Check out this week's Campanil

Hey Everyone,

I miss you all. Our class had a profound and positive impact on me. Thank you! Thank you for your support and encouragement, your words and your listening.

Check out this week's Campanil 12.08.2008. There is an article about our reading at World Ground, and a rad picture of Muthoni doing her thing.

take care,
with love,
indigo

I Am Playa-Proof

Forgot to post this one. This is the mirror image of my ultimate love poem.Actually the opposite of the Ultimate Love poem.
From Group 6 Reading


I Am Playa-Proof
Don't get shit twisted,
I am not one of those heart-seeking
please give me passionate kisses,
we'll only make love
after long walks on the beach kind of women
cause I am playa-proof.

Even if you freestyled the movements of your slippery fingers
and emancipated the orgasm that has been placed on my to do before I die list.
We will not be one!

No matter how far you make my back arch
No matter how many rounds
of breathtaking sex we have,
I will not be yours.

But check this,
If you remember the intimacies that we once held
hold onto those,
store those memories in a place in your heart
and entitle it...the best fuck of your life.
Because it will never happen again!

Wow - Oakland 1946! report back....

Hey y'all.

Again, last week's reading was amazing. great work, all you great poets.

We had about 200 people downtown on Friday night (including Indigo, thanks!), and 100 on Sunday afternoon. Amazing and responsive and fun audiences; we were humbled by the response and happy to be able to get the word out about current labor fights in Oakland.

Here's a link to the Oakland Tribune article about the show (front page! above the fold!) with some photos. I wasn't interviewed, but my partner, the director, was:
"Theater group tells labor struggle story"


And here is a link to the show blog for Oakland 1946! for anyone who's curious about the show. It has ways you can take action about the issues the show brings up, and photos will be posted there... in a day or two....

Oakland 1946!

Thanks to all for the kickinest class ever.

Til 09...

-Manjula

December 6th Cafe: World Ground

The night of the reading was an extrordinary event. I was so pleased to see that many of our classmates showed up with a certain "je ne sai quoi"! All of you were beautiful as the spotlight shone on your individual talents. Each presentor, (emcee), and readers were on a different planet. I want to thank all of you for a fantastic evening of baring your souls. Dvds are being worked on? Give me some time. Good luck to everyone!!!

INCREDIBLE

The weekend being the time when i can truly rest and relax....I have had time to reflect on the absolute power of such an AWESOME and INCREDIBLE night as Wednesday...nights like that make me realie that it is not important the reading that you give, but the reading that you hear...Listening to all of you, my fellow classmates was inspirational, to say the least.
If the power that you all posses in the living room is beautiful, then in the ambiance of that...with those people...you all are magnificent.
The culmination of life, love, humor, and experience was awe-inspiring, the music notes of your voices danced on my ears, lifted my soul, and inspired me. And never in all my school years of ending a great school year or semester have I had a yearbook like the anthology, a collection of spirits. I am beyond proud to have been in the presence of such souls....good luck in to you all.

poetry readings...and THE poetry reading lol

to everyone on wednesday MAD PROPS. I think I just may be in love (with a whole class). Never saw this happening. I will miss this group more than any other. Everyone's poems were amazing and I kind of wish we could have done a reading earlier (minus me...I don't like public speaking).

Also, some comments on the readings I went to.  Spent all of Turkey Day weekend in Point Arena listening to poets like Judith Rechter, Randall Baptkis, Carolyne Cook and a few others I don't remember the names of. They were all moving though the only one who's words really stuck with me were Judith Rechter's.  Here's a poem of hers that some of you may enjoy. I was the biggest dork with my notebook jotting down words quickly of the two that i loved the most. Thank goodness she read slowly. Hope the words are correct.

Manifesto

we pimple cheecked graffiti brats who beat up our mommas

for Qualudes claim venice streets are nirvana

we artists of wayward sand castles hail lovers

our muse of collapsed pens poems of pigeon

sews up cotton backpacks with cerebral dust

we celebrate our spore schools of yellowed collars

steaming teapots while shotgun da das

blow up insidious distilleries of education

Her words just melted through me like butter. 

Baptkis read a lot of poems about his mother. I think she may have died because they were somewhat depressing.

ok so this next poem I had to look up because I didn't jot it down...it was too long but It was by far my favorite

invisible

Mr. Mayhew was once a prison guard

assisted in English as a second language

he told the kids about the importance of

the Supreme Court of our land

what's a minority? asked Angel

you are he said with a smile

I don't get it cried one of the kids

who wants a crummy job anyways?

I'm telling you about this for your own good

Mr. Mayhew had a fever his nose was running

government can't make us equal said a smarter one

Illona was disgusted and threw a wad of gum

at Mr. Mayhew but he refused to notice

he kept on reading I care about your rights he said

you're just an aide screamed one of the kids

we're not learning anything said Anna

it's hard to tell what learning is Mr. Mayhew said

Most of the poems that were read were new though I remember a few of them stating before hand whether or not they were going to read new or already written poems. In the end I had a new appreciation for my mother and grandmother along with my education.  I had a new outlook on love in life.

