dear readers,
soundtrack to my post: t.i.’s “too long”, and lil wayne’s, “dying.”
the academy awards were unexpectedly poetic, in moments mind blowing (jai ho!), but please believe they were also blase, more of the same, the sea of white has not loosened its hold much on the u.s. senate or on “american” cinema. although cuba gooding junior did hand robert downey junior his ass on a platter for taking a black part. what a post-obama moment.
still, let’s be joyous and be clear. here’s the political poet breakdown:
intro
i’m on the 41 bus up flatbush avenue from church to the library. i score a single seat. two young black men are catching up with each other in front of me. tossing convo back and forth across the aisle like tennis balls.
“that movie, its these two brothers and even as kids, how they had to make decisions, take their lives into their own hands, and, how were they playing cricket on the landing strip, man?!”
“word?”
[a few convo tosses later]
“you what?”
“i ran man, i wasn’t trying to be there once the police stopped us, period. no thank you on getting searched, no thank you on getting stopped. soon as we slowed down i pushed the door open and was out.
act one
tonight poets listened for poetry
globalization would like to thank the academy
elegantly disheveled
breathless
scores india stage
rush warriors flushed
bright pink
a.r. rahman and john legend
resul pookutty, a tamil muslim
shouts out allah in malyali
white man after white man
accepts the award on behalf
of brown cast
the ancient civilization
tantalizingly relevant
leading
quiet
we.
act two
i’m a south asian blogger who grew up in southern cali on bhajans and snoop dogg. these days i’m bearing witness to what i never thought i’d see. south asian visibility. snoop dogg goes from whispering “bitches aint shit” in my teenage ear to piping in on a bollywood track with, “singh is king, singh is king.”
i know he’s in it for the money but here’s what i’m feelin: i learned his language, now he’s learning my sound.
act three
mia sweeps the hip hop stage, its the grammys, its a sri lankan female rapper. more records than the cia under her belt and she gets to be the hook on a song with the big dogs. im glad she got to be on stage, cause she got no credit on the “swagger like us” video.
there’s a blackout in hip hop. turn on the lights, peep the female legends bound and gagged in the corner. when i grew up radio played women singers and rappers. blackout + silence = no women rappers and no ones talking about it.
act four
robert deniro is fine as fuck but he def gets the gas face for his backhanded complement for sean penn’s amazing performance in harvey milk with, “how did he ever get cast as a straight man?” ha, ha, ha. closeted hater. i wonder if this kind of peer response had a chilling effect on penn’s acceptance speech, which was flashy, “you commie, homo loving sons of guns,” but not poetic. thank goodness for dustin lance black (best original screenplay). dustin brought the milk message home with artistry, we are beautiful and deserve love. plus the cheekbones. new “it” boy, anyone?
act five
heath ledger’s spirit hung bright. where ledger’s presence was felt, mickey rourke’s presence was seen. rourke, i heard, was getting up during commercial breaks, sitting on the edge of the stage, getting shooed off by the stage manager. rourke was the physical reminder, the slightly uncomfortable reminder, that hollywood can kill you. or, you make your day by day comeback. and live.
act six
was it just me or was the jennifer aniston comes face to face with angelina jolie moment excruciating? jenn was *so* palpably uncomfortable, eyes straying to brad, even leaving the stage too early in her rush to end the moment. i’ve been on the other side, an angelina of sorts, finding true love in an inopportune moment. so i say this, jen, girl, why are you still so caught up? your life is dope. be a bigger woman, and stop calling the foul on another powerful, gorgeous sister. reach out to her, and keep it moving already.
act seven
micky rourke on barbara walters
i’m
uneasy he’s saying too much
she’s saying too little
do you mean….you considered….suicide?
i feel like dying, raps lil wayne
i’m jumping out the window with this one, autotunes ron browz
you’ll have me suicidal, croons sean kingston
hip hop, we can speak so honestly
walters is a bleached stone
plotting on a free lap dance from hugh jackman on tv
what if it was a man interviewing a woman
bitch couldna paid me.
outro
super duper desi pride. bollywood was accessed throughout the academy awards, with the “return of the musical,” and the nod to movie stars of multiple era’s, it is safe to say that *both* hollywood and bollywood are sponges.
stay tuned for more, from the political poet, roopa singh.
peace,
rs









