To my inbox from people who say they're needin'
Some kind of serious detox
For the poetry rap project objectif we've got,
You know what I'm saying, I'm saying these big lots
Of rhythm & rhyme
Jammed together in 5/4 time
Like jazz like hazardous material
For the lungs & the tongue
That don't wanna be spoken so much as sung . . .
Sometimes, people, I just can't help myself! Even when it's probably wiser to . . . Looking ahead 20 years, and assuming I'm still around, what today's blog might sound like to my nanogenetic self . . . BUT!
Or as Elizabeth Warren might say, Nevertheless, I persist.
Look, people, we spend a lot of time and energy trying to make poetry for the ages the same way it's been made for ages, since Homer, in fact, and that's all well and good, at least for us in Western Civilization. But sometimes it starts to feel . . . er . . . a little too Western? As in one of those extended learning courses in Western Civilization that universities like UNC cook up for retirees (for a fee) so we can all feel educated and . . . civilized?
Occasionally, it's nice to eat dessert first, have a bowl of cereal for supper, drain a glass of wine for breakfast. Sometimes, it's good to dance naked in front of the mirror. SOMETIMES we need to stretch our ideas about what kind of poetry we can write, even if we don't ordinarily think of it as poetry.
Here's my two cents: the rhapsodes of ancient Greece were the original 50 Cent, Lil Nas, Queen Latifah and Nicki Minaj. Then Homer came along, whoever he was, IF he was actually one poet, and codified the rhapsodes' raps into formal poetry. The Troubadours wandering Italy and France resurrected rap, maybe in the form of villenelles (which at one time were really quite various in style and length), which in turn rejuvenated poetry until somebody reduced their songs to a single form--like the villenelle--and called it poetry. Walt Whitman came along to toss out the stuffy sterile imitative stuff of American anglicized poetry and . . . well, you know what he did! Then the Beats had to follow suit a hundred years later because poetry had slipped back into the merely academic again, or so they argued. In the 1970s, partly out of cultural resistance, partly out of political will, came hip-hop, then rap . . . and voila! poetry reborn, saved from itself.
Here's a secret I would like to share with you: you don't have to be Eminem to write rap poetry. And so I invite you to give it a try. First, a few simple observations or rules, if you will--and yes, rap adheres to three but pretty strict rules--and then a few examples, brief plus extended, so you get the idea.
Rule 1: theme
If you're going to write a rap poem, settle on a simple theme. The rap you're probably thinking of, that most offends you, is about night clubs, grinding, raw sexism, bad attitudes, selfishness, guns and cussing. It's in your face. That's not necessarily the only vehicle for rap, though. You can write rappily about anything--what you like for breakfast (see "Ham & Eggs" below), about community, about writing poetry, about Donald Trump, about Queens Latifah and/or Elizabeth, about your dog or your cat, about your cluttered garage, about your favorite pair of pants. The point is, choose a theme. Next, brainstorm it--what is it, what does it sound like/look like/taste like/feel like, where do you find it, where don't you find it, what do you really know about it, etc., etc.? How do you feel about it? Themes in rap poems are often very personal, almost confessional (though they aren't always that way.) A rap can address a reader or a historical person directly.
Rule 2: flow
This is the key to rap, and therefore to rap poetry. What is flow? Here's what it is not: flow is not meter, as in a popular song or a ballad or a traditional lyric. In fact, flow is not even "rhythm" as we traditional writers of poetry think of rhythm, such as cadence. Flow is not a regular rhyme pattern, as in a-b-a-b or a-a / b-b or as in a sonnet. So what is flow? Flow is unlineated and unpatterned in the usual sense. Flow is a falling-driving rhythm that ignores line breaks (even if there are line breaks in the poem). Flow can be written as prose, in fact, because it doesn't depend on line endings and beginnings. If you look at the rap poem I wrote at the top of this blog you'll see the pace wants to be quick, the movement continually "forward," and the beat or rhythm always falling-driving from first to last. This is because flow is sequential: a sequence of words that sound similar even if they don't actually rhyme (they may may have the same number of syllables with stressed syllables in the same place in each word or set of words in the sequence). Hint: use words of two syllables or more or word clusters in which the first syllable is stressed. Repetition ad nauseum is one way to get to rap's flow. Reading it aloud should leave you breathless.
Rule 3: rhyme
A rap poem feeds on rhyme, but it doesn't rhyme in strict time (see Rule 2 above) or pattern. A rap rhyme can be exact, off, near, slant, and gestural all within the space of a single image or sequence of words. A rap poem will use masculine rhymes (rhyming words of one syllable) often extended to a series, one after the other. A rap poem will deploy feminine rhyme (rhyming words of multi-syllables: Stella and her umbrella met a helluva fella). Most of all, and most fun of all, a rap poem will go for partial rhyme or "part-rhymes," that is, choosing words in a series that may incorporate rhyming syllables at the same position in each word.
So there are your rules. For me, flow is the most important. No flow no go in yo po . . . etry. Here are some examples. Try reading them out loud a couple of times, looking for the pacing and tempo that best suits what the poems are attempting.
