Derrick C. Brown...how do I put into words the awesomeness of this man? He pretty much is the cat's meow. Thank God for Blaire Miller Bommer. A few years ago, Blaire burnt me a copy of his spoken word album,
Black Urchin and from the moment I listened to that CD something sleeping inside of me awoke with rapture. I was clueless about spoken word poetry...I never knew how insanely beautiful words can be when spoken. Anyone can write if they surrender their soul to a page, but to speak what you write is incredible. A poem is just a piece of writing until the poet speaks and it becomes a story, a piece of art. Words come alive and find meaning. Not only do you hear the poem as it was intended, you feel. It is a honest heart revealing the artwork of its soul.
Last night I was checking out what new books are coming out on
Write Bloody and to my great surprise, Derrick has one coming out on March 15 entitled,
Strange Light. Joel Lovell from the New York Times wrote,
There's something that happens when you read Derrick Brown, a rekindling of faith in the weird, hilarious, shocking, beautiful power of words, that they haven't been worn out and retreaded. How can a writer be so alive to the world and all its crazy-ass mysteries? Beats me. But when you read "Strange Light," when you read any of his work, really or when you have the fantastic fortune to watch him perform in person, you yourself are a bit more alive, too.
A few of his poems are available online as a sneak preview to the book. Usually the sneak-speaks are nothing compared to the awesome shit inside, however this sneak-peak, though short, is quite phenomenal. There is something about his words that make me want to share them with the rest of the world, or anyone willing to listen. Below is one of the poems from his new book. Be sure to go out and get yourself a copy, trust me, your soul will thank you.
LOVERS FIZZ
Remind me of Spain.
Let the propane
light from the barbecue
glow the back of your hair into
silhouette.
Set.
Put bicycle grease on your bedsprings.
Let no one hear your love.
Subtle your lust. Lash it to your spine and walk funny.
Stand in front of the mirror with a camera
waiting for the love of your life to show up.
Drive to me.
Scuttle your plans.
Drive with the radio off.
Drive like a Trucker that's been face-punched.
Peel your car out and shoot gravel back into the sky.
Don't be Amsterdam, be Holland.
I've never been to Spain. I'm asking you to remind of it.
Don't just be tits, be all the tits, be wanted.
Don't puss out on love.
Put some ice cream in the
dead man's float.
You're either someone's dinner or you're someone's genius,
either way doesn't matter as long as you're zizzing delicious.
Allow me to be an ocean, allow me to freeze.
I'm saying I can hold you up,
even the waves retreat to make room for new ones.
I need you to forget all endings that demand paradise.
Your terror moves me. Your failures have whittled you fine.
Scream into the road map until your lungs are transmission hot:
Dear Lord, is that all your got?
Some giant sky pushes
the head of night down
into the sea
and a crown of stars bubbles
on up. Fizzle that way.
I have to leave you with Derrick performing. Below is one my favorites because it combines the art of music and spoken work and because he performs with one of my all time favorite bands, Cold War Kids.
This is the audio to one of his most brilliant poems, "a finger, two dots, then me". Speechless.
