I know. I know. Not another word about Bey and Summer Drinks, but honestly, I can’t keep quiet about it.
Every month I host a show called Liner Notes in Seattle, WA presented by Rain City Slam. Rain City describes the event, as such:
“Liner Notes is a show that was inspired by Mashed Poetics in Vancouver B.C. It encourages NEW work by poets while celebrating and paying tribute to our favorite albums.
Here’s what happens:
An album is chosen.
Every track on the album is randomly assigned to a poet.
Poets write a new piece inspired by the song they were given.”
This month we chose Jay Z’s Black Album and I was assigned “Allure”. At first listen, I wondered what story would link me to “But every time I felt that was that, it called me right back/It called me right back, man it called me right back – oh no!”. I asked myself, what (insert noun here) kept me so entranced that I couldn’t escape?
Initially, the answers were all extremely corny. I was disappointed in my ability to uncover a narrative of entrapment within my own experiences. Sure, I’d been trapped by the P’s, stuck between bitter lines of poetry, and had a stint with food (still do), but nothing felt inspired when I wrote it down. And then…
I watched Lemonade. My eyes were enamored with images of black women and magic and truthful tellings of what black women encounter every day and it occurred to me: We are not safe, none of us. Not even Beyonce. The human-ness of this work by Queen Bey exposed heart and grit and that all too well known “texas bamma” T(ea). This work perfectly encompassed the layered existence of black womanhood and the complexities of being living magic (::clears throat:: yes to oshun reference) and the world rejecting that magic. And so, for the allure of the black woman and the Queen Bey’s Arnold Palmer I am elated to bear witness of the work black women do, in order to make room for our truth.
I say thank you.