“Capitalizing of Word(s): An artist-philosopher’s blog-thoughts on Spoken Word: A Cultural History”

The portrayal of  spoken word and slam in “Spoken Word: A Cultural History” by Joshua Bennett touches upon several key points that underscore potential shortcomings and misrepresentations within the narrative regarding reformist political instrumentation regarding the watering down of spoken word as revolutionary, focus on the author’s self-centered narratives,  and the commercialization of the trivial(Bennet 56). The critique  points out the intertwining of spoken word with political agendas, particularly during the Obama administration false narrative of a post-racial administration(Bennett 25). This observation implies a concern that spoken word (with it being the equivalence of all postmodern poetry),  may have been co-opted by political powers, potentially diluting its authenticity and revolutionary potential. Without a philosophical critique of distinctive analysis of spoken word as an aesthetic, the book grapples as a persiflage autobiography of the author’s  life within spoken word and not a “cultural history” as it is titled. 

The focus on Self-Centered Narratives  distinguishes between autobiography and autoethnography, the critique suggests that the book may prioritize self-centered narratives over broader aesthetic, historicism, and philosophical explorations of cultural and social contexts. This could indicate a limitation in the book’s scope and depth of analysis. The distinction between autobiography and autoethnography is crucial in understanding the critique’s concern regarding self-centered narratives in the cultural history of spoken word. Autobiography typically focuses on the personal experiences and perspectives of the author, often centering on individual achievements, struggles, and reflection. On  the other hand, autoethnography expands beyond personal narratives to include a deeper exploration of cultural and social contexts, acknowledging the interconnectedness between personal experiences and broader societal dynamics.

 The critique laments a perceived departure from the revolutionary spirit embodied by figures like the revolutionary communist and poet Amir Baraka in the portrayal of spoken word history. This implies a dissatisfaction with how the evolution of spoken word is depicted in the book, potentially overlooking its radical roots.  The lamentation over the loss of the revolutionary spirit in the portrayal of spoken word history reflects a dissatisfaction with how the evolution of spoken word is depicted in the book(Bennet 56). By invoking figures like Amir Baraka, who embody the radical and transformative potential of spoken word as a tool for social change and resistance, the critique highlights a perceived raison d’ etre  between the historical roots of the movement and its contemporary representation.  There was also a need to equate how spoken word and slam have now become so synonymous with poetry that poetry is now only spoken word and or slam.  This also reflects a departure from the connection, if any, to dada, surrealism, and modern poetry.  

Finally, the commercialization and trivialization of spoken word  raises concerns about the commercialization and trivialization of spoken word, particularly in how it caters to a “lowest common denominator” audience and focuses on personal narratives, stand-up comedy, and trauma exploitation. This indicates a worry about the commodification of spoken word and its potential to dilute its cultural and artistic significance.  The focus on commercial success as an acid test for good poetry versus just poetry-that-is-within-sight,  is myopic and extinguishes the revolutionary need for poetry to be not only authentic, but show that poetry is what can not be painted. Focusing on how the so-called Hollywood of Poetry is the commercial success of Button Poetry(Bennett 123). It suggests a concern that the platform prioritizes mainstream recognition and social media popularity over the deeper historical and cultural roots of spoken word; this means that Button Poetry is good poetry and untouchable poetry because of its  in esse. Meaning Button Poetry is great and the go-to place because of its accessibility and as easy as pushing a button. But this raises questions just because of spoken word’s  mainstream accessibility, does it become art, or just billboard art.

Overall, this critique suggests that while Betts’ book provides insights into the cultural and political dimensions of spoken word, it may fall short in delivering a comprehensive examination of the art form’s evolution, aesthetic qualities, and societal impact. It’s viewed more as a reflection of the author’s personal experiences within the spoken word community rather than a truly encompassing cultural history. This results in asking a question, what is the new poetry movement? 

Works Cited

Bennett,J(2023). Spoken Word: A Cultural History. New York. Penquin Books.

