Sure, I can post the lyrics. Sure, you can read them. But I don’t think that’s going to help you understand, fully understand, the poetry of Tracie Morris. You gotta hear it. You must listen.
If poetry is simply the organization of language and sound into lines, do you need the page at all? If your aim is to have a personal experience with the text, to interpret the movement of the language on your own, absorb it all for you, then maybe you need the page. If your aim is to construct a narrative out of what is not necessarily a narrative experience, then maybe you need the page. But try hearing this poem–equal parts lyric and movement, and you’ll divine meaning in rhythm itself. You’ll feel nostalgic, empowered, blown away by the virtuosity of her performance. But what you may or may not hear is a narrative line. You may WANT a story, but that’s not precisely what Tracie gives you here. And yet, you’ll still have the experience in the moment of what she wanted you to know about a project princess. It’s all about you, it’s all about you, girl. Story without story. Assemblage of sound into meaning. That’s poetry. And ain’t a damn bit of paper in sight.
(And if you REALLY wanna reckon with a pure sound poem, go check out Morris’ poem “The Mrs Gets Her Ass Kicked.”)
For now: Enjoy.
And Erik: How you like my knuckleball, son? You know them hip hop poets we’re into? They learned from the best.