Internal to Internal
(This is a poem that I wrote and perform with my band)
We go out (yeah yeah)
And we come back (yeah yeah)
After awhile (yeah yeah, yeah yeah)
It's a wonder
That we recognize each other,
You and I, internal to internal/
[Bridge]
On a case by case basis
We can make an oasis
Of each other, brother to sister
Sister to brother
But what we need is a bridge
To build a bridge with the courage
To abridge the spaces
Between us, I mean us
Because we need us
(Can you believe this?)
And be fly together
Like birds of a feather
No matter the weather
So if not now, if not right now then when?
Don't tell me never
Don't say to me whenever, whatever
We go out . . . etc.
. . . and my wife, Ann, who gave me the idea to challenge you all with this project, wrote this little rap about our dog . . .
Murphy's Rap
I have a little poodle
a really cool funny little dude
he loves to make art with his food
he runs around in circles
playing keepaway with dad
he always wins un-huh that's what I said
guard dog at the window
barking at all
you don't know that I'm not tall
I weigh 8 pounds
and have 6 teeth in my head
but walk on by
I really don't mind
'cause after all I'm just saying hi
Rap poems and songs copped from the web . . .
It
Pays Big
(a primer on how to write rap poems)
It’s the same old game, just cut, next frame.
Shakespeare first, then Molière.
Tragedy to comedy, an act so raw to me.
Start your flow, it’s your show,
‘else it’s paycheck, rain check, your own shipwreck,
Hands on deck, it’s mic check, say,
‘This is me for you to see, a gift, just pay your fee.’
And I’ll remember your face,
But I’m not coming home,
‘Cause I’m stuck in this place
Where it pays big to roam.
Break stage right, missed that flight,
Now it’s airport naps, short break, next port.
Who are you? Just ask the mirror.
Stake it out and fake ‘em out, next city break it out.
Time for rest, did your best.
Now you move it, groove it, fast, prove it.
She cries out, listen, hear her
Celebrate, initiate, live once, appreciate.
And I’ll remember your face,
But I’m not coming home,
‘Cause I’m stuck in this place
Where it pays big to roam
DOPE RAPPER
Am the microphone wrecker wacky mc’s thrasher
Call me punchline call me dope rapper
Lyrical tyrant punchline merchant
Don’t come close I got a wackiness repellant
Am the soldier in the ant the giga in the byte
Flows so sick you never ever bite
Don’t poke your eyes you might cry twice
Once bitten you gonna be shy twice
With your lame ass flow you don’t even cause a ripple
My rhyme so sweet it could make a girl tickle
Am the eagle you are a worm better wiggle
Blow the beagle am the boss man simple
ON KEY
I may sing off key but I rap on key
Rhyme so loaded am the rap donkey
Am like the rap tree you just a rap monkey
I got this locked down am the lock and the key
You cant get out you are under lock and key
With rhymes this good you cant get past me
Am a baller like Messi you no play pass me
Am on your tv and radio them too dey play me
THE A
Am the A in your apple
The whip on your back when you shit for temple
The itch on your head when you scratch your temple
Fall back watch me am the thrill in the movie
The movie in the ROM the kinda flows I drop make them shake their bumbum
Spitting rhymes like a well chewed bubble gum I make your liver pool but am sweet like tomtom
And I break rules like diego maradonna ready to blow with ma lyrical bazooka
Am the hay maker I make the sun shine and I aint bragging its just a punchline
Am so coded I got my own tune 99.9 I got the beat I got the tune
Am the generator men y’all the fume I smell good even with no perfume
Talk is cheap so I bought silence you wanna rant I give y’all the license
I make some sense even even when am talking nonsense cos my nonsense even get one sense
Some people no go grab cos them no get sense
The sense I make is not too common no be big deal cos now my rap is common
Am not a flash in a pan cos am known from Lagos all the way to japan
I got a master and I got a plan so you see I got a master plan
I know my master plans and his plans I don master am not stopping now cos now am going faster
Am repping Jehovah my one and only master
Ham & Eggs
By A Tribe Called Quest
I don't eat no ham n' eggs, cuz they're high in cholesterol
Ay yo, Phife do you eat em? (No, Tip do you eat em?)
Uh uh, not at all (Again)
I don't eat no ham n' eggs, cuz they're high in cholesterol
Jarobi, do you eat em? (Nope, Shah, do you eat em?) Nope
Not at all
A tisket, a tasket, what's in mama's basket?
Some veggie links and some fish that stinks
Why, just the other day, I went to Grandma's house
Smelled like she conjured up a mouse
Eggs was fryin', ham was smellin'
In ten minutes, she started yellin' (Come and get it!)
And the gettin's were good
I said, "I shouldn't eat it", she said, "I think you should"
But I can't, I'm plagued by vegetarians
No cats and dogs, I'm not a veterinarian
Strictly collard greens and the occasional steak
Goes on my plate
Asparagus tips look yummy, yummy, yummy
Candied yams inside my tummy
A collage of good eats, some snacks or nice treats
Apple sauce and some nice red beets
This is what we snack on when we're questin'
(No second guessin')
I don't eat no ham n' eggs, cuz they're high in cholesterol
Ay yo, Phife do you eat em? (No, Tip do you eat em?)
