Steven Friedlander writes about art and artists for Compass. He is an editor, writer, and communications and marketing consultant. He is also an instructor in the School of Journalism and Electronic Media at the University of Tennessee.

grow up in a house

where the subscriptions 

to “ebony” & “jet” magazine

pummeled “playboy”

and “sports illustrated”

by a landslide

where the earth,

wind & fire

kept dust off 45s

and “live from

New York!”

only happened

on the Sabbath

— Black Atticus, excerpt from “10 Step Guide to Dancing with Edye Ellis: Step 1.”

The City of Knoxville’s current poet laureate is the groove-driven hip-hop spoken-word slam poet, recording artist, and ever-burgeoning entrepreneur Joseph “Black Atticus” Woods. 

The poet, rapper and performance artist delves into the complexities of life.

He writes and raps with forthright imagery and vivid charm about his life from his initially self-embraced and now officially recognized observational perch as an African-American Knoxvillian.

Woods’ omnipresent knit cap and white oversized Spike Lee-like glasses suggest artistic confidence, and lines such as “I spit the acid on bass/this is a science embrace/Black is the proof with no chase”, and “I can’t conform to current norms/you see my waves beyond organic/it’s gigantic, swallows planets” (both from his “Seed 2 Sun”) convey authenticity and nonconformity.

He was born in Atlanta, but his family moved to an apartment in Fountain City when young Joseph was 2 years old and his brother, Phillip, was a newborn. His parents then moved for a short time to the Burlington area before settling into a larger five-bedroom house on Woodbine Avenue in Park City. 

“Our home was so close to the Knoxville Zoo I could hear the lions roaring every night,” he says.

Woods grew up listening to music, surrounded by African art, and enveloped by books. His mother, a teacher, was “the Zen master of joy;” his father, a postal worker, was his lesson in consistency.

“We were reading every day even if we didn’t have any homework,” he says. “That’s what happens when you grow up with a schoolteacher like my mom. We had two or three sets of encyclopedias, dictionaries, and books everywhere stacked into these handcrafted floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. My favorite was Ebony magazine’s annual Black History hardback.

“When I was 8, my uncle Ronny gave me his lifetime set of vintage comic books. Like most comic book junkies, I developed a fascination with the artwork and storylines; the writing was beautifully dense enough to inspire me to develop a serious relationship with the dictionary.”

Woods observes, “There was no getting away from learning all the time.”

His desire to stir the soup — and get the conversation right about critical matters of the heart and mind — started early.

“I remember sitting in class in 2nd grade at Knoxville Baptist Christian School,” he says. “I was going through the initial trauma of learning about the ways black history is taught in our school system — like ‘slave ship first’ — and I was the only person of color in the classroom, so everyone was looking at me thinking ‘Oh, that’s what’s different!’ — and I believe that story sets us all up for failure.

“For example, at one point, my 2nd grade teacher pulled down a map — and, on the map, Egypt was not attached to Africa.

“I’d read enough, even by 2nd grade, and I piped up: ‘That’s wrong!’ And then, certainly by 5th grade, I’d read enough to understand the energy of racism. My parents were always trying to equip me for life. Day care was chocolate city, but, when it came to school, until high school, my brother and I were often the only black children in the space.”

High school at Austin-East was a chance to dive deeper into connecting with peers from the same neighborhood where Woods grew up.

 “I’d been the only kid on the bus listening to Sade’s greatest hits,” he says. “I was an ’80s baby, so I loved Phil Collins, Huey Lewis, Prince, Tears for Fears, Anita Baker, Johnny Gill, and ‘first-album Mariah Carey.’

“I grew up in a middle-class two-parent household in Park City. My pops played ‘Reason,’ by Earth, Wind & Fire; my mother played ‘Touch of Jazz,’ by DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince. I can’t tell you how magical it felt to be awakened to the speaker-shaking bassline and kicks as ‘Brass Monkey’ by the Beastie Boys was playing in the mornings before school.”

He says Run-D.M.C’s “You Talk Too Much” was the first hip-hop song to truly hold his attention.

“My relationship with hip-hop was established on positive roots notes before the culture shift of gangsta rap’s influence began to spread throughout the genre and deep into the reaches of the eastside of town, where I was from, and the Tennessee Valley,” Woods says.

I know the wait

I know the weight of these breaks

Groove & the needle

We need you, we need you

To knead though the facts

Of this case

Keep us from running in place

Keep us from running in place

I know the groove and the weight

I know the groove and the weight

Wait!

— Black Atticus, excerpt from “Seed 2 Sun.”

Woods attended Miles College, a historically Black college in Fairfield, Ala., outside Birmingham, and later attended Nossi College of Art & Design in Nashville. He returned to Knoxville in the early 2000s and began to find his voice in a work-study program with Carpetbag Theatre; he worked under the tutelage of Linda Parris-Bailey as a youth writer, rapper and poet.

Woods was introduced to the character Atticus Finch through reading To Kill a Mockingbird in school, although he had no idea he would use the name later in life. As he was writing poetry, engaging in spoken word performances, and working with a rap group called Fluid Engineers, he decided he needed an official stage name.

“People in the world of hip-hop had a moniker,” he said. “I was often in situations where I was helping out my friends and people told me I reminded them of Atticus. I had ‘Atticus’ in my mind; I spent two days with a long list of words to add before and after.”

At first, Woods dodged the word “Black” — but, after working with the list for two days, Woods believed nothing flowed like “Black Atticus.”

“I wanted to make sure I had a name I wouldn’t mind being on my tombstone,” he says.

Woods’ work today invokes rhythm and harmony through poetry intended to help us understand — and deal with — the heaviness and complexities of life. His rap is rich in cultural references.

Woods founded the open mic series Po’Boys and Poets, and is a co-founder of the rap collective The Good Guy Collective — but something new is brewing. 

“It’s an honor to be the poet laureate of the City of Knoxville,” says Woods. “This time we picked a rapper! I love how progressive our city has become. I know the title means that I represent a voice that Knoxville stands behind.”

Woods conducts workshops — and doors for him are not just opening, but appearing for the first time. 

“It’s as if I’ve been looking at the same walls for 15 years, and suddenly doors are there. I’m meeting new people and embracing new opportunities,” he says. “What is possible in Knoxville and in our nation that supersedes prejudices, racism, and sexism?”

Woods’ focus remains his poetry. “What’s the best way to be of service?” he asks. “I’m trying to build a healthy bridge between the mind and the spirit.” 

Sometimes Woods uses fanciful humor to connect to his audience (“as I dragged it out the attic/with a magic wand and passed it on/like Grey Poupon,” from “So In Tune”); sometimes he slips in an energetic rhythmic and vibrant chant (“New Day coming/Watato Drumming/Sankofa strummin’/On the Lake,” from “Seed 2 Sun”).

“I want to share my stories and poems and ideologies and also help people tell their stories,” he says. “I want people to dare to tell their stories — because stories connect people. I hope I can open doors for others — not just for the sake of other artists but for the sake of humanity.”