Take Two,

It’s like this
It’s like
It’s like Wednesday night
No where else it’s like
Nathan preachin
Elmaz teachin
Indigo smiling
Nicole regaling
Apollo’s a god
Who landed beside us
Melody an angel
Whose insights guide us
It’s chenelle negotiating
Manjula participating
Franny watching
Kathy rockin
Carmen defining
Alana sighin
Jessica cryin
No man, it ain’t like that
Jenny excusing
Vaughn musin
Ixquel drumming
Becky uh huhing
All of my people are in this story
A song for Muthoni
Kenya callin
Oh Wednesday night
Food delight
Writers fight
It’s like
Maya spittin
Teresa’s diggin
Jazmine’s art
Natascia heart
Sono qua
Sono qua
I am here and we are here and we are done.
we are done.

Yesterday's Reading

Hey everyone :) 

The portfolio had a blog entry for yesterday, so in case we did have to write a blog, I just thought I'd let everyone know what I thought about last night.

I have been on the stage a lot:  I danced for 10 years, performed in piano recitals for 11 years, co-emceed several events (even here on campus), you get the drift, but last night was REALLY different.  Every other time I had co-written material or was just goofing off, but last night required me to read my personal thoughts in front of numerous people in an intimate space.  I really commend anyone who can read their poetry with such openness and with such ease, because I have to admit that I was really, honestly, and completely nervous.  And everyone helped me relax, and I say thank you for that, but it was still a tad scary.  I really enjoyed hearing everyone read their poetry as well--it's really different hearing the words coming from the poet themselves.  Everyone was great :)  

This class has been an awesome experience, and I am very honored to be in the first of this class with many to follow.  

I hope everyone else had fun, and I hope to see all of you again soon!

Jenny

 

a long, long ago reading at LITQUAKE post

For about three years now, I’ve wanted to go to a Litquake event. I don’t know why I never did—I was never 21, I
didn’t have a fake i.d., I couldn’t get anyone to go with me, sometimes San Francisco seems way too far away, and on and on. But finally, I had time on my Saturday night (which ended up being my only free night of the week) and money and age and people who wanted to go listen to readings and drink.

Appropriately decked out in what we thought was artsy-hipster-West Coast gear, Franny and I made the transbay journey to the Mission and arrived just in time, as the streets were not quite yet teeming with the young and self-promoting and cool and drunk literati. Truong Tran, whom I’ve taken poetry workshops with at Mills twice, was reading at Clarion Alley for the first phase, and the idea of a reading in an alley appealed to me. I don’t know why. I think readings are such funny events. A bunch of people, mostly gathered in a bookstore, maybe a bar, a coffee shop, in those stupid, uncomfortable folding chairs and waiting for the poet or writer they want to hear, or for a glimpse, but inevitably the phone rings, or peoples’ minds wander, or people get up for another latte or beer. Instead, we jogged down the alley past police barriers and those sweet murals just in time to find willing and able and drunk open miccer’s waiting for their turn at the next phase, and polite people sitting in folding chairs, and a band, and other Mills people who had turned up. With MUNI buses chugging along and sirens and crowds crawling down Valencia and Mission streets, this was the whole clichéd poetry and the people thing, where everyone in that alley wanted to be there because why else would you be sitting in a cold alley, battling with noise and crowds, to hear poetry?

Bucky Sinister did a nice job as emcee—not too uptight, not trying to steal the show. The organizer of the event, Amanda Coggin, had a funny and pretty close to home piece and I liked that she got up there, took off her shoes, and didn’t apologize or try and flair it out too much. Dustin Heron, who I’ve met before and I can’t remember where, inhabited his work in a nice way. Again, there wasn’t a showy sense to it, a selling of the piece. Sometimes when writers really inhabit and voice their work well, they don’t have to “perform” or play it, to make people listen. It just flows. Professor Tran did a wonderful job, although it may have helped that he was last, and had the rowdy crowd after the almost final reader, Tarin Towers. While her writing didn’t do much for me, and her style somewhat alienated me, she did do a great job of “reading in an alley”—she joked, talked about San Francisco alleys, and didn’t try and make this reading anything it wasn’t. She didn’t fill it with pomposity. In his colorful sneakers, backpack still on, and big hoodie, Tran threw his poetry from his latest book, Four Letter Words, and sort of didn’t care where they stuck. He took a raucous tone to it, dedicating poems to Sarah Palin, only not Sarah Palin, and seemed to relish the pronounciation of “fucker”.

