I had high hopes for 2008, so many hopes. The year is still in its prime, but hope is one of my friends who don't call anymore. Maybe if something actually happens I'll be pleasantly surprised. If not, it's just another Oh well.
But I did write something new.
Ceiling fans
we are in a room
that's not ours
living someone else's life
we've been moving in circles
going nowhere
anchored in place
the slight whir smothered
by sounds of other things
that actually
move
faux wood blades
determinedly propelling
but never lifting off
instead kept warm
by blankets of dust
and a pillowcase
of stale recycled air
JGH 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Living or just alive?
Monday, August 04, 2008
I Had a Dream
So, call me crazy, and you might be telling the truth. But I've had this idea germinating for a while, and I have to believe it has merit. Just listen for a bit, and maybe you'll be believer, too.
Most people and most things have to hit rock bottom before they get better. Of course, the other consequence of hitting bottom is never standing again. But this is an optimistic view, and it's got wings. Let's fly together.
Two particular elements of what might be called "Black Culture" currently face a national crisis. It might sound melodramatic, but these are two art forms which have had indisputable influence within the community and beyond it for centuries. I'm talking about music and literature, and specifically about what is now called Hip Hop and the genre known as Street Lit. The paradigm is concurrent for Hip Hop (Lit); as the market grows, the mentality narrows, until it becomes a caricature of itself. It sounds harmless, and people may argue that at least 'black teens are reading' and at least 'they are making money legally'. But I beg to differ. So much, in fact, that my knees are kinda ashy.
This is a topic that I feel obligated to treat with kid gloves, because it may make me sound fuddy-duddy and like one of those back in the day types who mumble about how nothing's any good anymore. While it isn't, in the most obvious sense, that doesn't mean we're doomed. This, too, shall pass. But right now, we are in a crisis, and based on the popularity of music about lip gloss and Superman and books glorifying--if not glamorizing--street life, the hands of those who know better are handcuffed and tied. You can't tell the covers of CDs from the covers of the books; the books themselves read like hottest singles in rotation. None of it is saying anything worth listening. And it's all repetitive drivel.
Anticipating the response I'd get to that, I know, I don't have to listen or read. And worry not, because I don't. I refuse. But I refuse to give up hope.
Why is it such a big deal, you ask? Well, mainstream America has a time-tested pattern of pigeon-holing brown people. Not only pigeon-holing artists, actors, singers, rappers, and writers, but the everyday people who live here too. The way we allow ourselves to be portrayed in the media--hell, the way we sometimes portray ourselves--is giving the rest of the world license to believe we are all like that. I'm nervous about saying "Black Culture" in the first place, because it cannot be defined anymore than it can be confined. However, when the biggest sellers in film, music and "literature" are only movies and stories (and plays!!!) with cardboard box characters and mindless lyrics about sex, drugs, guns, and gettin' dat money, these hot-sellers eclipse the other folks and their talent. It also means--if you'll step out of context with me--that I can walk into a bar or lounge, and some guy who is not ::ahem:: my color, looks at me thinking I'm easy enough to spread 'em because everywhere you look the girls who look like me are all doing it. Sound far fetched? It just hasn't happened to you yet. The artists with something to say have to fight harder to stay on the shelves and in the box office (I know, I've expanded from music and books, but it's all related, with rappers acting and such). And sometimes the best comes in last.
I was watching the movie Talk to Me a few nights ago, and Dewey Hughes' character said something poignant. He told Vernell that he learned everything from watching the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson and watching the show taught him that there was a world beyond the projects he'd grown up in. That's what media is supposed to do. And I'm afraid What's Hot Now is doing just the opposite. It's not taking us to new worlds, but giving us a tour of the same old. I don't fit into the worlds these "artists" are creating; I just can't relate, and I won't pander to their mentality by pretending I do. My guess is that there are thousands like me out there whose skin flips inside out when they're at the music shelves and reading bestseller lists, people who want more. I hope they, like me, are not ashamed of saying so.
