now for some good news

mucho thanks to ms caitlin johnson for putting together this story…

In the borough that gave birth to hip hop, poetry has been steeling the limelight these days. But this is not Samuel Coleridge’s poetry, or even Langston Hughes’s. This poetry comes from the Bronx and it was made for the people who live there.

"It’s a great time to be an artist in the Bronx," said one of the borough’s rising stars, Oscar Bermeo. "(We’re) keeping a lot of poetry in the Bronx, and displaying pride in where we live. Art will always flourish on Fifth Ave. It is more of a challenge, more rewarding to keep it where you grew up."

The foundation for Bermeo’s generation of poets was laid more than forty years ago by the creators of hip-hop and the Nuyorican poets. Young Bronx poets blend these traditions with their original styles. The result is a kind of poetry where theatrics and presentation is an important in conveying the message.

"It’s coming out of hip-hop," said Claude Grant, a poet and director of administration at Bronx Community College. "There are things that each generation does with culture that allows them to own it. Nowadays it is more important for a poet to be able to read their poem."

Hip-hop began in the Bronx in the 70’s when black and Latino teenagers discovered how to scratch records, break dance and rap. Several years earlier, many Bronx poets of Puerto Rican descent like Americo Casiano and Jose Angel Figueroa of were instrumental in starting the Nuyorican poetry movement. They wrote about social injustice, racism and poverty as well as their culture and universal human experiences, Figueroa said.

Bermeo, a leader of the newest vanguard, recently won the BRIO (Bronx Recognizes Its Own) award for his work as a teaching artist and poet. Bermeo is a member of LouderARTS, a nonprofit group that encourages poetry within the community. The 6-year-old group offers open mic nights at Manhattan venues like Bar 13.

Now, every second and fourth Tuesday of the month, the group gathers at famed poetry bar Blue Ox, at 139th St. in the Bronx, for "Acentos," a Latino poetry night.

"We’d like to be thought of as the rebirth of poetry in the Bronx," said Rich Villar, 26, who travels from Rockland County to collaborate with Bermeo and other artists. "I’d like to be thought of as a reversal of the trend of a large vast wasteland of ghetto town."

Because of things like open mic nights sponsored by the Bronx Museum of Art and a writer’s center at the Bronx Council on the Arts, poetry has spread from Hunts point to Highbridge.

Today’s poets act out their poems and intone their emotions, drawing the audience in. At an open mic night at the Bronx museum last month, they snapped their fingers and played the bongos.

David Roberts, or D-Black’s voice boomed through the room that mid September night. "No more songs about fight the power and talking about revolution. Not it’s all about the Benjamins Baby and crack sale distribution," he said. His gestures mirrored the anger in his frustration in his voice as he lamented the commercialization of hip-hop.

Bermeo’s poems drift back and forth between English and Spanish and he writes about food, love, language and community. In Bermeo’s poem Sorta-Rican, after he explains to Juan, the friendly bodega owner that he is not from "la isla," Puerto Rico. In response, Juan asks, "Then tell me, how is Mexico this time of year?"

Bermeo’s poems are always about his experience—either as an Ecuadorian feeling outnumbered in a land of Puerto Ricans or as a Latino male growing up in a borough ravaged by drugs and crime. Like the Nuyoricans, he constantly searches for a way to make his experience universal by embracing his community’s way of life.

His poem The New York Times Finally Go It Right When They Took the 'R' Out of My "A'ight" succinctly describes why he and his contemporaries use slang in their work. "Iambic pentameter does not lend itself to fire escapes," is its only line.

The new style is vibrant, edgy and accessible and appeals to young people, like the 16-year-old Bronx poet Jasmine Morales. When she recites her piece Black Borriqua, a poem about her African-American and Puerto Rican heritage, she sounds suspiciously like a rapper.

"Got the Spanish eyes with the nappy black hair," she said while gesturing sassily to the snappy rhythm.

No longer does poetry belong to distant white men like T.S. Elliot and Walt Whitman, and it helps spark an interest in all things literary, Casiano said.

"The methodology they use is a little different," said Casiano, a featured poet in Russell Simmons Def Jam Poetry anthology. "They want to manifest it and they want to do it their way. Whatever helps the word helps me."

a few weeks back i saw a bad play that made the arrogant lil mofo in
me think that i could actually write a good play or, better yet said,
another one-man play that poets always seem to have in them. i still
may have that little seed in mah dome but last night i got to see a
legitimately wonderful production down at the Public Theater, John
Patrick Shanley’s “Sailor’s Song”

it started a lil heavy handed but then quickly burst into some insane
moments that includes a medium, a deceased Punjabi life insurance
salesman, a rendition of “Santa Lucia,” an unseen black man that only
arrives with the rain, some wonderful poetic moments that mimic real
life as opposed to a laborious soliloquy and a couple of genuine life
lessons

best part, of course, was getting the tickets for free but then they
also turned out to be GOOD free tickets as i arrive at the production
all late and still get front row seats.

off to 13 in a bit and will try out a new “almost” memorized piece
that isn’t really that new but i have yet to really perform it

love ya like the new hotness

the blog nebula

i am a much more efficient hater in person and, as such, i have refused to comment on a lot of things here on the blog. i’ll take that back, i am usually pretty reserved around strangers and tend to stay silent until i am in the company of trusted friends which explains why the blog doesnt get all the good play when it comes to mah full all blast hate.

this means you may read some snippets from the rest of the blog.tribe put two and two together and end up with 22… no worries. if you want the legit scoop, just come up and ask. (that does not mean email me)

on to the performance tip- i have memorized two poems for tonights louderTRIBUTE that fish put together. the first one is 98% down and the second one is at about 90% which is pretty good since this time last week, i didnt know any of it by heart. should be really interesting sincei have learned quite a deal from trying to get into the soul of these poems. more than anything else, i’ve learned that i have a long ways to go but i have made a career of jumping over hurdles way before i was supposed to get to them which really means nothing since, in some respects, i am still where i started.

on the personal tip- they say no news is good news… i am unconvinced.

on the secrets dept- a good friend went and shared with me some news from soul. i felt it was only right to return the favor,as is my way.

on growth as a poet dept- my new, “when i die” poem is #8 on the o.b.billboard charts with a bullet. i want to nail some things down in it but the spirit of the poem is starting to take baby steps and may soon be headed to pre-school. the real cool news is that it may have a lil brother as i want to leave some more messaged behind from the grave. what can i say? i’m a control freak!

inside joke dept- “maybe you are entering into your introspective phase?”

signing off dept- love ya like democracy in the modern age

in the place to be

i am up in columbia u’s shapiro hall next to fish as i

check up on my email and we both cyber.watch the jets

vs pats game. guess who i’m rootin’ for?

in hand is some new hotness where i leave some

instructions to mah peeps if i should pass away.

morbid? maybe but it’s a damn good writing exercise.

the mahina movement event will be kicking off in a bit

and the joy of having at least one new poem to read

makes me feel good.

last night i got to check out willie perdomo and john

rodriguez at the tribes. let me tell you, dat sheet

was enuf to fuel me for a good few weeks. john should

be called “car wash rodriguez” cuz he is automatic and

willie performed some a set of all new hotness. the

after party involved pizza, fizzy lizzy, mad jokes, a

guest appearance from an old.school nuyorican, some

sad truths, john steppin on my kicks a lot (“you lucky

we live in a civilized age. in ’88 dat sheet woulda

got you stabbed!”) and mad snaps all around. straight

up, mah life is blessed.

especially when you factor in that i got to crash

downtown and have mad inside jokes with two of the

blog.tribe

love ya like if i popped your cork!