Words from in(be)tween space # 4

(an introduction by LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs)

Oh, how time surfs. So much to catch up on and so much to process that I linger sometimes in front of the tube and ask myself why. Like say, I got attacked by my last roommate…yup…attacked! Called the cops and all that good stuff. Left me hunting down 4 jobs and working in the official Caribbean fashion I hold ancestral love to. But that’s another story and one maybe you’d like to get more info about on my blog.

Yet, since the last installation, there’s been a considerable amount of support and questions regarding my choice and my personal style in poetics. Yes, the work I’m presenting is nothing like mine…but why should it? It’s all poetics, not hip hop poetry, not performance poetry, not sound or urban or language or spoken word….poetics money…POETICS! And that’s what I’ve been pondering on…the poetics within these trifling catch phrases and categories…jazz and it’s free period, hip hop…items that you can explain to a kid in terms of gangsta vs raptallica (think early linkin park…who I like…though they kinda sounding more like Jay-Z…but the production…don’t front on…they’re tight)

At the end of the day, these brands don’t mean jack if the shit is funky (think smell not james brown).

One important factors remains…is the piece hot to death or not? Does it contain all that poetical blah and yadda and what not…does it do damage to the brain…mess with your eye balls and keeps you buzzing two days later.

Even some straight up formalist poems can blow a head off you know

So, in light of all the world has to throw at humans, I’m thinking about the minds of our younger siblings and what they have to say. A lot of things have gone down last year. The Tsunami, Katrina, and the earthquake in Pakistan hit people of color hardcore. The bankruptcy laws changed. And for most of us, we’re not hearing about them lately. Tragedy today…tomorrow…umm…what happened over there again? We losing our attention spans to a media machine that’s designed to numb us and it’s a major problem. Added, we lost Miss Rosa, Richard, and Tookie within weeks it feels. And as hard as it felt to see the floating float, to say good bye to an incredible woman and I’m happy you can rest now to a funny and honest brother…it bits to not be so surprised at institutionalized rehabilitation being so freakin’ bullshit in this country.

This installation will not feature grown folks this time around. Instead, I give it to my students at Medgar Evers College Now Program and Freedom Academy High School who I see as brilliance in the now and future. I’m not going to write much about their works or process…you’ll see their talent once you start reading…it may be young in technique but the messages are strong and honest…some I feel I would have never written about at their age. But all I felt them worth the re-drafting, and typing to publish here.

Light and prayers to poet, master artist, and incredible human Akua Lezli Hope

LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs

*click “more” to read the poems* 

Words from in(be)tween space # 4…

Malcolm Allen / The Letter

You think you know me for real? Then I think you need to know this. See I smoke everyday just to get my mind focused. I got a little sister and she has scoliosis. You want to know my situation, hold on tight as I approach it. Now everybody I know got problems at home, but mine has grown to a point where mankind is unknown.

I got family in the south that’s washed out their hood and they can’t go back…they washed out for good. They should have left on time to another sate but lord knows ain’t controlling mother nature. I done had best friends die in my arms, seems like a games of spades and god dividing the cards.

Yeah I got my mask on but I’m just hiding my scars. I keep it real when I’m providing the bars. I feel sick. Some days I don’t eat by option. I fear for my life so I stay with dudes that keep it poppin.

My pops over there, my mom over here. It’s a fucked up world and God don’t seem to care. My brother looks up to me, says you idol. But that would change if he knew I was suicidal.

Nowadays everybody want to mess with me. Nowadays everybody wants custody And shit like that gives me stress. And I still have to deal with A.C.S. I’m always on the move; I don’t think I’ll ever sit. I’m in therapy but you gotta be crazy to be my therapist. I’ve been through too much to be beefing with cats. I hated therapy so I started speaking through rap.

Somebody here don’t like me breathing and somebody here is trying to spite me steaming. I get flashbacks of craziness like I’m dreaming. Don’t talk on it much…my feelings being embarrassed…but on July 5th, 05…Shorty had a miscarriage. She blames it on me. Say it’s my fault. Bad genes in my system…yeah it’s also my lost

I lost friends and family. The ones I have now can’t stand me. Still I accept all bull that they hand me. And some things I can’t even figure…like why you had to take him for? Come on God, why you think I’m writing for?

I can’t pretend…take me first next time so I don’t have to see you take my friends. But I can’t throw life away. I gotta play it to keep it…I gotta stay.

I escaped death twice now, but I ain’t hyped now. I’m just a nigga who appreciates life now. I’ve blown the system, defeated the odds. I’ve watched my pops beat on my moms
No matter what I go through I’m still right here…with a smile everyday to hide the tears.

So it’s a stoke everyday to not get my mind lost. But I’m still standing here…still strong. I’ve done beat the statistics. I’m a man on my own.

Nikeshia Carter / East New York

I am East New York
I’m no Montego Bay, Jamaica
No fiji no Barbados
Or Bahamas

I am though
Home to constant street drama
My streets are generous to no one
I consist of beautiful minds
In places you’d never expect
But young minds fear ridicule
So ignorance some accept

In these same streets
Parents often mourn over innocent children but
With promising futures
Slain accidentally by a stray
if you knew about these streets
Would you want to stay?
Could you love or sleep with my cousins Bed-stuy
Brownsville, Crown-heights
Or Flatbush

Life here is serious
And my streets aren’t friendly
They’ll turn once enthusiastic kids
Into ambitious hustlers
Young blood runs in my streets
Like the Atlantic Ocean flows
Making homes blue
Because some kid opted for that red bandana
Instead of a doo-rag
And a fitter hat to match his clothes

Corners and train stations
Serve as homes to junkies
Who’s white teeth
Have long gone black
Lil’ shorties blaze up
Purple haze to forget their trouble daily
They’re mislead and misunderstood
And dealing with society becomes weary
I won’t blame society
I’m just saying…
Watch the cops that watch my blocks
Crooked snakes
On my street for safety
On these corners
By these same delis
Where a kid not even 12
Can get a nick or a dime or a dutch
The same store where chips and vitamin water
Chase the munchies away
But these same cops walk in
Buy a Poland and never say a thing
As long as there’s a hush with the money

But when you hear about Brooklyn
This isn’t always what you’re told
My streets gentle as a puppy
Enticing like a Bengal tiger
You’d never know how things really unfold
So take a trip to East New York, and come correct
Talk to a kid with a do or die mentality
I’m almost sure he’ll say
“I got love for these street.”
“The street made me.”

and little may his mind know
my streets don’t love nobody!

Jedi Suren / Enitous