learn in school and through the media is from a white American point of view. That point of view is interested in celebrating itself and often dismisses the perspective of other people and cultures.
The African American relationship with history is almost immediately one of distrust. This is because so much of who we are has been quite effectively hidden. This is the result of bias. History is not what I think of when I hear “there are two sides to every story.” Maybe this is because we have been taught that history is not supposed to be a story. It is supposed to be fact. Instead many facts that have been omitted from conventional history about who we African Americans are. In part this has been the fault of the American educational system. The other part I have learned belongs to the manner that we are prepared to receive history in. We are taught that all relevant learning occurs within a classroom or from the news because we don’t believe it unless we see it in “black and white.”
The African American’s relationship with history does not begin with the Nina, Pinta, and The Santa Maria. It begins in Africa. Africa is where the oldest human remains were discovered. It is considered appropriate to study the History of England in order to acquire a sense of how this country was formed. And yet, although African Americans have been in this country since the beginning it is not standard to include the study of African history to understand how this country was formed. Instead there are special classes you take just in African American History. It is clear that information is being withheld. I haven’t been able to conclude if this is because of laziness- meaning no one can be bothered to re-write history- or if it is simply arrogance. I have learned not to dismiss the oldest method human beings have had in order to record history. That method is speech.

TO BE CONTINUED...