I'm not ashamed because I have hope. This madness will end soon. I am not a fortune teller, so I can't say when it will end, but that I know it will. Everything gets worse before it gets better. There are people out there working on their masterpieces, and there are publishers and music execs who likewise, are looking for those masterpieces. So I hope that when my fellow writer friends (and myself) come out with fresh new stories about multi-dimensional people, and rappers/singers who can can make you use your head while you're noddin' it drop their CD, that all of us who know what's good will be in line to buy. Soon the New Day, y'all. Soon!
I just got my license renewed today
OK, so the flow's been kinda regular, and that might be an understatement. Besides, I feel like I'm always saying that.
There's been a lot of activity up there--I wish I could say so much for the rest of me. I feel kind of sluggish.. But we're not here to talk about me. I've just finished a new poem, and thought I'd share it.
Know At All
She knows my face but not my eyes
I say I’m fine all the time
And she can’t discern the lie
Because she doesn’t hear me at night
That’s how I know
She sleeps harder than she believes
Even her mind can deceive
Love grows but doesn’t know
When a smile is a show
And she reacts to the scene
While I stand behind the screen
Not listening
She’s not listening to me
She wouldn’t understand the real thing
And fears what she doesn’t know
So I put on a show and
She doesn’t know that
She doesn’t know me
But don’t say anything
Say anything but that
Don’t say anything
Say anything but that
Strangers with the same face
What she sees as a waste
Happens to be my saving grace
She tries to pick me apart but can’t reach me
She can’t teach me
Anything
I haven’t learned on my own
This struggle is my own
This struggle is how I’ve grown
And she’s just like me
But doesn’t even like me
And I sometimes don’t like me
When I don’t like her
At all
We’re perfect because we are flawed
She can’t see
What she doesn’t want to know
And she can’t see what I choose
Not to show
And she may know who I am
But she really doesn’t
Know me at all
But don’t say anything
Say anything but that
Don’t say anything
Say anything but that
So I won’t say anything
Anything at all
JGH 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
The Other One
Ok, so I wasn't going to add this one for the time being. If at all. But I thought about it some, and after a strike through here and a changed metaphor there, I decided I've been too neglectful to indulge in such a luxury as teasing.
This one's called Morning Breath
3 AM
My pulse like hot glass
in ice water
still can't believe
the dead weight
lying across my shoulder
and the steady snore
in my left ear
are yours
Too scared that
you're just my pillow
again
arm half-numb and
eyelids bobbing
like debris
in the Wissahickon
I lay and watch
you dream
It's nearly dawn
and I leave you
with a soft agony
longing for the morning
I can awaken and inhale
your first breath
of the day
we spend together.
JGH 2008
A haiku (New)
Excuse me for being so flaky...it's been a rather dry season.
It hasn't, comparatively speaking. I am slowly adjusting to the renewal (I'm trying to whisper so as not to scare off my muse) of my creativity.
Plus, it's summer, so I'm off (shout out to all the teachers!!!! Woot!), and well, there are no excuses to grasp. So, here's one of two poems I just wrote.
Intoxicating
If I could each day
imbibethe taste of your lips
rum would never do
JGH 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Route One
It's been so long I've forgotten the nifty little code I added to break up my posts. Bear with me while I figure this out. I'm a tech moron, so this may take a while to figure out.
Still got the Funks, but it yields productivity at a time when I most need to purge. So may the Funk be with you.
Untitled
That two roads
to destinies
parallel
should intersect
so often
proves
they are meant
to travel
as one.
JGH 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
(Second) First Post
Well, hello, and Happy New Year.
Can't really say the year's off to a fabulous start. Beyond life's necessities--well, most of them--being met, there isn't much to brag about. But that's another post for another blog (as in, not this one).
I've just decided that if I were to classify my life as a music genre, it would be a hybrid of funk and blues. I've got the funky blues. I know what I mean, but I really don't feel like explaining it. I'm in what I endearingly refer to as a "funk" right now, so I apologize in advance for my 'tude.
But The Funks is, at the least, a productive time. I have written four poems in the past two months, which is impressive considering my years-long Battle with Da Block.
Type rest of the post here
Here is a little something I baked a few minutes ago.
Love music
Loving you is like
playing a smudged CD; the
melody is my
favorite, yet I wonder
when I'll hear more than verse one.
JGH 2008 Read More......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)