a rapper’s delight is to make the real metaphysical…the metaphysical real…
reinventing the english word
into this psychedelic street funk…
sixteen bars of illuminating scriptures hanging from the tree of knowledge
rooted from the cement bricks of Bronxbuildings
with the bullet-ridden windows…
communities abandoned by governments
who wanted our colored vote to gentrify us …
but yet we rebuilt and recreated beauty from the rubble and shit they left us in…
we stand boldly and defiantly because we survived with a vengeance…
we are the 3rd wave of the renaissance…
the empirical derivative of funk soul r&b jazz destined to destroy and rebuild our blackness once again…
we stand boldly like bad mothas ‘cause it is not about us and those flashin’ lights…
its about preserving our knowledge of self our history our love our pain our virtues our sins…
afrika said that without knowledge the center cannot hold...
the record cannot be scratched…
the hieroglyphics cannot emerge from the city walls
the beboys cannot break it down (deconstructing them shits AND )
the stylists cannot be free to express the allure of
boldness
creativity
sacrifice
family
love
sex
victory
failure…. the metanarrative of a beautiful grotesque that is black…
we have written this history so sincere without using a pen..
so lets begin…
Begin...
BEGIN the work that langston said..
fuck the autotune…
we can create a lifetime of work from our experience our knowledge our road
of enlightment that has many paths and graves
but I have carried hip hop with me along the way…
it is not my bible per say just my small pocketbook given to me by the Gideons on the way,
so drive slow and maybe you’ll understand that the beauty of hip hop is in
the split
the dichotomy
the alias…
we hear KRS1 tupac biggie jay-z nas lil-wayne….
superficial alter ego bad men who are aboveground but
what is their underground name?
what is their real name?
...........................................................
do you think
about me
now and then…
do you think
about me
now and then…
cause i’m
going
global
right now..
going
global
now.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
retrospect: to my favorite music teacher... dr. joseph agee...
oh oh oh lawd… give us a song…
so our voices may be joyfully heard
oh oh oh lawd give us a song…
as we see the glorioussplendor majesty that overshadows
the tragedy on this pilgrim journey which is never a line but a spiral
of living dying resurrecting ….
while drawin our sword and shield
while drawin our sword and shield
while drawin our sword and shield
while drawing all men unto Him by our willingness to fight and suffer and cry….
for all is well in our soul when we cry…
because the tears will be wiped away in his time…
grab gideon’s trumpet and blow down all of the enemies and edifices before us.....
play our trumpets and cymbals and harps and lyres
and smoothe their angry ways with stringed instruments…stringed in
stru
ments
and
o r g a n s…
so our voices may be joyfully heard
oh oh oh lawd give us a song…
as we see the glorioussplendor majesty that overshadows
the tragedy on this pilgrim journey which is never a line but a spiral
of living dying resurrecting ….
while drawin our sword and shield
while drawin our sword and shield
while drawin our sword and shield
while drawing all men unto Him by our willingness to fight and suffer and cry….
for all is well in our soul when we cry…
because the tears will be wiped away in his time…
grab gideon’s trumpet and blow down all of the enemies and edifices before us.....
play our trumpets and cymbals and harps and lyres
and smoothe their angry ways with stringed instruments…stringed in
stru
ments
and
o r g a n s…
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
4eyedatlas
2007. that was the year when my mind had to figure out which fork in the road to take...
i traveled down a lot of highways, alleys, and one-ways the wrong way.
but those sojourns made me into who i am and what i wrote then and now....
may i strive to carry the burden of my name honorably--to the very end.
but i get hit every day…
by absolute bacardi mary jane and tom and dick and harry..
these four eyes have has had been seeing that rule broken
time and time again…
what is there to gain in a world of blindness?
i am the four eyed atlas…
i possess twice the foresight to see the bullshit in front of me and
the secret hidden strength to conceal their burdens within the abyss of my black well of my soul
of which it is never well… just well concealed and well adept to making the new masks that dunbar would be proud of…
i travel walk run in t-shirt and blue jeans to get close to the underbelly of my own who we disown as our next generation of thugs and misfits and drug dealers… and yet there is a shred of me in them and them in me—
they don’t see the second kingdom coming of double consciousness... the jay-z w.e.b….
lettin’ them rot in coffins with that soft leather and hard oak wood…
but it call me right back…
but it call me right back…
but it call me right back…
but it call me right back…
oh yes…
because
i am that nigga
who will drink with you to help you understand why the colors of the flag are red, white, blue and black…
like louis armstrong while these republican armstrongs and thomases and gonzaleses thrive as these new
political overseers in this American plantation….
