Homer Reborn

By J. Lawrence Scholer | Wednesday, February 5, 2003

In celebration of the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, Dartmouth College hosted a poetry slam, the topic of which was social justice. Highlighting the event was Jason Carney, a Texan and former skinhead. During his youth Carney committed a number of crimes and was sent to a juvenile detention facility where he was housed with an HIV positive gay criminal. The pair entered into a friendship, and Carney realized his past wrongs and reformed. He became a slam poet.

Slam poetry is the most recent addition to the Western oral tradition. Slam poetry is strictly oral—the meaning is not so much in the words as it is in the delivery. In 1986 Marc Smith created the art form in Chicago. Since then, he has spawned numerous imitators and the genre has attracted the attention of the hip-hop intelligentsia, namely music mogul Russell Simmons. Simmons created and hosts Def Poetry Jam, a production that features young slam poetry talent.

While its primary supporters come from the hip-hop ranks, slam poetry is not to be mistaken for rap. Unlike its rappin' brethren, slam poets deal with more than slappin' bitches and pimpin' hoes. When describing slam poetry, it is helpful to remember a few key terms. Slam poetry is by definition raw and edgy. It is intelligent and deep, and the verse is lyrical. Slam poets deal with deeper topics—like the African Diaspora, sexuality, black-on-black crime, and racism—than do rappers, who revel in the banal. One must listen carefully, however, as often these themes are hidden beneath thinly veiled metaphors. Yet, despite the diversity of themes, slam poetry, like the oral poetry of old, has a singular structure. The slam poet begins with a rapid succession of words—adjectives, adverbs, expletives. Then, the poetry slows down as the poet reaches his climax, the raison d'etre of his verse.

The poetry slam at Dartmouth was far from 'def,' but it still accomplished its mission of perpetuating social justice through lyrical persuasion. As the audience walked up the stairs to the Top of the Hop, where the performance was held, a collage of New York Times clippings greeted them at eye level. The clippings featured coverage of the Vietnam War and the assassinations of Malcolm X and King, Jr. Also, prominent were clippings culled from the Times after the shooting of John Lennon. Flyers for the legalization of marijuana were also plastered about the entrance. Mellow hip-hop basslines wafted down the stairs, and students mingled about, encouraging others to 'come up [because] there's going to be some poetry.'

The slam was emceed by a student from Tri-Kap and a fraternity brother of his manned the turntables. Before Carney approached the mike, students took turns reciting some of their own poetry. Their poems lacked intensity, but made up for it in meaning. The poems used as their basis real experience—like visiting slave warehouses in Africa or recalling the events of September 11—but then related these events to something more esoteric. The students' poems, tinged with anger and bitterness, sought a meaning beyond everyday.

Lest this sound like a précis of the evening's performances, I will now engage in a discussion of Jason Carney, whom I viewed briefly before I left. Carney does not shy from his neo-Nazi past, but uses it to show his metamorphosis from racist to pluralist. He bears the scars of his past in tattoos—footnotes of his past. Carney, clad in khakis and a black t-shirt, paced onto the stage to a thumping drumbeat. He spoke with a Texas drawl, evidence of his upbringing, his family, and his peers, all of whom he now views as ignorant. While he doesn't shy away from his Texan heritage, he views it with some shame. He related his disgust at the dragging death of James Byrd, a sentiment shared by all in attendance. But, he added, the brutal crime tugged at his heartstrings because it happened only three hundred miles from his home, a distance slightly greater than the trip from Hanover to New York City.

Carney's poetry was confrontational. He spewed out his lyrics with Eminem-like diction and precision—each word was carefully chosen so that it did not damage the rhythm and rhyme. He took on traditional enemies like the Christian Right, slamming their racism and homophobia: 'Jesus was black...and gay.' He elicited some laughter, but most of the audience was too immersed in introspection.

I left shortly thereafter as it was a Friday night and I had prior engagements. Yet I felt guilty. According to Carney I was the cause of so many of this country's problems: racism, sexism, homophobia, hate crimes. I do not have any white power tattoos that I can dismiss as in the past. I have never committed any hate-related crimes and neither have my friends. But, Carney is superior to me because he was bad but now is good. We should all strive to emulate Carney—his accent is backwoods, but his values are truly modern.

Homer Reborn

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