Uh uh, not at all (Again)
I don't eat no ham n' eggs, cuz they're high in cholesterol
Jarobi, do you eat em? (Nope, Shah, do you eat em?) Nope
Not at all
Now drop the beat, so I can talk about my favorite tastings
The food that is the everlasting
See I'm not fasting
I'm gobbling, like a dog on turkey
Beef jerky, Slim Jims, I eat sometimes
I like lemons and limes
"And if not that, I get the Roti and the Soursop"
Sit back, relax, listen to some hip-hop
Gum drops and gummy bears tease my eyes
A sight for sore ones and some bore pies
And other goodies that are filled with goop
With fried apple roots
Delectable delights, control my appetites
Mines is for me, right, but I know what I like
Chicken for lunch, chicken for my dinner
Chicken, chicken, chicken, I'm a finger lickin' winner
When breakfast time comes, I don't recognize
Pig in the pan or a pair of bogey chides
Mixed with stewed tomatoes, home fried potatoes
Or anything with flair, cook it, I'm in there
Pay attention to the Tribe as we impose
This is how it goes
I don't eat no ham n' eggs, cuz they're high in cholesterol
Ay yo, Phife do you eat em? (No, Tip do you eat em?)
Uh uh, not at all (Again)
I don't eat no ham n' eggs, cuz they're high in cholesterol
Jarobi, do you eat em? (Nope, Shah, do you eat em?) Nope
Not at all
Remember the Name
By Ed Sheeran, with Eminen & 50 Cent
Yeah, I was born a misfit
Grew up 10 miles from the town of Ipswich
Wanted to make it big, I wished it to existence
I never was a sick kid, always dismissed quick
"Stick to singing, stop rappin' like it's Christmas"
And if you're talkin' money, then my conversation's shiftin'
My dreams are bigger than just bein' on the rich list
Might be insanity, but people call it "gifted"
My face is goin' numb from the shit this stuff is mixed with
Watch how the lyrics in the songs might get twisted
My wife wears red, but looks better without the lipstick
I'm a private guy and you know nothin' 'bout my business
And if I had my 15 minutes, I must have missed 'em
20 years old is when I came in the game
And now it's eight years on and you remember the name
And if you thought I was good, well, then I'm better today
But it's ironic how you people thought I'd never be great
I like my shows open-air, Tokyo to Delaware
Put your phones in the air if you wanna be rocked
You know I want way more than I already got
Give me a song with Eminem and 50 Cent in the club
You know it ain't my time to call it a day
I wanna crack on and I wanna be paid
But it's 'bout time you remember the name
Ayy, ayy
You know it ain't my time to call it a day
I wanna crack on and I wanna be paid
But it's 'bout time you remember the name
Ayy, ayy
I can still remember (What?) tryna shop a deal (Uh-huh)
From Taco Bell to TRL
I climbed the Billboard charts to the top until
As fate would have it (Yeah), became an addict
Funny 'cause I had pop appeal
But they said time would tell (What?) if I'd prevail (Huh?)
And all I did was (What?) put nine-inch nails (Where?)
In my eyelids now (What?)
I'm seein' diamond sales like I'm in Zales (Yeah)
Without a doubt, by any means
If rap was skinny jeans, I couldn't do anything in 'em
I'd be splitting seams of denim when I'm spitting schemes
Which really means, no "if," "ands," or "buts" are squeezin' in between
You sleep on me 'cause you're only fuckin' with me in your dreams
Not even when I'm on my deathbed
Man, I feel like Ed, it isn't time to drop the mic yet
So why would I quit?
The thought that I would stop when I'm dead
Just popped in my head
I said it, then forgot what I said
You know it ain't my time to call it a day
I wanna crack on and I wanna be paid
But it's 'bout time you remember the name
Ayy, ayy
You know it ain't my time to call it a day
I wanna crack on and I wanna be paid
But it's 'bout time you remember the name
Ayy, ayy
Ain't nobody cold as me, I dress so fresh, so clean
You can find me in my whip, rockin' my Fendi drip
Man, you know just what I mean
Shinin', wrist with the rocks on it, Buscemis with locks on it
Everything my voice on, this shit knock, don't it?
Balenciaga saga, I'm in Bergdorf ballin'
It's just another episode, my hoes, I spoil 'em
She like the fly shit and I like to buy shit
Shit, I'm gettin' stupid money, what else we gon' do with money?
Bitch, we be ballin' out, the king bring you 50 bottles
Tonight, we gon' blow a check, worry 'bout your shit tomorrow
The turn up be so real, we 'bout to be super lit
Boy, I'm kickin' straight facts, that's just how we do this shit
Tomorrow, we hangin' over 'til we start feelin' sober
Then it's time to start it over, here we go again
You know it ain't my time to call it a day
I wanna crack on and I wanna be paid
But it's 'bout time you remember the name
Ayy, ayy
You know it ain't my time to call it a day
I wanna crack on and I wanna be paid
But it's 'bout time you remember the name
Ayy, ayy
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