Category Archives: Uncategorized

two.for.wednesdays

synonymUS is the reading series i curate down at the bowery poetry club. the goal is to bring poetry together with art, music, rapping, singing… hell, if you play the water glasses we’ll let you get down. last night was our show and it went like hell.

first, i got there stupid late cuz motherfuckers just love to oggle an accident regardless of whether they are involved or not. then the show started late and we were all over the map. i didn’t help as i’ve been preaching for months… ‘don’t use ray all the time. don’t use ray all the time’ and when i needed to collaborate what’s the first thing i do… go to ray. we went over time on the open mic, which led to the feature starting late and the whole show had this doom.and.gloom feel to it.

i was more than happy to shoot back to the bronx to catch the end of ‘first wednesdays’. the the series run by the bronx council on the arts. they had me feature last month and that was the impetus of me starting Acentos with Fish.

the last half of the reading went beautifully as mildred ruiz, of Universes fame, blasted out a flamenco song, a bolero, a spanish lullaby, an insult to playahs everywhere (still en espanol) and finally ended with a poem about her mom throwing out old albums in a blue suitcase one day in favor of salvation. good shit, especially when she was dissing mo’fos and her husband was right there with this wonderful ‘i love all her fire’ smile on his face.

then came the open mic… dear god on a train station waiting to get heaven!

yo, why some people think that there shit is so profound that we have to hear four of their poems and they aren’t the feature? one day, i want to be that fuckin’ good but never that inconsiderate. so the night ended at a quarter to 11 with me doing one poem. ‘el ultimo canto’ and it went great. there was this one enclave in the back that just would not stop conversating and when i did my poem they shut the hell up and listened. the end was a lil uncomfortable but that’s ok because its an uncomfortable poem. (btw, i did ‘ultimo canto’ at synonymUS as well and have some slight edits that will make it flow really well with music)

the reading was over, i thanked and said good-bye to leslie (who has been an amazing help in getting Acentos together) and then huddled to a corner with a script for a poetry/play that louderARTS is putting together. i was a bit surprised and pleased to find that my poem ‘oda para leticia’ takes up quite a bit of space at the end in this play and that i have another role towards the beginning. as a memorization technique, i write out my lines. regie gibson says it helps the words become part of your body or vice-versa regardless i find it works and was writing my lines in different handwritings (what can i say… i’m a psycho) and this guy from the comes over and tell me how much he enjoyed ‘canto’

“all that stuff really happened, didn’t it?

“yeah, i knew it, that’s the only way that you could express it like that but let me tell you something… i felt that, all that. we’ve all been there and it was good hearing you read. man, they should’ve had you first. you was doing poetry man and i really felt it.”

to have someone come over and go out there way to say that really validated my poetry and made me fall that much more in love with this poem. it’s like getting good sex on the three hundredth date, it makes it all worth it. you would think that this would be the high point but no. as i’m still writing out lines from marty’s poem, this girl comes up to me…

‘you doin’ poetry?’

“yeah, i am studying some lines.”

‘i want you to write a poem about ME!’

“well, i am really not writing anything at this moment”

she starts dancing looking pretty good for what i’m figuring is her late 30s

‘right me a poem, pa‘

“uhhh.. it doesn’t really work like that”

‘i want to hear a poem!’

yeah, she was a bit toasted. so at this point, she starts bothering the owner about killing the jukebox so i can do a piece for her and her friends. he isn’t having it but by that point i had left my chair and joined her friends at the bar. so with the music blaring and the five of us in a huddle i start

“on the battlefield that is the dancefloor…

… she reminded me the value of mercy on the battlefield”

they wuz stupefied! they kept telling me how much they really felt that as i was apologizing for not giving them the onstage version due to the music. they didn’t mind at all and even proceeded to tell the drunk girl (yeah, one-third into the poem she left… said it was ‘too deep’)

la boracha danced a little more and she looked like she was trying to push up on me but for reasons i cant go into now– it didn’t seem like a bright idea to pursue her.