4 this america pretends it’s the aristocrat..while others are hiding that grey goose to let loose like a blitzkrieg of Goldschlager, making us want to holla with these oil prices and thin military forces, these reason absolut should force us to establish a new mark with our maker…
i am that hybridnigga
who will help bear your burdens with you b/c i’m obligated to do so by our minority blood and exploitated
skin and eyes and ears and lips and feet and phallus…of which we suffer from globalized calluses…making
i am that nigga
who will bear your burdens b/c i’ve been punched in my eyes constantly…
by others.. by my own… by my own self….
i see martin’s dream deferred everyday burning like a raisin in the sun
when our talented tenth become part of the white 1 percent…
i take off my glasses and wipe my eyes.
i traveled down a lot of highways, alleys, and one-ways the wrong way.
but those sojourns made me into who i am and what i wrote then and now....
may i strive to carry the burden of my name honorably--to the very end.
I.
people say you should never hit a man with glassesbut i get hit every day…
by absolute bacardi mary jane and tom and dick and harry..
these four eyes have has had been seeing that rule broken
time and time again…
what is there to gain in a world of blindness?
i am the four eyed atlas…
the secret hidden strength to conceal their burdens within the abyss of my black well of my soul
of which it is never well… just well concealed and well adept to making the new masks that dunbar would be proud of…
i travel walk run in t-shirt and blue jeans to get close to the underbelly of my own who we disown as our next generation of thugs and misfits and drug dealers… and yet there is a shred of me in them and them in me—
the gift and curse of running beyond our melanin and leaving our niggas behind the other side of the country tracks, faced with the allure of prospering while letting them die rolling them dice in the midst of a harlem night of southern comfort while the society shoots them down like inglorious hogs living in run-down spots….
they be going so hard,
keeping they eyes on the prize…
for once again, our revolution will be televised on bet and american idol once again…
but it call me right back…
but it call me right back…
but it call me right back…
but it call me right back…
oh yes…
because
i am that nigga
who will takes his brother to the dice game and lose his money sleeping on concrete couch thinking about
how fucked his life is over a bottle of taaka…
i am that nigga
who will smoke that blunt with you to talk about why black is the most notable and most avoided color
in america..
who will drink with you to help you understand why the colors of the flag are red, white, blue and black…
like louis armstrong while these republican armstrongs and thomases and gonzaleses thrive as these new
political overseers in this American plantation….
4 this america pretends it’s the aristocrat..while others are hiding that grey goose to let loose like a blitzkrieg of Goldschlager, making us want to holla with these oil prices and thin military forces, these reason absolut should force us to establish a new mark with our maker…
II.
i am the backlash of the university and its hope
possessing the words of white mythology and black voodoo magic…
who will help bear your burdens with you b/c i’m obligated to do so by our minority blood and exploitated
skin and eyes and ears and lips and feet and phallus…of which we suffer from globalized calluses…making
our plantations into college parks…and our slave quarters into candy painted dulces and quarters….
i am that nigga
who will bear your burdens b/c i’ve been punched in my eyes constantly…
by others.. by my own… by my own self….
i see martin’s dream deferred everyday burning like a raisin in the sun
when our talented tenth become part of the white 1 percent…
when obama is dangled like a puppet in the midst of hillary clinton..
when i see my niggas blind in the caves in which they create from that young jocjeezy itchbitches go getting that dopeboy magic david copperfield makes appear and disappear
like the stars of mlk and malcolm and medger in a starless oxford sky with a bottle of southern comfort
for my dislocated heart in the midst of this misnomer called black progress…
i take off my glasses and wipe my eyes. i put them back on.
i have an odessey to see.
i have weight to bear.
i have eyes to open.
Rock the Spoken Word
My friend and fellow colleague Casarae Gibson is starting a segment on her blog called "Rock the Spoken Word." Each month, she highlights a relatively unknown spoken word artist and promotes their work to a wider audience. This month, I am honored to be her first poet for the month of June. I do look forward to reading about the future poets as the year goes on.
It is good to find fellow poets. Hopefully, we can use this vehicle to create networks and collaborations. Keep doing what your doing, Cas :) Below is in the interview. Also, I have provided a link to her blog.
Rock the Spoken Word
June Feature: Terrance Youngblood
June's Feature of the Month is Terrance Youngblood, a poet and Ph.D. student in English at Purdue University. I had the pleasure of working with this inspiring poet in a group called Haraka Writers, a poetry ensemble at Purdue University's Black Cultural Center. Youngblood is a very passionate and driven poet who speaks the truth, but never demands attention. Through his humble demeanor and forceful words, Youngblood executes vividly a sound story and delivery. Check out this June feature and support Youngblood's work.
City and State you represent?
I hail from the great state of Mississippi where I claim the cities of Forest and Clinton.
How long have you been doing spoken word?
I have been writing poetry since I was in tenth grade. I didn't have many friends, so poetry was a means of expressing my feelings and coping with life. I started spoken word/performance poetry when I was a sophomore in college.
Why did you choose the spoken word art form?
