By Mel Cooke, Freelance WriterWESTERN BUREAU:
THE POETRY scene expanded a little further on Sunday evening when the word sound hit the Ashanti Oasis Restaurant in Hope Gardens, St. Andrew, in the first of weekly scheduled gatherings.
It was not 'easy like Sunday morning' poetry, though, as three members of the MultiKast Poets, Neto Meeks, Takura and Steppa, along with Sage, brought hard hitting words and sometimes brash styles to the microphone. And while only one poetry newcomer stepped up to the microphone at Ashanti on Sunday, the way is clear for all to do so every week.
What should have been an afternoon event started after the sun went down, as there were technical glitches. The wait did not affect the power of the poetry, though, with Steppa being first up after the greetings by Barbara Blake-Hannah.
He immediately made use of a wonderful venue by stepping up on a bridge over the water in the middle of the restaurant's dining area, paused to consider which poem to begin with and then went into One Blood, which was not simply a cry for unity but strong words of advice, including:
You missa bad man, what is yu aim?
One minute fame?
Dem life deh lame
To good applause from a few diners, as well as those who had come specifically for the poetry, Steppa went on to address the class divide, asking:
Have you ever been downtown
Yet pon de people yu a frown?
Stop criticise
When yu don' understan' dem lives.
"More time when me start dem ting yah me no waan stop y'nuh," Steppa said with a grin, before moving on to a word of advice to the youths who do not want to stay in school, telling such persons that Yu a move too fas'/Yu a de fus com no wan eat grass.
He continued with a tribute to a woman who is a empress an a lady/Ah want her to bring forth ma baby, as well as his trademark cry 'lissen to Steppa!', before using a backing track to do Whe De Music Gone Iyah to wrap up his first stint.
RHYTHMIC AND REVETING
Neto Meeks was introduced as the man responsible for putting the event together and he gave thanks for the gathering, despite technical difficulties. There were no poetic difficulties, though, as he put himself in context to start out with, saying in a rhythmic, riveting, rapid-fire style:
A spark of the universe
A small part of life, that's me
The audience showed appreciation and Meeks followed with a spellbinding tale of a beast that he slew one night, when he was inside his room, heard a sound and:
I turned on the light
And in my fright
Saw your plight
And thought kill, kill, kill
But, as the beast lay dying and I stepped on it once again/just to end your pain he saw the lights shining red, green and gold through its wings and felt a bond as:
Maybe you saw my flag and entered my room
Thinking we did the same scene...
Then he gave his apologies, saying:
Many a night I have been bit by a parasite
Never a dragonfly
So gwaan fly...
Neto Meeks ended on a self-defining, no-nonsense note, including yu know de ting/king no wear G-String.
Takura was next and the man from Portland opened with a desire to eat some 'nice' Jamaican food, going deep into is roots and coming up with soursop juice, roast breadfruit, banana, roast yam and other delights. The poem was also just right for the venue.
SELASSIE AND SPECIAL WOMAN
From the physical to the spiritual, Takura then declared his love for His Imperial Majesty, saying His name is King Selassie/So don't use your ignorance to validate your reality.
Then Takura moved on to a special woman, saying Darling dear/I love to run my hands through the kinks in your hair/your broad lips I love to kiss...
His closing number, Her Majesty's Prison, was dedicated to Lee Boyd Malvo.
Neto returned for a single poem before Sage took the microphone. Using tracks and a performance style that sometimes bordered on the frenetic, Sage opened with a tribute to the ladies, that there is something about black music/The way she plays. He continued by chanting I Majesty, the one true king/Divine majesty/Pure as light, then sealed it with a poem about himself in which his actions and style oversha-dowed the poem itself.
There were apologies of sorts from the newcomer for using paper, which the audience seemed to have no problems with as he read Sufferer's Heights, which noted that:
The hateful are full of scorn for the suffering
When they should be scornful of hate...
His second and last poem, after appreciation from the audience, was to his mother, saying in part that:
Mama you are the contractor
But God is the architect...
With Steppa returning, joined by Neto and Sage, the first Sunday of Ashanti Poetry continued into the evening.
