Simmons' Def Poetry Jam gets a reviewer rappin'

By Howard Shapiro - Philadelphia Inquirer


A kind of rage bubbles

on the Merriam stage.

Troubles, passions, tongue-thrashings.

Eight slam poets cashing

in on the fashion of hip-hop.

Raw, fun, true, won a Tony.

(Aw, runs through Sunday only.)

If you never witnessed poetry slam,

sha-zamm! It's your chance to fancy

the dancing of unbridled words,

some plucky, or taut,

some #$@%&! and hot.

With mostly clear thought. Some poems

are heartening, others so startling

they wrap you in knots.

Good thing you've been warned.

(Like this, some's free-formed.)

The Russell SimmonsDef Poetry Jam

comes from the man whose all-over

plan, Jake, would fan hip-hop all over

the landscape of culture.

With fine sounds by deejay Tendaji,

whose call: " 'Sup, y'all?" sets up

the barrage, he brings poets through four stark stage arches.

They park one-by-one,

run through hoops of choice language.

Then later, in groups, relive a boy's

anguish o'er lost love, or being recluse. And unveil a railing portrayal of abuse.

(No, they're never obtuse.)

Philly's own Black Ice is rammy,

intelligent. Damn! He makes terse

verse masterfully elegant - stuff so

severe you'll swear your belly went

south. What a mouth on a poet called

Lemon. (Don't pucker.)

This sucker's got seminal cadence,

his ode to Brooklyn, a gem of bald radiance.

Stay out of an alley with Mayda del Valle.

That chick spouts quick shtick.

Her rage gauges sexy. (Mayda:

No May-day! And no apoplexy!)

A ragin' Asian is named Beau Sia.

He dreams in extreme, like brash

Georgia Me, a mamma with shock hocks

who locks onto sisterhood.

Dissed? No, they're good!

Like buoyant, poignant Suheir Hammad.

Sassy Bassey Ikpi - not one of 'em bad.

One more verse-man named Poetri.

His ribald self-mock'ry reminds me of me. No gripes with these artists, I'm glad

to make hype space. (Yo, dude. I'm

screwed, done run outta typeface.)