“I’m a boyfriend, father, musician, server, scientist, engineer, martial artist, carpenter and friend. When I feel like I don’t have anyone to turn to, I don’t. I just sit down, listen to the best music I can possibly find and I write. I write so much that I wanna fall in love with adjectives while twisting concepts in the sound of church bells accompanied by a metaphor. I write for me and you. Hopefully you get that I’m trying to give.” – David R. Campbell (STRAT) March 17, 1982 – August 5, 2008
Today, I celebrate my nephew’s memory and the power of his slam poetry and his rap.
He was, some said, at his articulate best with freestyle poems, poems that took off from the springboard of a word or a thought shouted out by somebody in the audience. It’s hard to capture such spontaneity on the printed page or even in a CD or DVD. The place and the moment were all wrapped up in what was being created and what was being given. It was, as we said in the 1960s “a happening.”
He was a rare talent and a continuous happening, gone much too soon, but never forgotten.
On Writer’s Notebook: Keeping the Place in the Story
On Eyeblink Fiction: a tempting snippet from Jock Stewart and the Missing Sea of Fire
On Sun Singer’s Travels: Waiting for Jock Stewart