I say cappin’ because that’s what they call it here in Oakland, but I’ve always known it as snappin’--a street contest of quick verbal one-line jabs that can start real personal then quickly escalate to the deeply personal and end up in the land beyond personal (read: talking smack about somebody’s moms). Usually, it is all in fun and everyone walks away entertained and even the loser can feel they’ve gained a lil something out of it (Damn, that last snap was real good; I can’t wait to use it on someone else). In my circle of friends, the ultimate victory was getting your opposing for to just say, "Man...fuck you." As in, I got no replay for what you just laid on me. This allows the loser to have the last word and throw in the towel while still getting one last barb in.
A fine example of this kind of good-natured ribbing can be found in Willie Perdomo’s "Crazy Bunch Barbecue." Where even the most serious joke (he said that my family was so poor/that on Thanksgiving/they had to buy turkey-flavored Now & Laters) can be shaken off and laughed at.
But some jokes can cut real deep, deeper than any knife, especially when neighborhood snappin’ can escalate into a serious case of the Dozens. On the real, I’ve never heard it called this until I was all grown and partly out of the Bronx but if this Wiki article is correct (and if you believe every single Wiki entry out there, you probable have already been a victim of the Dozens) then the history of the Dozens in Afro-American culture is long and varied.
To see the Dozens in poetic action, peep Amiri Baraka’s "Jungle Jim Flunks his Screen Test" and notice that there is nothing good natured about the speaker’s tone. He is looking to pick a bar fight and he lays down the gauntlet in the first few lines (You is, you know, James/Veddy ugly) , then drives the point even further (You ugly because you know you ugly and say you ain't) and brings it to a place beyond reproach (You ugly as the brain emptiness of a cracker lynch mob).
This reminds me of one contest I witnessed where one dude talked about one dude’s moms and the other dude retorted by talking about dude’s mom, her semi-public alcohol problem, and her very public multiple boyfriends. In street terms, he went there and the other guy (in the light of harsh truths) just walked away and took the party with him. Cuz even in our messed up teen boy silliness, we recognized and sympathized with his hurt.
So to keep it all friendly but still push the kids in their ELA skills, the teachers are going to try to teach them "El Trovo del Café y el Atole" (The Contest of Coffee and Corn Gruel), a poem I found in the excellent Herencia: The Anthology Of Hispanic Literature Of The United States. In this poem the trovadores not only poetically duel but also do it as the persona of other objects. I will also be pointing them to the text and comic version of “The Oldest Game,”--a form of persona one-upmanship between Morpheus and Chorozon from Sandman #4: A Hope in Hell-- but I hope that the trovo is enough to generate some good writing.
Should be good times and I hope I can post some responses later in the year.
El Trovo del Café y el Atole (excerpto)
Por mi gracia y por mi nombre
Yo me llamo don Café.
En las tiendas más hermosas
Allí me hallará usted.
A la América he venido
Y es claro y evidente
Desde mi país he venido
A conquistar a tu gente.
Verdad yo soy el Atole
Y a Dios le pido la paz.
Café que recio vas.
También yo te dire
Que muchos en el estribo
Se suelen quedar apie.
The Contest of Coffee and Corn Gruel (excerpt)
By my grace and by my name
I am called Mr. Coffee.
In the most luxurious stores
There you will find me.
To America I have come
And it is clear and evident
From my land I have come
To conquer your people.
True I am Corn Gruel
And God I ask for peace.
Coffee don’t go so fast.
I will also tell you
That many in the stirrup
End up having to walk.
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