love jones
i just finished watching Love Jones and it totally reminds me of my second year of college. we used to wear that soundtrack out. to this day, i can't think of a single soundtrack to a movie i love more than that. it's just so fly. it's got a little bit of jazz, some Kenny Lattimore, and the sickest song by the Refugee Camp Allstars.
those were the days when i would live in the cultural center. back when Marc and i ran shit and our idea of "programming" was Game Night with Da Bomb and Kaboom. yes, i've been silly since the day i was born. what's better in an intensely rigorous college than a night of playing Connect Four and Candyland? you're goddamn right, nothing. well, maybe building a Lego castle.
for a time, our lives revolved around that movie. not to say that the poetry in it was particularly good, but the idea of ultimate expression and, at least in the movie, love was appealing. those were the days when i was heavy into poetry. i used to organize events with the Anti-Imperialist poets from NYC. Mike Ladd was an alum and just the coolest guy you'd ever want to meet. Mike, Saul Williams, and Tony Medina--to name a few-- all crowded in The Tavern reading their shit and having a good time. we'd hook them up with food and hotels, but they'd end up crashing on our couches and floors after late night sessions and talks. that was the year i drove up to upstate NY to hear Ferlinghetti read. 3 hours i drove to a packed little town hall or something, literally, in the middle of nowhere. it was great.
every once in awhile, i pick up my book of poetry. oh, make no mistake, i don't write it. well, we all go through that phase at some point in their lives, but mine--rightfully and thankfully--didn't last long. however, i have this book of various poems that i've collected along the way and like to read from time to time. actually, just a few weeks ago, i stayed up and reread some T.S. Eliot. i forgot how much i love The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
it always reminds me of the first time i read it in high school. during the summer, my father--the English professor--would assign me...and pay me...to read a collection of literature. one summer it was Russian novels. another summer it was Shakespeare. my favorite summer was American classics. we would sit on the deck in the sun and read The Sound and The Fury together. we covered everything.
[i should mention that i love those summers now. then, i was 16, hot, and sick of reading shit i barely understood. school was over, dammit. the summer of the Russian literature was when my mother scored her first major cool points with me. i needed the money, but didn't want to spend the next 15 years of my life reading War and Peace. so, my mother--partially because she had us for the summer and refused to yield precious little time on account of my crazy father--paid me NOT to read War and Peace. oh, the rare joys of divorce.]
anyway, the first time i read T.S. Eliot's Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock he was sitting on the floor and i was laying on the bed reading out loud with my trusty pen. oh, you didn't think he would have me just read, did you? oh, no, i took notes, connected themes, notated other literary references, and translated; the works. every now and then, i think back on who i used to be. back before the world came crashing down around me. i wonder if i could ever get it back. i suppose it's not really gone, just lost to me, right now. one day i'll be able to read a poem or experience a reading and feel myself thaw a bit. i've misplaced my rose colored glasses for now. i've been looking for them, lately. not, necessarily, to permanently wear again, but...you know, just to have them.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
those were the days when i would live in the cultural center. back when Marc and i ran shit and our idea of "programming" was Game Night with Da Bomb and Kaboom. yes, i've been silly since the day i was born. what's better in an intensely rigorous college than a night of playing Connect Four and Candyland? you're goddamn right, nothing. well, maybe building a Lego castle.
for a time, our lives revolved around that movie. not to say that the poetry in it was particularly good, but the idea of ultimate expression and, at least in the movie, love was appealing. those were the days when i was heavy into poetry. i used to organize events with the Anti-Imperialist poets from NYC. Mike Ladd was an alum and just the coolest guy you'd ever want to meet. Mike, Saul Williams, and Tony Medina--to name a few-- all crowded in The Tavern reading their shit and having a good time. we'd hook them up with food and hotels, but they'd end up crashing on our couches and floors after late night sessions and talks. that was the year i drove up to upstate NY to hear Ferlinghetti read. 3 hours i drove to a packed little town hall or something, literally, in the middle of nowhere. it was great.
every once in awhile, i pick up my book of poetry. oh, make no mistake, i don't write it. well, we all go through that phase at some point in their lives, but mine--rightfully and thankfully--didn't last long. however, i have this book of various poems that i've collected along the way and like to read from time to time. actually, just a few weeks ago, i stayed up and reread some T.S. Eliot. i forgot how much i love The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
it always reminds me of the first time i read it in high school. during the summer, my father--the English professor--would assign me...and pay me...to read a collection of literature. one summer it was Russian novels. another summer it was Shakespeare. my favorite summer was American classics. we would sit on the deck in the sun and read The Sound and The Fury together. we covered everything.
[i should mention that i love those summers now. then, i was 16, hot, and sick of reading shit i barely understood. school was over, dammit. the summer of the Russian literature was when my mother scored her first major cool points with me. i needed the money, but didn't want to spend the next 15 years of my life reading War and Peace. so, my mother--partially because she had us for the summer and refused to yield precious little time on account of my crazy father--paid me NOT to read War and Peace. oh, the rare joys of divorce.]
anyway, the first time i read T.S. Eliot's Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock he was sitting on the floor and i was laying on the bed reading out loud with my trusty pen. oh, you didn't think he would have me just read, did you? oh, no, i took notes, connected themes, notated other literary references, and translated; the works. every now and then, i think back on who i used to be. back before the world came crashing down around me. i wonder if i could ever get it back. i suppose it's not really gone, just lost to me, right now. one day i'll be able to read a poem or experience a reading and feel myself thaw a bit. i've misplaced my rose colored glasses for now. i've been looking for them, lately. not, necessarily, to permanently wear again, but...you know, just to have them.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
posted by badassed at
1:58 AM
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