June 2015
I grew up in Pennsylvania, just south of the Appalachian mountains. Our family often visited our Irish coal mining relatives in Schuylkill County. I earned an M.S. in Urban and Regional Planning at the University of Wisconsin, and have remained in the Midwest ever since. I currently teach high school African and Asian Cultural Studies, and am the advisor for the school poetry club and the District One break dancers. Some of my poems can be read on Verse Wisconsin Online. http://versewisconsin.org/issue113.html
Cypher: Translation in Dance The cypher is the circle of spectators and participants in which break dancers perform their dance. Language of cross-cutting gestures spins on a radius of equal footing multiplicity honed in community of style from Puerto Rican roots in Brooklyn to African American and Jamaican in the Bronx now Asian b-boys and immigrant Russians session to the west wounds of traditions disrupted always the young fresh blood to form a scab before the hardening of the scar b-boys learn to re-frame mistakes invent a larger framework interrupt an integrated groove bend a beat circle round a singular center always to a count of six and rock it (impossibly) to a driving beat of four |
B-boys of Green Bay Asian b-boys in Green Bay breakdance in Boys and Girls clubs in Madison gyms they session, too Menasha, Minneapolis, and Milwaukee story re-writes itself in those who move cultures fuse to dream anew right foot lifts and steps aside followed by the left yet the center always holds mid-western cyphers ground this dance gravity partners with defiance they fly in the placid face of it South Bronx lynched in ‘70’s style freeway fuels spontaneous combustion Kafka jives to a Latin beat where all that fly are colors two turntables spin to just one song layers of loose linoleum whirl helicopter legs dizzy headspins on cardboard sheets remnants of desire windmills shrug off concrete floors far to the west a mountain people also lived on slash and burn ‘til opium smoked their crops to cash alchemy of imperialism bespoke a golden triangle secret war and hidden trail hunger’s flight through clicking steps of landmines and helicopters hurling souls scattering winds extended clans gone nuclear b-boy flies up off the floor released from footwork, spins, and one-armed stands statues himself to a landing freeze integrity gestures to the ground because all your pieces and all your steps and the way in which you rock the beat dance the very math of funk so that two against three adds up to One First Published in Verse Wisconsin |
©2015 Sylvia Cavanaugh