From Clarion Alley, we attempted to attend the Dive Bar Deluxe reading at the 500 club, especially as it had writers from 14 Hills and Eleven Eleven, but the bar was packed, playing the World Series, and we waited around twenty minutes before we figured there would be no reading, or if there was going to be a reading, we were way too far on the other side of the bar to get much out of it. With that in mind, hungry, adrenalined on readings and all manners of writers and hipsters and young and old folk moseying and meandering around, we darted our way over to City Arts, at 828 Valencia Street, to hear Tales in the City, from Instant City and Manic D Press. Thea Hillman especially impressed me, and I stayed to hear her read. I’ve heard of her from people at Mills and while most of the room, up until that point, packed to the beige walls and windows, was pretty sedate, people packed in when she took the stage. There seemed to be less nodding off, less trying to look interested. Seeing as I just wandered in, I felt no obligation to this, and was pleasantly surprised that I wasn’t one of those people yanking at their cell phones to check the time.

After the reading ended, we found yet another roving crew of familiar writers outside City Arts, carrying their LitQuake programs, books, chapbooks, zines, open mic sheets of paper, drinking out of paper bags, shivering against the wind and smoking. Ultimately, I think that’s the beauty of Litquake, I guess. That by the time Litcrawl hits this incredible moving mass of people reading and listening and talking and bumping into each other (Questions asked to me too many times: “Are you a writer? Who are you here to see? What grad school do you go to?” Christ!), it becomes less a pissing contest of people battling for mic space or stalking their favorite writers, and more of this amazing, howling celebration of words. These were writers and readers and artists and kids loving and embracing the world, getting out of their little tragic writer bubbles to support each other, to listen to each other, to hand out flyers and zines and pens to, and to drink and laugh and stumble down the streets together. Honestly, most of the time I get intimidated or ruffled by the idea that I may be a writer, and that I may need a “writing community”. But there were so many people reading in this community, from translations to new writers to mothers to erotica novelists. If a writing community can be this kind of bacchanal, fun, poke fun at each other and heckle each other and holler for each other and hit on each other, then maybe I wouldn’t mind that so much. Still, I’m honestly glad I went. It sort of refueled me for a while, filled me with some weird, community glow. I only wish I had been able to go to more!

Spoken Word at Dorsey's Locker

Spoken Word at Dorsey's Locker

I just got back from a Spoken World poetry slam at Dorsey’s Locker in Oakland. If you remember, Jane Cortez was my first poetry reading, so imagine the intensity of the experience of going to a poetry reading outside of Mills. I arrived and was greeted by a lot of really relaxed people, and it was really intimate.
The first poet was actually the MC that I had met earlier. He walked on stage and the room went quiet. It seemed like all of the poetry that followed was very political because after/before each performance he would make a comment about Barack Obama and the room would sound with applause. Here are a few lines that I caught that really had an impact on me:

The MC (whom I cannot remember the name of, unfortunately) was talking about the American Dream and other items of Americana, like apple pie. He said something along the lines of “The pie is far from the American Dream—bitter.” For some reason the metaphor or combination of these ideas that are usually held in high regard in American history as “bitter” resonates with me still. I appreciate the way it was delivered and the way it continues to circulate in my thoughts.
The next two poets really hit me not really because of what they were saying, but how they were saying their poems. (One of their lines, however, really did strike me hard: “Standing on his toes like he was in stilettos”—I pictured not only a man in stilettos, but also the difficulty to move in stilettos for anyone their first time around). They read their poems out first, the beat steady and thumping, like a drum cadence. After they were done reading the poems they added music behind, without telling us prior to the reading that they would do so. Personally I felt like two different poems were being read because without the music I imagined different things than with the music. They read different for me, and the reflecting back on the presentation of both I realize that I think it’s better that they didn’t tell us what they were going to do.
The third poet also did something along these lines. She combined her emotional poetry about Obama with Gospel music. The product was very heart-felt and emotional. I really appreciated the way she would call upon the audience for inspiration. Actually, a lot of the poets did this call and response type of poetry where they would incorporate the audience into their emotions. I remember one man would say “Say it” and then gradually get louder until the power behind the poet equaled his power and vise versa. It was really eye opening to see this type of interaction.
The last poet to perform was also the MC, closing with another poem about Barack Obama. The energy was high, and that was a perfect exit for me. I really do value the experience I had tonight listening to Oakland/Bay Area poets in such a liberated environment.

Saul Williams Reading and Holla Back Reading

Ok so i know this is way late but I attended a couple readings like a few weeks back and i hadn't posted them. So i figured i would just post them together in one blog.

Saul Williams
This was more of a concert then a reading. It surprised me how intense Saul was. He was like a mad man jumping around straight rocking out, and then he would stop, as if in a daze, and begin reciting poetry it was beautiful. I enjoyed myself very much and i also learned about the different flavors of a poetry reading. I highly enjoyed his poetry reading as well as his music, from what i could understand of it, and have added a new artist to my list of favorite poets.