some more compliments and then i went right back to my seat and my lines.

more poetry to help me get over at bars.

the slam

ok. let’s start with the fact that i did not win last night. that in itself is no major news and, truth to tell, i wasn’t expecting or looking forward to winning. what i was looking forward to was making the third round of the slam which would qualify me for this years semi-finals at 13.

i missed out on getting to the third round by a tenth-of-a-point. yeah, by the slimmest of margins i missed out.

that fucking blows!

if at this point you don’t know what a slam is then click  here and find out. in the large scheme of things, slams mean nothing. just because 5 random strangers all agree you are good one night doesn’t mean you are a good poet. i have seen a ton of slams won by hillbillies masquerading as poets and they were quite happy with themselves. losing means just as little cuz, again, i have seen top-rate poets get horrible scores and does that mean they are not good poets? no, it just means that 5 yahoos don’t know shit about verse, imagery or bi-cameral perception and just want to be entertained by being told how trivial something is or how revolutionary something is. usually, all they are doing is trivializing the revolution (see i’ve got wordplay skills too!)

but to lose by a .1

i would have been much happier if i had just gotten blown out of the water. no, the last time i got blown out of the water i was actually quite pissed and stopped writing in a different journal because i didn’t want to sound like a sore loser.

as you can see, i am over that and am ready to whine to the world.

analysis: drawing low in the rotation, third, i knew i needed something to get me over the top so i went back to the tried and true salsa poem and scored second highest in the first round which after a time penalty on someone else’s part became THE highest score in the first round. that’s what fucked me.

if i had come in second, i would have seen ishle bust out a tried and true poem of her own and then would have used the ‘ceviche’ poem. instead, i used ‘el ultimo canto’ the poem whihc went over very well with the audience as it generated random ‘oohhs’ and ‘damns’ when i was hitting my imagery but the judges weren’t having it and i got a lower score in the second round than i did in the first. after that, everybody brought their A game and slammed with time-tested material and as the third person went up i whispered to my friend ed “i am losing by a tenth of a point” and sure enough that’s how it went down.

so why did i go with a brand new piece never ever read before?

because i am trying to be like other people. i see poets like willie, jeff mcd, rog, lynne, shappy, rachelle and others go on-stage with raw-new stuff and do well. that’s who i want to be. somebody that can grab you by your collar and say “this is deep profound shit fool! listen up!” and have it work.

last night has taught me that i need to get MUCH better at expressing myself before i can be at that point. there is a place i want to be at and ima get there but not today and certainly not last night.

to win a slam i need to study the shit out of my poems. there are two pieces that i’ve nailed down and i can make them work anywhere. a slam, a library, a community center, don’t matter where. unfortunately, one of those pieces, the salsa poem, i have started to view as a crutch that i kept thinking i had to drop but last night when second round hit– everybody was on their crutch. i am debating whether or not to slam next week. cuz if i don’t then it all comes down to the last slam of the season and make it all do or die.

i was able to tell some of my peeps how i was feeling though only ray and fish know how really down i am on it. especially fish since he had that (insert echoing booming voice here) tenth-of-a-point (end voice) doom him recently as well.

one, i don’t take losing well… at all.

two, this slammaster title has me feeling like a jackass since i’ve never actually ‘mastered a slam’ ya know? im afraid someone is going to call me on that shit one day and then i’ma want to punch them in the nose, unless its a girl– in which case a gut shot will do just as well.

so, the journal is still alive. i have a new poem memorized (that’s three baby, two more and i can drop a set anywhere!… err make that four because i have to start memorizing ‘oda para leticia’ for a poetry show soon… one more and i can drop a set anywhere!). i was told by more than one person how great a poet i am and while it’s not a slam win… it’s the nice opinion of someone you respect. and now i know who i am as a slam poet and who i’m not. lessons well earned. maybe i’ll slam at urbana next week. that would be ultra interesting or maybe take up the nuyo on their invitation to come back. we’ll see.

