September 27, 2017

Kevin Coval

400 DAYS

October 20, 2014 – November 24, 2015

after Nazim Hikmet

in 400 days
i’ve gone thru 3 journals
worked
on 2 books, a play & a movie
about house music.
i left a lover
& found another.
lost two teeth
got four stitches, broke
a finger in a fight
& sat in the barber shop for 24 fades
mostly from Rob at Chicago’s Best
except when i’m traveling & i’ve learned
to not get a haircut while traveling.

i’ve had students graduate
grow hair on their face, have sex
for the 1st time. some are starting
college, a few have 
been shot
1 thru the lung
he lived, made a mix tape.
1 in a parked car
waiting to see his son
who will now wait
forever.
the city has opened
hundreds
of new restaurants, private social clubs
closed public schools
put on a halloween parade
an irish day parade
a columbus day parade
a new year’s celebration
erected condos
targets
& never once 
apologized.
there have been thousands
of masterpieces
artists painted
on the streets 
for the people. but
the city removed
cuz art is racialized
& the city
thinks some artists
criminal.
i started 
eating chicken again
in the last 400 days, the doctor said
less sugar.
the city is chicken
to apologize 
& will never say anything sweet.
the city makes Black 
a target. a video game
a city of zombies, the walking dead.
for 400 days CPD, the state’s attorney
the mayor’s office hid evidence
tape, bullets 
in Black bodies 
& didn’t apologize
for any of it.
400 days ago
toddlers were not
yet & now cry thru the night. 
they see a city 
of ghosts. walking 
Laquan, the other 
way, still shot
16 times.
no life 
in the eyes 
of cops, Anita, Mayor Rahm
look dead
into the camera 
& lie
for 400 days
the cubs threatened
victory
but justice 
will have to wait
til next year

from Rattle #56, Summer 2017

__________

Kevin Coval: “I am working on a collection of poems called A People’s History of Chicago, inspired by Howard Zinn, Gwendolyn Brooks, and others. This is one of those poems.” (website)

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March 31, 2009

Kevin Coval

THE DAY JAM MASTER JAY DIED

woke unsure how to pay rent
check hadn’t come in from county
too many months living like artist
with no net to break the fall

went to my brother’s class at Kelvyn Park
taught Luis Rodriguez in freshman honors
two poems about neighborhood folk / one
heroin-addicted guitar player and the other
man angry in Humboldt Park killing a car

gave a reading at Wright College
theater full of aging teens and faculty
after the set this skinny white kid comes over
gives me props for a poem about graff writers
i ask if he writes, ELOTES he says
no shit i say i’ve been digging you
for years over red and brown line tracks
first seen you up on that truck at Chicago
and Halsted / that’s me
he said

ate with Eboo downtown near Loyola
he lectures to a class of grad students
about discovery and inheritance / he is brilliant
in describing our engagement with modernity
we encounter the vastness of cultural practice
and build bridges back home
he says

i think of Isabel / young writer at Kelvyn Park
Bindi between her eyebrows / picture of Lady Guadalupe
in her notebook / she reads the Bhagavad Gita in Spanish
with her Aunt who teaches Yoga at the Church
and i tell this class my path back to Judaism
was paved in breakbeats

walk to the train
get home / call my girl
she lives in Brooklyn
on my bed / she tells me

Jam Master Jay was shot
his head spilled onto the control panels
of his studio in Queens

it’s fucked up she said
it’s fucked up i said

said we’d talk tomorrow
hung up and my apartment was silent
like there was no music in my apartment
my apartment was silent like my childhood
memories silenced tonight like the music

-eulogy-

Chuck D said John Lennon was killed today
and i miss Pac and Big more than ever
i am Holden Caulfield watching hope break in the stalls of public bathrooms
i am Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth reminiscing over the fallen body of b-boy
Trouble T-Roy and dying hip-hop birth sites falling wayside to the pounding beats
of green-fisted real estate agents and the hard crack rock drug wars america wages
on her children creating culture with turntables

we have been here before

and i want Scott La Rock back to break up all this violence
i want Big L to throw a peace sign up in the air and DREAM
and Ramon and all the other graffiti artists killed in the line of their calling
to come back and bomb the World Trade Center
with the biggest streaked wildstyles the sky has ever seen:
a mural for the forgotten spray painted on the clouds
a gold chain cast across the sun
a single shell toe held up in the air

it was Jam Master Jay who introduced me to the culture
who soothed me over the bridge of whiteness and rock
it was his cool lean arms wrapped around chest / head back
in black fedora / no laces in his adidas / he stole electricity
to light the block parties / reparations / for all the stars exploded
before he could play the last song they requested / he’d send shine
beams on vinyl / into the distant homes of the sun starved
and let us bask in his light scratching scarce sounds / found
digging the landfills / of america’s sonic consciousness

it’s not bad meaning bad but bad meaning
it’s not bad meaning
it’s not bad meaning
it’s not

from Rattle #27, Summer 2007
Tribute to Slam Poetry

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