Holla Back at the Fruitvale Cultural Center
This poetry reading was very homey and in touch with the people. It involved audience participation where anyone could sign up to be on stage and perform in anyway they saw fit. I enjoyed this atmosphere, the people there made everyone feel welcome, and every performer was on stage got an applause from the newcomers to the old hats, everyone was made to feel as if their art was worth something.

Poetry Readings Attended: Fall '08

This fall I went to quite a few poetry readings. Some of the poets were world famous, some of them were local Bay Area and Mills famous, all of them were amazing, all of them opened my mind just a little more. I can't remember the order of events, and I think I'm only gonna write about two: here are my favorites.

Mangoes With Chile--EastSide Arts Alliance, Oakland--
This queer folks of color performance group put on one of the best shows I've seen yet! There was poetry, spoken word, hip-hop, burlesque, a monologue from La Virgin de Guadalupe... the show got down deep into the pain of alienation, injustice, heart break, racist and homophobic acts of violence, unacknowledged skinny-white-girl-privilege, finding identity, and more. It rose up with declarations of solidarity, Femme-Shark manifestos, Fuck-You's to American gender/sexuality binaries and institutionalized racism. It got down and dirty with sassy-sexy-silly burlesque performances by foxy ladies of all shades and sizes. I kinda expected I'd have to fight back tears, but I never expected to laugh so hard. Chica Boom was my favorite; not only is she sexy, she is sassy and clever with her chicana satire and bold, goofy exhibitionism. Amazing. The line up of poets was profound. Some of my favorites were Qwo-Li Drilskill, and Tre Vasquez. Qwo-Li is a Cherokee Two-Spirit and one of the poems they shared was a memorial poem to a friend and community leader who had been pushed off the Brooklyn Bridge during Gay Pride in NYC. The murder was a hate crime but police treated it as a suicide/accident (?). The poem hit bone--it was raw and blunt and full of loss/injustice, but also strength and solidarity. Tre, from Arizonaztlan, is mostly an MC but only put two of his poems to a beat. His spoken word was so so good and his love poems made me set new standards--powerful to listen to, pleasant to look at (so so good to look at); good performance. I liked how he brought his family up on the stage to dance for the last bit. Over all the show had a personal/family/close community feel to it. The performers are from the Bay, this was the kick off to their tour, and everyone knew each other--the interaction between crowd and performers was fun. It felt more like a party than an average performance.

Critical Resistance 10th Anniversary Plenary--Suheir Hammad
I critically resisted my midterms all weekend and went to check out CR10, unaware that Suheir Hammad was going to read some poems. She was very cool to see in person and a little more at ease then her usual tough Def Jam attitude (which I love by the way). It seemed extra special to see another side of her- it was very personal despite the crowded auditorium. She is rad! Speaking eloquently, standing tall, looking sassy in a some casual clothes--a hippie skirt and tank top. She shared two poems: Mike Check, and a new one about her love for criminals. Both follow the theme of Critical Resistence, police state power and racist criminalization.

Help with Paper Topics

Hey ya'll - I'm stuck on paper topics. Would ya'll be willing to share your ideas? I promise not to steal, but I just need a direction.

Thanks a million...Nicole

soulful readings

A few weeks ago I missed class to participate in the Soulful reading series. My very first in the 2 years that I have been at mills. I was sat knowing the usual protocal for this type of event...I get up I read I sit I listen and for the most part that was exactly what happened all the readers, the majorityof them being 1st years were amazing and I found myself anxious to read their stuff instead fo the dozens fo volumes I had been reading by writers whose musings I had only bothered to make it half the way through or had only started from the middle to get enought information to fill the obligation for this class or another.
To be quite honest...I spend a good amount of time thinking about myself during readings, how i will swagger to the mic, what tone my voice will tak eon whether it be smooth and mellow or staggeered and stocatto....I am in my head before I get up to do my 2-3 pieces. And I did what I normally I paused in the right places and waited for the men to mmmm and the women to giggle as they reminisced with me. In the end I sat the hell down and basked in my own perceived glory...I am an only child that way.
I was glad to be able to share my moment with Brittany (my best friend) and Ibukun, happy they ahd come together, because since their August marriage it seemed that the love that they ahad shared had fallen away with both threatening to leave on several occasions and many a tear having being shared, neither of them taking the time to remember why it was they had fallen in love in the first place. But that night he had nothing to do and she did not want to drive alone and both enjoying a good reading decided to show up together, side by side and not hand in hand.
Then Trish got to the mic and read an excerpt from one of the most beautiful stories I had ever heard...a story about a man and wife who had spent the good amount of thier lives together arguing....fighting and in a perpetual power struggle of word that lasted even once it was found that the men had terminal cancer. In the wake of his death the women is left to wonder if all the time that had been spent trying to win an arguement was time that she could have spent listening, kissing, holding and being held. If the life she had shared for what seemed like such a short time with her husband could have been better spent and better cherished. I enjoyed the story greatly, but loved it when out of my periphreal I saw that side by side had turned into a gentle touch on the knee that lead to a even softer grasping together of fingers....The corner of my eye lingered jsut long enough to see that in the eyes of both my dear and troubled friends in their tulmultuous marriage the twinkle of tears....Now that is what I call a Soulful reading!!!