To me, spoken word is an empowering privilege.It is a way to express artistic truth and gospel for the masses to hear, to learn, to grow. The beauty about spoken word is that it is a two-way street: the poet has to grow as well in order for the spoken words to have more merit.
What is the best/most executed spoken word piece(s) you have performed?
The piece that I have most performed is entitled "4eyed atlas." I based this poem
on my self-formations as an black intellectual and black poet.
Name some of the artists that have influenced your spoken word style and why?
Though I have quite a few influences, perhaps, the most important would be C. Leigh McInnis, an English professor from Jackson State University. We meet at a summer program during my sophomore year in college; I was his teacher's assistant. During that summer, I was enlightened by his views of poetry and philosophy. Drs. Jerry W. Ward and Candice Jackson are others who encouraged me to go beyond the trendy and create a focused, complex picture.
In terms of my delivery, I have to go back to my sophomore year as a Mellon Fellow; my roommate, Ernest Gibson III (aka Scripture, in poetry sets) and I skipped the first dinner at Emory and went to a poetry set in Atlanta. Watching him spit made me realize that as a poet, I must always be both bold and vulnerable.
Describe the topic(s) that you write/perform about and the inspiration behind these topic(s).
I write on a range of topics: from politics and love--to death and identity. I don't have a particular inspiration behind certain topics. I write what life lets me see, no matter how transparent or obscure. I believe that the splendor of life is not in the big events--but in the little things that are overlooked, neglected, and forgotten. Search for those things and make them beautiful. That's where you find your best poems.
Is there a website, blog, email where we can find you?
I do have a blog. Feel free to follow my thoughts and poetry at http://www.4eyedatlas.blogspot.com/
All photos used in this feature are courtesy of Terrance Youngblood
If you are interested in being featured for Rock the Spoken Word, email rockthespokenword@gmail.com
It is good to find fellow poets. Hopefully, we can use this vehicle to create networks and collaborations. Keep doing what your doing, Cas :) Below is in the interview. Also, I have provided a link to her blog.
Rock the Spoken Word
June Feature: Terrance Youngblood
June's Feature of the Month is Terrance Youngblood, a poet and Ph.D. student in English at Purdue University. I had the pleasure of working with this inspiring poet in a group called Haraka Writers, a poetry ensemble at Purdue University's Black Cultural Center. Youngblood is a very passionate and driven poet who speaks the truth, but never demands attention. Through his humble demeanor and forceful words, Youngblood executes vividly a sound story and delivery. Check out this June feature and support Youngblood's work.
City and State you represent?
I hail from the great state of Mississippi where I claim the cities of Forest and Clinton.
How long have you been doing spoken word?
Why did you choose the spoken word art form?
To me, spoken word is an empowering privilege.It is a way to express artistic truth and gospel for the masses to hear, to learn, to grow. The beauty about spoken word is that it is a two-way street: the poet has to grow as well in order for the spoken words to have more merit.
What is the best/most executed spoken word piece(s) you have performed?
The piece that I have most performed is entitled "4eyed atlas." I based this poem
on my self-formations as an black intellectual and black poet.
Name some of the artists that have influenced your spoken word style and why?
Though I have quite a few influences, perhaps, the most important would be C. Leigh McInnis, an English professor from Jackson State University. We meet at a summer program during my sophomore year in college; I was his teacher's assistant. During that summer, I was enlightened by his views of poetry and philosophy. Drs. Jerry W. Ward and Candice Jackson are others who encouraged me to go beyond the trendy and create a focused, complex picture.
In terms of my delivery, I have to go back to my sophomore year as a Mellon Fellow; my roommate, Ernest Gibson III (aka Scripture, in poetry sets) and I skipped the first dinner at Emory and went to a poetry set in Atlanta. Watching him spit made me realize that as a poet, I must always be both bold and vulnerable.
Describe the topic(s) that you write/perform about and the inspiration behind these topic(s).
I write on a range of topics: from politics and love--to death and identity. I don't have a particular inspiration behind certain topics. I write what life lets me see, no matter how transparent or obscure. I believe that the splendor of life is not in the big events--but in the little things that are overlooked, neglected, and forgotten. Search for those things and make them beautiful. That's where you find your best poems.
Is there a website, blog, email where we can find you?
I do have a blog. Feel free to follow my thoughts and poetry at http://www.4eyedatlas.blogspot.com/
All photos used in this feature are courtesy of Terrance Youngblood
If you are interested in being featured for Rock the Spoken Word, email rockthespokenword@gmail.com
Monday, June 14, 2010
pursuit
you know, i walk by and hear those girls talk
men are dogs and all men want one thing..
well i say that women
are emotionally dumb and detached
from what they want and what they need..
sayin' one thing and doing another...
(and another one)...