—Lucas Alan Dietsche(Pronouns, He, comrade, and accomplice) PhD in Visual Arts: Philosophy, Aesthetics, and Art Theory, and a published anti-poet, and artist-philosopher. He can be reached at ldietsche@idsva.edu

i didn’t apologize to a robot he was more human and gendered than me

(robot is Slavic for forced labor)

presumed programmable

in a non-profit 

holographic

classification

Anitkythera clock

saros remote sequence

spiral the rocket fled

healing time travel

in wound-up tin

steel flanges

one human imputation 

math from Vitruvian man

oh god, another ally

aboard Talos 

countercirculating stratum

collid intrinsic

myth of flying automata

cancel birth your happiness

dull and blind 

illegitimate metamorphia

and,

drum,

to,

the drunk,

vino,

slugging, 

sonnetters’

demodulatoring mouths

sore from sorries

malfunction you diaphanous

apologizing to cognates

injection neurosyphilis from droids

domo-limbo

neo sparkles supreme

pinch dreams connect

unmechanical pen points

left follicle ophthalmologic sway 

@xennialpoetrynotesLucas Alan Dietsche 5/22

We are chandeliers

i know your not around

faithful to progress certitude

your own dream catcher 

i’ve fallen into distinct lives

i have hobbies when they are

not coming for  me 

or coming for me

i frequent the alone

left alone with my truth

i do, but a wait

to deal with trauma till monday

you’ll take slice of crashing 

                       pure judgment

your not around 

rife in tenacious 

you see

appearance only for strangers’ past lives

we are chandeliers 

LAD 4/22

Poets Death Statue

“Poet’s Death Statue”

wake up little eyes

just in time for day.

adjust yourselves, 

zooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom, 

you will soak in burning electrolytes.

to fill up on the atoms creators

no longer locked by skin doors

yet imprisoned in two caves, 

you will never be free on your own and lonely.

with you two, I see the same sewn on faces to lie with.

in the television screen mirror, 

i am picking at my own yarn face threads.

what is under is rubber epidermis thrown on an aluminum rack 

in perfect papier mache.

I look with you two blue bulbs on 

where to inject feelings?

where to inject emotions besides ears, mouth, nostrils?

feelings are so cold to me.

I read the nutrition facts for my body robot

to understand and how to exert solidarity beyonce my own skin boundaries.  

but my corrupt, body robot, that walks , walks, walks 

over bricks and the expressionist chalk on sidewalks,

and my globing eyes fills up in even filaments 

all locked up, makes me free to filter laughs. 

watching a nuclear explosion in a bath tub

seagreen corral bathtub

post-noon

in nude naked water

my own interdermite surf 

ping inebriate faucet

army chemical mask slid down

in surplus sweat fabrication

outside screen epson salts salinity

in freakish April 

withdrawness whitish solemnity

detachment from dour glaciarity

every graupel avalanches last

when sirens tocin pumps off

i only know it was abstract

mechanism shout around

                     OOOOO               OOOOOOO

whooooOOO            whoooooO                  whooooooo

a caterpillar of roundly friction

behind sirens mouth total magnetism

was awaiting manufactured

crowning through cygetic horn 

burbly warnings tornadoes war

returning along with gravity Los Alamos-style

huge incoming nucleus

to adieu the human process

4/22

when Oumuamua crossed

starscreen all changed

cigar at the hospital 

bathroom in scrubs

swirly mystified

nice cuppa coffee

and cigar

held aloft

brighter larger

cousin

burning entrails

rainbow inflection

excursion to be with us

i felt no frozen

only welcoming dust

to erupt upon my brow

LAD 4/22

Till year zeros

turn off your head

what sun laminates

against war of saliva

closed our mouths

since we do not make out with oppressors

till year zeros

gravity and neptune’s sun raki us

clad in distinct breezes

cloaked in tissue

eyes poisoned

brain is only rumor!