dark SF night, and cold, to see a poet

A month ago I went to see Anh-Hoa Thi Nguyen at the October Heliotrope meeting. First, I slipped into a BART car, bundled up in clean hair, a coat that would prove not quite warm enough, and night-time eyeliner. After I arrived to the city I walked for a long, long time to get to the Mama Art cafe, clutching google directions close.

Walking in was like entering a scene from thirty years ago. There were not many people there since LitQuake was also happening, but perhaps this lent itself to the feeling of intimacy. The organizer of Heliotrope, whose name I do not recall, had lit many, many votive candles and the place was aglow with small flames. I rushed inside, the night air still cold on my clothes, and sat tucked snugly into the corner of an old leather couch. I waited, feeling part voyeur, part write, part poet. Yes, even I the fiction writer, felt the part of the poet slip comfortable over me.

The organizer opened with a brief description of Heliotrope, told us a very sad story about his cousin being shot, and killed, recently, and sang us a song as a poet (not singer) from June Jordan. Then, he introduced Anh-Hoa Thi Nguyen.

She was a very friendly poet. Invited us all immediately to pizza and tequila after the reading, told us stories as though we were well acquainted, perhaps even old friends. She pulled some pages out of a folder, skimmed through them, and offered snapshots of her life.

I heard about her lovers, mostly from the past, her family. Just a life, in poem form, from her to me, like a handshake. It was a simple reading. No long vibrattos like with Jane Cortez, no drums humming beneath the words. She didn't tokenize herself as an Asian American woman. Just her words, simple and straightfoward, a conversation in the form of a poem, from her to me, and to the others.

At that was it. When she concluded, I felt that I could have stayed around, introduced myself to the others, shook hands and heard more poems (in the form of conversations). The room was warm, the people friendly. But I heard the night out there, calling me into its melancholic chorus, its cold embrace beckoning me on. And I left. Feeling the grief of not sticking around, but not ready to meet a poet face-to-face right then. I walked back to the waiting train still feeling her words, given so freely, clinging to me from the insides of my pockets.

bum rush the page...My thoughts, i suppose

So I am not one to slam anything that has to do with Def Poetry...I guess I am not amongst those that feel like the whole concept was something that was over-franchised and over done, especially with the releasing of a book. Personally I feel like if there was going to be a franchise it is best that it is one with some meaning ...if marketing is to happen I am glad it was the intelligence of colored people and conscious white folk... With that being said I loved this book...i felt the organization of this book was so much better than Totems which at times felt a little thrown together...or like 'it was thrown together to see what would stick just to see what would stick'. ...I suppose my passion for the book was even further inflamed by the fact the poems in it appealed to me in so many ways ....the 'round the way girl' in me coudl appreciate the straightforwardness of the poems...I dont know what it is whether my laziness as a reader, my own straightforward language; but I hate searching for the hidden meaning of the poem....THE ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE TRYING TO SAY...is what accompanies the readings of things written all in the abstract...I dont necessarily have to relate, but pull me into the expereience so that I can broaden my sense of awareness. To me poetry should create poignant reading moments...a ha's and hmmm...I felt these with Micheal C. Ladd's "The Tragic Mulatto is Neither" and    Gary Johnson's "Blood is the Argument".                                                    So with all that in mind...I end in conversation with Jeneane Collins...."Big God...Big Mind...Big Money...Big Gerl"                                                                                                                                            

I am for lack of all better words.... FLY

I talk shit and think real quick

Am always the one to blame

as I roll big hips in little clubs

with even less shame.

Last night Ms. Thang tried to claim my fame

I ass-bumped that bitch out my way

planted cheek kisses on surrounding hotties

the ones that got me in free

and left their bar tabs open just for me

What a burden to be hated 

by women of such medicore matter

in the vastness of this dark girls sunlight

get slighted and slated.

