Once I sifted through those poems using fairly detailed depictions of defecation as a metaphor for love and heartache, the "open-at-your-own-risk" diary quality of the prose, the arbitrary line endings and prosaic images, I had to go listen to one of Jill's CDs to remember what I liked about her most-her singing voice. I was disappointed to find the poem missing from the collection, and even more disappointed by what was used in its place. That poem stayed with me, and when I received a copy of The Moments, the Minutes, the Hours: The Poetry of Jill Scott to review, I was excited to see this poem in print. It was about a "big girl" who Jill viewed as more than big in body, but big in heart and spirit. Jill brought the house down with her voice, but what struck me most was a poem she read from a little black-and-white composition book. That autumn, I went to Jill's concert on 69th Street-it seemed like the whole city was there-a myriad of colors and classes of folks.
It felt like we were all swept up in Jill Scott's love. Even in my predominantly white neighborhood, The Italian Market, you could hear "Is It the Way (You Love Me)" blaring from the butcher shops on Saturdays. It was being played everywhere, by everyone. If you were in Philadelphia the summer of 2000 when Who Is Jill Scott? hit the record stores, chances are that album was your life's soundtrack. The Moments, the Minutes, the Hours: The Poetry of Jill Scott by Jill Scott St.
#The moments the minutes the hours free#
0 kommentar(er)
