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The Univer-SOUL Language, Vol. 1
Sharia Kharif (ed.)
Review by Alyce Wilson
Univer-Soul Language is a collection of poems by a group of
young poets, many of whom are active in spoken word poetry slams.
However, these poems don't work as well on the page as they might
with someone delivering them on stage to an attentive audience.
There are several main reasons for that. First, these poems are very
abstract. They talk about things that concern the speaker but get into
no specifics that allow the reader to visualize what's being talked
about.
In "Just Tell Me", Cedric Mixon writes, "My tense is
past, / And joins my existence. / Envisioning you walk away / With everything,
/ Leaving me behind." Yet, while it's clear that this is a poem
to a beloved, there are no details about that loved one to create a
picture in the reader's mind, so that the extent of the loss can be
appreciated.
Second, almost the only poetic technique many of these writers use
is rhyme, yet their use of it is haphazard and ineffective. In Monica
Hill's "Release Me", she uses rhyme at the end of every line:
Prison by the heart
Chained to the art
Of lovemaking
My well-being you've taken
While this sort of technique can be very effective on stage, on the
page a poem needs more than rhymes to work. Instead, a poet must craft
every word, using rhyme only where it's effective.
But amongst the weaker writing, every one of these poets shares at
least one poem that demonstrates potential. In "Living in the City",
Sharia Kharif provides a vivid picture of urban life, using phrases
like "I found solace in the sun-cracked concrete, / miracles in
the stunted trees, and love on the smoky breeze". In these bleak
corners, the speaker finds safety, away from "the small of burning
hair as klansmen crossed / themselves", a place where "life
was forced into my lungs by the city that embraced me."
Heather Smith offers a metaphorical look at the unpleasant surprises
in life in "Sugar":
a life drenched in sugar,
forced into my mouth
but i recognized the disguise.
i sucked all the sweetness off
trying to prolong the enjoyment,
only to be bitten back
by the bitter taste of the pill.
Likewise, Cedric Mixon's "Crazy Love" sounds at first like
the rantings of a crazed lover until it becomes clearly that the speaker
is, instead, a different sort of unhealthy love, that of alcohol:
And you... Going to meetings,
Where people despise me.
They separating us for weeks....
Months...
But I stay on your mind daily.
Especially when you're alone.
That's when I speak the loudest.
Heart the echo of my voice
In an empty glass. [Drink Me!!!]
Jacole Kitchen finds her voice in a sweetly sexy paean about braiding
a beloved's hair, "Corn Rows":
There you sit between my legs
As your chocolate scalp begs
For my slender fingers
To slip slide and sliver
Down each crease
And I rub it down with herbal grease
You just sit back and enjoy the ride
As I satisfy you with African Pride
And Monica Hill makes a political statement about today's pop celebrities
in "God Granted", depicting them as modern day minstrels:
"With Slick Suits you dance around like Bo jangles / Black faced
from every angle". She urges them to "rebuke the devils control
/ and cut the choke hold" to escape the false idol of money which
she calls "Burnt offerings with the green sap it drips".
These poems demonstrate the sort of specific, passionate writing these
poets need to refine if they want to broaden their appeal beyond the
poetry slam stage.
I would advise all of these poets to go back and read some of the greatest
writers from the Black Arts Movement, people like Amira Baraka (Leroi
Jones), Sonia Sanchez, Nikki Giovanni, and Don Lee and really get a
sense for the myriad of techniques that make poetry work, and learn
how you can be both political and make the poem come alive to the reader.
Kobalt Books, 2005: ISBN 0-9754357-1-X
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