till year zeros

local air raid sirens 

stretch explorium  unabided

ellipsis atmosphere

till year zeros 

our laurels we drag as Hector

lamenting if we burnt our lives

curse that die and life

rhyme in complementary juxtaposition

die pain die

under fairground bleaches

bubbling arm night hands of god

comfort in pillow teeth 

till year zeros

hope to get over martyrdom

without reintegration 

love for Ankar

i have the one-way cortext

belonging to the zealot

underneath loam legs

tendons increasingly jealous for 

sunlick

sunpink-eye octopus sitting shine

till year zeros

who do we learn to play god from?

-it was a poets monolithic servitude

and the riddance of history

as a burden and quarreling acrobat

negativism syncretic

Hail Morrose!

Long Live the Sublate!

till year zeros

grocery plastic locked arms

skyrun in microfiber

atomic seizures

our nuclear way

preface lungs rock in pumice

against pocketed electric lime

rain breathes of scorpio

till year year zeros

forest communards

backyard home furnace

birth terra cotta

sulphur bloom as corpse flowers

people took naps at noon

under melanin sun

till year zeros

hard to walk horizontal

when every atom is watched

and dissected

and spoken speak and language

pens analog paper read again

till year zeros 

garbed in anarcho-syndicalist

box elders take to the windows

till year zero

knife delicious

sanguinarians and after-devourers

till year zero

till year zero

till comets lay claim to craters

burning popcorn

and the union of two galax-star

the drumming Andromeda

and me disappearing 

as pipe tobacco mist

i am the anti-being 

never to be the essence. 

Lucas Alan Dietsche 4/22

“war on a wendesday”

many weeks worth of war

white out ate sun wilt

the bright rhododendron at its station.

when they closed the sky

what wasn’t sun pointed at me

but the nose of burstly behind

scraping cloud pollen

force paint color blast

sprinkling flower gentian violet

horizon, the thin dental floss polyfilm

give glow to pastel lights

ruminance in dueling sirens rotunda

structures closed and rang

in meow touched into our cochlear caves

sashed in shrieks

a table gasping odor and shreds

of polystyrene

vacant war splinters in heads

locked on a cliff city superstructure

snow reclaiming lost empire

grounds well sidewalk down

my cubicle poignant pupils

as lanterns gleaming find

since piece of mind been desiccated

elaborated upon winter

red woods dressed in snow

all blues yellows occupied streams

swarms fossil fueled

atrophic incineration feather fussy ashes

led to floating smolder fields

where it wintered, wintered, wintered

shapes unmoored

exodus home.

the masked and tanked

are not your comrades

and both everyone’s eyes

are in utero attention to their phones

and vacant war  splinters in heads.

sad me up for calibrated cannibalism for chaulk air

very militarized zone took much 

over our sandwich lunch time 

under shadow of the atomical

we didn’t try with splinters in our heads

to resist turning off wars. 

Lucas Alan Dietsche 3/22

“before schizotypal, adhd, and autism were a fad”

“before schizotypal, adhd, and autism were a fad”

pardoned by weather united us us atoms

particulate swimming   feelings aren’t trademarked

ergo, i feel very much living

deified in feelings

they don’t know silence

till trapsese/traversing

given hell and heaven

so, bundle up

i have depression on a gifted brain

told i was too suicide

training for narcissistic therapi

to make squares weird

glossing through water dust 

of binoculars photons

that kill                   me                out

spilling serotonin

to be given Hell-p-ness

the blank chaos

between

cornea     and film

by Lucas Alan Dietsche

This post contains covid, please read 6 feet away

sensitized too taught in bubble wrap

popping paper erupt

deviant thrall hurt your skin

earphones from doctor stethoscope dictat

earth composing

collapsing grave

brains are not marked

but monitored

watches eyes burnt out

listening to people’s  rabid covert texts during vaxxilism era

@Lucas Alan Dietsche 2/22