my shriveled mind towards the end

bum rush the pages...I found that the few poems that stuck to me were ones that I read aloud and since Seeds of Resistance was the section I was most curious on because of the section titled I ended up reading all of those aloud to myself in the silence of my home. Ayin Adams poem Cooking was so sad and yet reminded me of so many friends that I have back in chicago and at least one out here.  Reminded me of how they were raised and forced to grow up early and how they had responsibilities at a younger age than most. I remember mowing lawns with my friends and cooking and cleaning. In 5th Grade was a poem that I find many can relate to. This eye opening experience that comes to most at a certain point in life when they realize their eyes have been closed to everything around them. Complected and even Broken Ends Broke Promises showed me life when I was in junior high with my friends...human hair, phony ponys and relaxers.  The distinction between 'good' hair and 'bad' hair, baby naps, baby hair and The Kitchen.  How to spot split ends and that grease was needed.  All my friends had their micros and their extensions of themselves.  There were beauty salons on every block entering the west side. More than one on a block.  Hair was important, lip gloss was important, eyelashes were important, 3 inch nails were important, beauty was important...it was serious business.  The rest in this section didn't have quite the same effect on me but I enjoyed listening to them as I read them out loud anyways.  I was expecting something a bit powerful from the section overall because of the title of it.  Some weren't as powerful as I had thought they would be to me.

Bums and Pages

I have mixed thoughts on this book, or maybe the sections we read. I've read this book through many times, in part for a class I took last year, and to it's certain poems that stick out, not sections as a whole. One of my favorite poems ever, is "13" by Jennifer Murphy in the section "When the def. of Madness is Love". I can read it over and over and get so much from it; there is pain, love, sadness...emphasized by the rhythm of the line breaks and repetition. Another poem that really sticks out to me is "January Hangover" by Pedro Pietri. It's like this morbid love story, which is really intriguing, it's somewhat gritty. I also really enjoyed "Dreadlocks" by Tara Betts and "Diner" by RoByn Baron. Showing love through the little things like identifying with melting butter and naming a loved one's dreadlocks.

I think it's interesting how critical we are of a book. Yeah, the page numbers are not convenient, the title's are bold, and Sonia Sanchez is no where to be found but in the foreword. But this book, and the other ones we read are not just slapped together. Just like our class anthology will have people questioning why did we do this, or that.It's seems like Medina, in his introduction is trying to work against the stereotypes and trash that (unfortunately) does exist in the world of spoken word and prove that there are quality performance pieces that can live on a page on not just the stage. I like this idea a lot, because that is why I have been weary of spoken word in the past, but then there are those poems in the book, like most of the ones in the section about Music, that on the page they are flat and almost banal. But, I feel like if these same poems were performed, people would be feelin' them a lot more. But if the poet is just stressing every fourth syllable to build and effect and getting loud for no reason, their performance has no substance and it's a waste of time. I felt like there was a push and pull between these types of poems and the beautifully crafted ones we have been reading all semester(minus a few from Totems)Those are were my criticisms would come in or questions I would have for the editors as far as their choices of the poems.

On a side note, while people were skimming through youtube for def jam poetry videos, did anyone come across the blasphemy that is Kanye West in his attempt to convert his rhymes to spoken word?? It's actually disgusting. He needs to stay in the studio and never do that again.

My favorite line from this book: " their love
solid as the rock
they smoke "

Bum Rush The Page: Thoughts

Bum Rush The Page


I first read this anthology circa 2004/2005 and used it in a Hip-Hop course I taught at Holy Name University Upward Bound Program. The goal back then was to juxtapose the written word with the performed word, and to demonstrate how a performance can change, enhance, and verbally alter a poem, and how it could impact the art-form depending on the medium it is being filtered through. It has always been amazing to me how artists could write words, memorize their words, and then perform them. I see this as a very unique skill and talent; however everyone does not possess these abilities, but everyone has a talent to share. Many times I often wondered if the performance is ultimately used to sell the words and/or a product. Or is it just the poet's way of contributing to a diverse collage of literary manifestos?

Some writers’ words can burn a page, jump off the page(s), dance on a page(s), as well as incite a physical and spiritual evolution /revolution inside a person (see Pinero) without a performance. Like my comrade in literary crime (Apollo), I harbored some of same sentiments and inhibitions about Bum Rush The Page, when I became conscious of its existence. I thought, reluctantly this must be another marketing tool for Russell Simmons (Rush Communication, Rush Management, OBR, and Def Jam Recordings, and Phat Farm). As the saying goes, never judge a book by its cover. My opinion changed tremendously once reading Tony Medina’s introduction, the Invocation, and the Disdirected. The elders in this section really spoke and gave the best insights regarding this art form through essay and poetry examples, alike. I was moved by Medina’s passionate and straightforwardness as he remarked: “Too often in this arena poetry is not what matters, but performance-how well one can recite a line or two, no matter how backward or banal. A cat could read the phone book and, if his or her voice hits the right note…”(p.xix). I was a pleasantly surprised because of its title. The selling point for me was the energy I remembered from Public Enemy’s rap song “Bum Rush The Show”. That was my connection, and as a result I wanted to know what kind of ideals, words, sentimentalities, and messages would reflect from the poets chosen for this collection. Uh…hmm… ok…wow! Hip-Hop poetry finally contextualized, this should be interesting.