the weekend

friday: no poetry! instead, i had a nice dinner at my sister’s , ate paella and backed ziti, watched the knicks retire ewing’s jersey and hung with the fam. who got mad at me because they found out i have been on some local cable stations doing, what else, poetry at a local reading. i would let them know when it’s on but it’s a pretty bad performance (i didn’t know they were taping this to air) of one poem and then ‘mercy on the battlefield’ thank god for that poem.

saturday: yes poetry! shot over to a music gig ray was doing down in crook.lyn. met up with seve and his boy chris (who owns a fire engine, two state trooper cycles, can make bombs and used to own an ambulance! and meanwhile, brown people everywhere get stopped just for winding their watches) at the spot we met up with lynne, elana, sabrina, syreeta and were joined by mara.

the music was good but ray only played on two pieces. what’s up wit dat? hakuma matata, as we brought a fifth of j.d. and enjoyed it with some coca-cola that we had to travel deep into the ghetto to get.

afterwards, we hit a local bar, overtook their jukebox and got crunk for the rest of the night.

line of the night: as we are partying, a group of caucasians shoots us a dirty look like if dancing and singing in a bar is inappropriate behavior. i say. “the white people are mad because we are showing people how to get their groove on.”

mara then jumps in, “too bad! cuz that’s my job!” of course, mara is white with the soul of a blueswoman which makes this joke extremely funny. trust me. we cavaliered till 2 in the am and then the ride home had a TON of off-color jokes that involved sean connery, astroglide, horse carriages, alex trebeck, dildoes, asians, unicorns, the ghetto, frank sinatra, being single, honesty, toilets and blondes. ya had to be there.

sunday: hosted the youth slam, went to the blue ox, had a convo with the owner, took ed garcia home, had some drinks, saw the simpsons, talked about staging national competitions in nyc, hit a local bar, talked about a latino writers workshop, more drinks and then started plotting on making CDs for this bar that had god-awful music and from this there will be a poem for sure that should have been written a while back.

monday: memorized a new poem, ‘el ultimo canto’ which is the first poem i have been in love with for a long, long time. i am slamming tonight which means i will be very happy tomorrow or will question why i ever picked up a pen. the last slam where i had high hopes ended with the death of a journal and some severe depression. add the fact that ed, lynne and ray are sure to slam and i am living dangerously.

quote

“Societies never know it, but the war of an artist with his society is a lover’s war, and he does, at his best, what lovers do, which is to reveal the beloved to himself and, with that revelation, to make freedom real.” James Baldwin

the muse is up late

and she is not taking no for an answer

i am almost finished with one poem and finished this tidbit that came from an exercise roger threw out.

btw, this is not an exclusive club. go to rog’s journal over at rogerbonair.com and you will get all kinds of writing exercises, reading recommendations and early poems.

From: "Roger Bonair-Agard"

Date: Sat Feb 1, 2003 12:21 pm

Subject: write muthafuckas! write!

here's your writing exercise. bring it to bar 13 on monday or the monday

after that or the one after that...

which night is yours? what part of the dark belongs to you?

SPECTRUM

i’m holding a beer bottle high in the air

to distillate the colors of the night

as i toast the urban forest

a train rolls by

flashing sparks alongside the el

and i see my place

in the orange glow of streetlights

this is the only darkness

i have ever known

where god shines down

like the empire state building

dressed in hues of green

and still means

that the ambulances

are obeying streetlights

and silent means

that the cops

are using batons

i avoid the stark luminance

of blue lights imitating day

and run under constellations

of apartment lights

dancing across the bricks

of tenements

sometimes hiding in the gray

of shadows that give shortened

breaths a chance to reclaim lungs

and get ready to bounce to the next

row of penumbras guiding me through

rows of late night gas stations

and bulletproof revolving trays

ready for that next forty

life lines that tell me

i am never more lost

than when i am comfortable

in the dark