I’m saddened by the loss of Gil Scott Heron. His poetry, lyrics, and music have definitely set the tone for my poetic practice, pulling from a range of inspirations and life struggles. I spent an entire winter when I was 20 and studying in Spain, listening to Winter in America. It was an album that reminded me of San Francisco streets, characters, and emotions. “Song for Bobby Smith” is one of the most beautiful love songs. It’s stayed in my heart and mind more so than “The Revolution Will Not be Televised.” It is quiet and emotive.
And then last year when the skeletal “Me and the Devil” song and video came out it was an earth cackle to wake up and reconsider the butter voice and command for poetry that is Gil.
I am forever grateful to my SF friends who passed this gift of musicianship and consciousness in one impactful lightening bolt. It remains as part of my fiber of feeling and recollection. I am indeed saddened by the passing of Gil Scott Heron but grateful for the impact of his creativity and voice.
I dedicate this post to my poet friend, the one that considers poems and raps and breath. The one whom I was first envious of for commanding the graffiti scene through poetry. He is the same one who has expressed profoundly and written prolifically. He is the same one that shrouds and exposes, depending on his shrug with you. I dedicate this post to my poet friend who floats along this life with me.