Some of my favorite poets are represented in this book. They range from Jessica Care Moore (see Black Statue of Liberity in TheWords Don’t Fit In My Mouth ), Shariff Simmons (see “She Was” taken from Fast Cities and Objects That Burn, also note Keba Konte a Bay Area local and international artist did the book cover on Shariff’s collection) to Haki Madhubuti (see “Gwendolyn Brooks” in anthology Every Shut Eye Ain’t Asleep) June Jordon, Everett Hoagland (see “Goree” from the anthology The Garden Thrives), and Gwedolyn Brooks our mama poet from the 20th and 21st century.

The poem I enjoy mostly is “2G ( Another Millennium Poem)” in the section: “It Was The Music That Made Us”. “Why we so worried ‘bout 2G/while we still wallowin?/like swine n d xcrement of 1G’s history.” What more can I say? Nzinga Retuinah Chavis spits enough verbal fire in this poem to end right there. Heavy! No more needs to be explored or examined.

Mansabu

Bum Rush the Page reading

I really enjoyed this reading. While some of the poetry wasn't exactly my style, a lot of it impressed me. It was an extremely different style from Languages and it was a nice change. The only poem that I'd heard previously was Beau Sia's poem and that wasn't even in the section we were required to read. However, reading and watching it were two completely different experiences. There have been many times when I didn't fully agree with the idea that there's a difference between the written word and the spoken word but this book made me want to experience each poem with the volume turned up as loud as possible.
The two sections I enjoyed immensely were the sections "When the definition of madness is love" and also "seeds of resistance."
Out of seeds of resistance, one of my favorite poems was "complected" by Teri Ellen Cross just because it was so realistic and I could really connect with that self loathing you can get when you don't match the others' criteria of beauty - a eurocentric, american beauty that doesn't appreciate your curly hair or your dark skin:
The hooded girl is not Venus. Dark brown is not beauty
darker still a death sentence if you are young, waiting
for a bus, a long appreciative glance, even catcalls, "hey redbone" - love.

Another poem I enjoyed immensely was "Cooking" by Ayin Adams. It just reminded me of all the Marshallese girls back home who are forced to grow up before they should just so they can take care of their families. It reminded me of all my cousins.

The poems I enjoyed from the "when the definition of madness is love" section were "8 ways of looking at pussy" cuz it cracked me up, somewhat immature , and also "lies we tell ourselves" because I've actually had that same conversation and thought process myself. (tmi? watever). But those were pretty blunt and easy to read. They got to the point right away and didn't really mess with any overarching metaphors to get their shit across. "The hardest part about love" was profound to me because it seemed to be saying that the hardest part is letting someone in and opening up - which is so true it's ridiculous.

Other than that, my biggest reflection on this reading is the difference it makes reading a poem out loud and having it performed by the poet and just seeing it on the page. It takes on a new space when it becomes the spoken word - almost seems to encompass the room.

Def

I have to admit that while reading this book i couldn't really imagine it as a written poem on a off white page. I kept seeing the wavering figures of stand up poets in the cacophony of sounds that reverberated. And the words, as they represent this sound coming from open mouths on stages across the world. Poems spoken in English, written on pages, residing in a colorful wall book. In its place i pretended that in my minds eye instead of pages there where people each page a person Black White Asian all colors of the socialized rainbow that this country would think we have. I saw their lips move to the tune of a never ending poem and voices after voices that roamed like lions stalking its prey. And i know those who despise deff poetry as its realness would be lacking amongst "real" poets, but tel me this amongst the 100 fake poets on the show how many do you think is real. Its just another forum and if you miss a gem for your own biases then the fault lies only in you. To put it simply i liked the book. Some poems moved me others left me going like "What!!" But then i like the show so i was prepared to like the book for others i hope that at least some where shocked into recognition of the talent that really crosses the mainstream stage of Def.

Seed of Resistance in pod of domesticity--bumrush the page

I like the way this anthology was put together--the section titles, their content, the intro, the inclusion of an invocation, and Louis Reyes Rivera's Disdirection. Like Apollo said, Tony Medina's intro got at some of the things I don't like about performance poetry, while highlighting the strength in today's movement. Here are my highlights and thoughts:

The strong presence of powerful lady voices was hands down my favorite part of this book:
Pg 190 Jessica Care Moore's "I’m a Hip Hop Cheerleader": “for feminine riddles raining words of proverbs of prophets who never get heard because the microphone is just another phallic symbol…” I can hear her rapping this, so strong and wise and bad ass.

Pg 124 I think Jewell M. Handy is onto something with her playa-proof vest and sassy lady poem. I like this poem a lot, the mini-plot with spies and allies…She’s got a good point though that I relate to: Sometimes a lady can be so playa-proof “that when an ally comes along./I cannot be detected.” This poem is both silly--painting the picture of the game we all play on the prowl for eligible lovers-- and serious with the hint of pain and weariness that comes with love over time.