(and another one)...
they say we are endowed with these certain unalienable rights:
life liberty the pursuit of happiness
but
who said that love on this list?
nobody.
you know why?
b/c love is a rigged board game that i always play..
where the good guys finish last
never reach "go" never collect $200,
stifled by failed chances and
disappointing advances that end with the words: "good night george"
stuck in the damn community chest,
listening to her talk about how her boyfriend broke her heart
with tears in her eyes,
my mind is boggled by the fact that i am here again...
and
i can do nothing but take another
buster douglas on the chin
this game is fucked up.
i have the wingman badges of courage to prove it.
i got the USDA-husband tags branded on my ass to prove it..
i wish good morning to my evident chest pains
lying on the bed, soothing them with my own tears 80 proof from the dregs
it is proof ever clearly to see that in love
there is no such thing as an escape plan from pain....
..........................................
and then i see her...
i’ve never seen her before… this girl...
this chocolate innocence dipped into a precocious sensuality
that defies all bell curves
another extraordinary moment candy-wrapped in an ordinary question:
should i talk to her?
her--who makes me betray all of my convictions…
when i look into the portals of her eyes,
I visualize my paradise regained with
an optimism -- a joy -- an urge
which a wordsmith can’t articulate
but can ar- titillate
through an embrace a kiss
i want to pursue her
i want to pour our souls into an insatiable goblet
to drink to dance
east coast to west coast
i want us to circle our minds like covalents bonding
to another dimension outside of this reality
to a place where i believe i can actually win this game again
but
i wonder if this is real--or a denial of insanity?
what can do i differently this time?
should play my spades overtly--
or should i follow her lead softly like a distant silhouette,
whispering, nibbling at the crumbs of beauty she leaves in my wake....
do i go back and play the part again?
i want her
but
is this another failed voyage that ends with hello?
men are dogs and all men want one thing..
well i say that women
are emotionally dumb and detached
from what they want and what they need..
sayin' one thing and doing another...
(and another one)...
(and another one)...
they say we are endowed with these certain unalienable rights:
life liberty the pursuit of happiness
but
who said that love on this list?
nobody.
you know why?
b/c love is a rigged board game that i always play..
where the good guys finish last
never reach "go" never collect $200,
stifled by failed chances and
disappointing advances that end with the words: "good night george"
stuck in the damn community chest,
listening to her talk about how her boyfriend broke her heart
with tears in her eyes,
my mind is boggled by the fact that i am here again...
and
i can do nothing but take another
buster douglas on the chin
this game is fucked up.
i have the wingman badges of courage to prove it.
i got the USDA-husband tags branded on my ass to prove it..
i wish good morning to my evident chest pains
lying on the bed, soothing them with my own tears 80 proof from the dregs
it is proof ever clearly to see that in love
there is no such thing as an escape plan from pain....
..........................................
and then i see her...
i’ve never seen her before… this girl...
this chocolate innocence dipped into a precocious sensuality
that defies all bell curves
another extraordinary moment candy-wrapped in an ordinary question:
should i talk to her?
her--who makes me betray all of my convictions…
when i look into the portals of her eyes,
I visualize my paradise regained with
an optimism -- a joy -- an urge
which a wordsmith can’t articulate
but can ar- titillate
through an embrace a kiss
i want to pursue her
i want to pour our souls into an insatiable goblet
to drink to dance
east coast to west coast
i want us to circle our minds like covalents bonding
to another dimension outside of this reality
to a place where i believe i can actually win this game again
but
i wonder if this is real--or a denial of insanity?
what can do i differently this time?
should play my spades overtly--
or should i follow her lead softly like a distant silhouette,
whispering, nibbling at the crumbs of beauty she leaves in my wake....
do i go back and play the part again?
i want her
but
is this another failed voyage that ends with hello?
english
i’m tired of do done did doing.
when am i going 2 have?
no have had or was were.
i need some be being and never been
b/c dead men are past tense...
maybe i need an auxiliary for their actions whether active or passive.
i must might have or have not the heart or soul
2 stay in the past participle.
sometimes it’s easy 2 think in the future tense
when you're dying as a subjective complement in american society.
the ultimate contradictory metonymy of your life.
drinking mr. alger by the bottle doesn't come cheap.
it takes your soul like an absolute conjuncting to a period,
concluding the end of your illustrious sentence.
the grammar of your life.
when am i going 2 have?
no have had or was were.
i need some be being and never been
b/c dead men are past tense...
maybe i need an auxiliary for their actions whether active or passive.
i must might have or have not the heart or soul
2 stay in the past participle.
sometimes it’s easy 2 think in the future tense
when you're dying as a subjective complement in american society.
the ultimate contradictory metonymy of your life.
drinking mr. alger by the bottle doesn't come cheap.
it takes your soul like an absolute conjuncting to a period,
concluding the end of your illustrious sentence.
the grammar of your life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)