Saturday, December 5, 2009

Bringing It Down from the Ivory Tower: The Art of the Real

I was struck by a comment I once heard a young teacher woman, and I will not even describe her, because I think that hers is an almost universal sentiment, that she "used British hip hop artist M.I.A.'s song lyrics to draw her students in, that they be more willing to learn about 'real' poetry." I raised my eyebrows and said nothing--knowing full well how much I disagreed with her. Sometimes it's best to keep it shut and keep it copacetic. I love D. H. Lawrence's suggestion to, "be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot." I believe young Paris Hilton liked that one too--though context is everything. It's time for me to say something, however. Time to say exactly what I think about the "real" poetry. And I will say it generally because I think to go into it too much droning detail would be rather dull and overall pretty obnoxious.

Plainly, I have not ever read poetry from any author, any period, or any culture that did not match in complexity, creativity, technique and beauty with a number of modern day hip hop artists. Now, I of course have not read everything, but hear me out. Hip hop is poetry--some good and some bad, some mediocre, and some phenomenal. I offer that when we understand that in academia, the "real" shall meld with the real and students will have access to what many of them find relevant and non-exclusionary. Students can find genuine validation within a classroom, rather than a subconsciously condescending teacher trying to reeaachhh them.

Now let's get back to hip hop, and what it means to many of our students, and let's be honest, a whole generation of younger teachers who also grew up with the art form. So it means a great deal to us. We saw the music transform from pretty simple, rhyme schemes of the eighties--predominately sounded off in a bubbly iambic pentameter--to more and more complex structures that fused word-sounded syncopation driven by the poets who created tone, mood, and all the qualities of narrative poetry through the use of a multiplicity of literary devices.

You had early artists, influenced by Gil Scott Heron and The Last Poets, who took the art of the African American cultural elite to the streets of New York City. Eventually, and after a commercial surge, came artists like Grand Master Flash, whose "The Message" is now anthologized in Norton's African American Literature. Beside it you will find Public Enemy's "Don't Believe the Hype." Following in the tradition of Gil Scott Heron and The Last Poets, both songs represent a socially critical aspect of the music. That socially critical voice can be heard through a number of groups that emerged in the late eighties and early nineties: Eric B. and Rakim, Boogie Down Productions, Poor Righteous Teachers, The Jungle Brothers, Queen Latifah, DeLa Soul, A Tribe Called Quest, Brand Nubians and many, many more. These artists were very well known within the culture, but were not necessarily megastars. They were well respected poets who could deliver their cerebral poetry over an appropriately funky breakbeat and move a crowd all night long. They were like the cool jazz players of an earlier generation, who riffed and alluded to each other's work and character, according to the tradition of what Skip Gates calls "The Signifying Monkey." The Signifying Monkey, or allusion, is the key to the music's continuity.

What difference does it make? Well, I always try to explain to English 9 students that when Maya Angelou chose the title, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, she wanted to not only credit Paul Laurence Dunbar, but also draw correlations between his experience and hers. Usually my more advanced students get that right away. But when I say, "You know how E40 uses the looped metaphor, 'We be to rap/what key be to lock.' " They say, "Yea!" And then I explain that that was not his line--that he's referring to a line by Q Tip, and that it was later used by Diggable Planets in "The Return of Slick."

They say, "Oh you mean like when Jay-Z says, 'All I need in this life of sin/is me and my girlfriend," he's paying tribute to Tupac and trying to compare himself to him.' " I smile widely and say, "Yea! And why do you think he did that? The concept links together like the greased gears of a pressed lock. My work and theirs becomes so much more relevant and lively. They identify a genre they once held at a distance as overly academic or foreign as one they have owned and sought engagement in their own homes and cars, their entire lives.  And what does this have to do with that young teacher lady who said that she uses the hip hop lyrics to get to the "real" poetry?

Well, I think it's pretty clear. Our students have a wealth of knowledge that is genuinely creative, rooted in the majestic, and culturally relevant. They know the quality of poetic composition of artists like, Walla, Common, Talib Kwali, the Roots, Hova, Weezy, and I could go on. That composition consists of all the elements of what we call classical poetry, accepting that it is not written in sonnet form (alas)--but quite commonly a 32 bar pop song--that originated in the African American church.  When will we give credit to an American classic creation and qualify it as a real and valuable tool in the teaching of our young people who are so completely able to immediately comprehend all its complex meanings? The failure to do so leaves our nation's students disconnected from the relevance of their own educations and power of their own art forms.  Hip Hop is one example of a genuine, although often disrespected true American art form that our students have known their entire lives.  Educators and students might be better off learning it, and using it.




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