Mr. West - Sarah Blake Wesleyan Poetry Series

Скачать книгу

Hate for Kanye

       59

       A Day at the Mall Reminds Me of America

       62

       Taylor Doesn’t Speak Out Against Racism

       64

       It’s Hard Not to Be Moved

       65

       Hate Is for Hitler

       67

       Because Kanye Isn’t King Kong or Emmett Till or a N ****

       69

       DEAR KANYE

       My Summer with Kanye

       73

       Watching Weeks

       74

       I Try Not to See Myself as a Mother Figure

       76

       Dear Kanye

       77

       After Donda Died, Kanye Dated Amber

       78

       Suge Knight

       80

       Kanye as a Quantum Particle Yet to Be Observed

       82

       HYBRID

       God’s Face over Gold

       85

       Twilight: Starring Kanye

       86

       Hybrid

       88

       Gaze

       89

       Teeth

       92

       Kanye Raps, “ ” Part 1

       94

       Kanye Is Glamorous

       95

       I No Longer Have to Look Up Dates Like Your Birthday, June 8, 1977

       98

       Kanye Raps, “ ” Part 2

       100

       THE UNENDING WORLD THAT CONNECTS US: NOTES AND FURTHER READING

       103

       ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

       107

       mr. west

      MTV.com reported: At the end of his speech, West touched briefly on his mother’s death and how he isn’t scared of anything because he feels as though everything has been taken away from him. “I have no mother, no grandmothers, no girlfriend, no daughter, and I lived with a woman my whole life,” he said.

      Kanye is 33. If he were Jesus, he would die this year,

      and be resurrected.

       I can’t unthink this thought.

      He said he had considered suicide, but found his life to be that of a soldier’s,

      “a soldier for culture.”

       Some men are kept alive by fighting.

       I don’t want this for you, Kanye.

      To the right of the article is a video clip of an interview.

      “… both me and George express ourselves with our truest, our truest vision …”

      Kanye’s bottom teeth distract me.

      If I ever questioned whether the diamonds were there,

      they’re there.

       You’re all kinds of beautiful.

       And if that’s not a word I can use, you’re resplendent, numinous, healthy.

      I am two months pregnant.

      Monday this premiere, Tuesday this article, Wednesday

      my first ultrasound, with my child’s boneless arms in motion.

       A memory I didn’t know I could have.

      Thursday I write—If I have a daughter, you can hold her. A son, too.

       The two of you, tied to this week in my life.

      KANYE WEST, “Jesus Walks,” line 6 of verse 1

      In the chorus of one of my favorite songs are three throat-clearing sounds—

      sometimes depicted as Ha Ha Hum

      on lyrics websites such as azlyrics.com, lyricstime.com, and anysonglyrics.com.

      A sound we make when we talk with the mouths of Jews.

       Channukah, l’chaim, chutzpah.

      Voiceless fricative.

      Russians have a letter for it. In block, an x, in Cyrillic, two c’s back to back.

      In the words, good, chorrosho, and bad, plocho.

      They have other letters I love, for sh, tss, sht, szh, yoo.

      The sound Kanye makes—it’s not unlike the French r.

      How my name falls back into the mouth like it’s collapsing.

      Sa-cha.

      In Russian, the r would roll, as when my great-grandmother said her name,

      as when my great-grandfather called to her.

      My name means princess in Hebrew.

      Kanye’s means the only one in Swahili.

      A

Скачать книгу