Pg 125 Tufara Waller Muhammad’s poem is dope! That’s all I have to say. #1 tough lady in the book I think.

Pg 108 Jeneanne Collins “Big World Look Out”—big an proud n powerful
Pg 203 Lady Doreen of New Orleans--a lady poet writing an ode to an inspirational lady musician.

Of course, there were some men who said some wise things too--and some soft spoken ladies:

Pg 219 I like The Low End and Tomás Riley because I like a man who can write a love poem to another man: ”It was/ the music/ that made us,/ do or die daily,/do or die,/ we were brothers,/you/and/I”. For me personally, I can match music to the feelings and emotions of soul-mate-friendship too, whether its ‘X’-Los Angeles with Morgan Rehbock—or Marry Jane Girls-All Night Long with my girl Rori Ugarte. Almost every song reminds me of a friend, or family member, or old lover. It is all about the music. I think this poem hits that feeling well and expresses some man-friendship that I can’t say I’ve ever experienced, but I have seen and heard plenty of men shy away from being real about their love (even friendship love, and especially in the hip-hop world) so I’m glad that Tomás Riley wrote and published this poem.

Pg 118 Kimmika L.H. Williams has a style that makes me cringe just a little at first—the repetition of the image of dead flowers, and the meaning that’s supposed to bring—but that’s probably because this is what my poetry is like when I do write. Hm. After the initial moment, I think this poem is really real. And man is this a good title for a chapter on love poems—When the definition of madness is love…
Pg 100 January Hangover by Pedro Pietri goes there a little too, trying to capture all the crazy-rollercoaster-ie essence of love and loving: “It is impossible to love you madly…” which you know he wants to do “…without actually loving you madly…”

Pg 130 Cocaine Mad-Scream Article #33 LoveSong made me not want to read it because it looks like it would be hard to get into. And then the flow of it took me right through to the end and made me just sit there, like, dang. Yeah. Pretty powerful stuff; I like him a lot—Gylan Kain.

Pg 156 My Name’s Not Rodriguez by Luis J Rodriguez brings me back to one of the first classes when we read ‘Naming’. This poem should have been in there. He tears apart the idea of his name—what it means to him, what he thinks his true name is, what this name means to others. He goes through the history of the post-columbian “lather of gold lust”, the forgotten and covered over history of the people there before “settlement”, and now the racism and discrimination he faces because of his name—which he doesn’t want in the first place. Rodrigues—or should I say “Indian mother’s noiseless cry,/ a warrior’s saliva on arrow tip, a jaguars’s claw…”—is one of my favorite poets and writers and every new poem of his that I come across is better than the last. “I am seed of resistance in pod of domesticity...” I am seed of resistance in pod of domesticity.

And where have all the queer people been this whole class?? over here:

Pg 103 Letta Neely’s “8 ways of looking at pussy”—WoooooAh there, this poem just lays it all out there-- but I can’t just brush it off as a sex-not-love poem for a couple of reasons: 1 the way I can’t be intimate with anyone for physical attraction alone makes me read poems like this differently. She isn’t saying she has a deep connection to this lady flat out the way she is saying she has a physical attraction to her, but what is love again? They seem to share some things people wouldn’t share if love weren’t there. And who decided that physical love isn’t deep? The deepest, most intimate moments don’t have to be narrowed to sexy moments but man those are some of the best moments when you really love someone--and yeah she said it pretty bluntly. 2 I can see it being taken as a soley-sexy poem because of the very erotic images. BUT, and this could just be me reading into it, but she’s a queer lady n this poem is pussy centered because its relevant and important to her experience of love. With all that said, this could just be a queer lady’s wild sexy poem about sex-for-sex and I can’t help but pull the other kinds of love out of it…you never know with poetry! Latasha Natacha Digg’s poem “Fullness” (113) seems like a lusty lesbian poem by comparison though…

Pg 121 At the Frenchman’s by Kendra Hamilton is the third lesbian poem in the collection and I’ve got to wonder…where are all the queer dudes? They don’t write poetry??? Did I miss the queer dude poems somewhere?

Now you all have me watching YouTube Def Jam all night. ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-SFCQ840m-o&NR=1

The poem I found on Def Jam is by my favorite lady—Jill Scott—who I didn’t know did performances on def jam. In this poem she explores two of the three concepts from this reading assignment: Love—self love, passion love, getting tied down in what you think is love—, and herself as a seed of resistance—finding who she was despite the barriers and what she went through to get there. She was “struggling not to be the third generation of lonely women in my family, struggling to gain but gaining nothing but confusion…because there was nothing to gain just empty condom wrappers on the floors to be discarded like me…” and through it she finds herself: “the me that is confident, and intelligent, and filled to the brim with respect for me. And a FREAK. Cuz that’s what I like, and I like being what I like…” you go girl. That’s why she’s my favorite.