Of the poems we read for this week, there are those that seem like rap written down and others that speak of music in content. I did not come across a poem displaying jazz through its form, or one written to represent a type of music (except rap, which I reject as the only musical/poetic choice for people of color). Rap, being 80% attitude, often loses something on the page; it is not alive until it is performed. Perhaps the constraints of rhyme lend the danger of the contrived line, and, as a result, many of the works are not very good as poems. I am positive I would have a more favorable reaction to Linda Cousins were I to see her perform the piece. (Even in terms of rap though - mo' power to the message - the shit is wack.)

I think that music is a goal in the writing of poetry. The search for melodic or discordant sounds to demonstrate meaning (or examine language) is a primary task. The choice to be a poet or musician is not an arbitrary one, though. Asking this is like asking why a person would choose to be a painter rather than a sculptor. The answer lies in how expression forms in the mind of an artist, and the physical form it calls for, the transformation of thought to being, and the path of interpretation. There are elements of both in each, and there are artists who express themselves in multiple media. But no one chooses to be a poet. Musicians too (not manufactured pop icons) are called.

For people of color, there is the issue of visibility. By asking us to consider the choice to be a poet or a musician of color, is the group suggesting that would-be poets choose hip hop as a platform to be seen and heard and paid? This week, a lot of would-be rappers chose poetry as a venue and, in my opinion, fell flat on both accounts. (Dead Prez was the only rap-worthy AND poetry-worthy piece I read.)

Rap is largely clever wordplay, unexpected rhyme. A piece of Dead Prez (who are just dope anyway, and got together in Tallahassee):

"Organize the hood under I Ching banners
Red, Black, and Green instead of gang bandanas
F.B.I. spyin on us through the radio antennas
And them hidden cameras in the streetlight watchin society"

The rhyme is bent, hints at accent - "banners" to "bandanas," and bent again with an unexpected match in "antennas," then pushed to the limit and buried in the middle of the next line with "cameras." The space in front of the rhyme is packed with syllables, quick steps to the riff climax, the hot finish move. Rhymed word choice shows the flexibility of sound, the adaptation that the ear works on language. The change in placement displays wizardry in an essential skill of rap: unlikely rhyme stacked high enough to demonstrate deftness in use and contortion, but not enough to get tired; and then stretched as a segue into the next rhyme scheme; the rhythm maintains the line while the rhyme does a change up, seamlessly ending a thought and beginning a new rhyme scheme (next line ends "right to privacy). This level of complexity leaves Ms. Cousin's "start/part" "mystery/history" waiting on the school bus...

I appreciate the melody of a poem, how the letters interplay like instruments, notes ringing on multiple levels. I appreciate the interplay of instruments in a musical piece as well (unexpected notes bring delight), but music is a language that moves me beyond speech. I think of it as the most ancient of languages, where there was understanding before words. The multi-verse moves on vibration, so sound existed before words. Principles of the physical, mental/emotional, and spiritual understanding of vibrations carries over into the formation and selection of words, why one word might be a better choice than another (why an "s" feels soft, why a "k" feels abrupt).

There is music in this stanza of "Rapid Transit" that is distinct from the theme of the poem - a second line of content, complimentary to the topic of street music.

"someone lights a saxophone
and the marvelous
breath of God
sweeps the subway"

The s sounds set and maintain a soft jazz tone, while the x, v, and w's act as visual percussion. The single syllables of "breath" and "God" punctuate the set smoothness of the stanza like high or low notes breaking the continuum of melody. The line breaks insist on breath that molds the import, paces our intake.

But this poem is not a song. It uses principles of music inherent in language; but it is to be read, not played. I'm listening to Stevie Wonder as I write this, and it strikes me that a song, in terms of lyrics, must return to the chorus, the obvious thread of the song. Within this loop, the music is allowed to speak. A song is released from the frame of a story when the music takes over. Indeed, a great melody can save sorry lyrics (not found in Stevie's songs, of course). On the page, the words have to stand on their own, create their own music. Repetition does not do the same job without the intensity of the singer's interpretation. Lyrics are words packed into a train - they ride in the vehicle (of music). In a poem, the words have to walk; they have to carry themselves.