Frying in Nats Heat
(Note to visitors as you find my blog: I am allowing this post to stay on top for some time as we prepare for NPS 2005.)
National Poetry Slam. Why do some of us put ourselves through it?
Days of poetry and poetry events. Putting our hard wrought lines of words to the test of everyday listeners--some poets, some officionados of the art, others who just happened in and wondered what the crowd was doing. We travel halfway (and sometimes more) across the country, knowing we might get to read six minutes of poetry in actual mainstream competition if we're normal, nine minutes if we're lucky, and twelve if the heavens actually open--if we get to finals--and that I can't describe. If our poems are most useful to a cohesive team. If we have the right words to offer a listening audience at that moment. The moment of truth. The moment an emcee asks, Team Columbus, who you sendin' up? Or some other strange question meant only for crazies.
This is slam, and the energy and electricity are unmatched in any other literary activity of which I've ever been a part. There is a rich, exciting taste of words in the air, the heightened sense of 70 mile per hour criticism as your words fly by. As minds unaccustomed to poetry in performance become nets, looking for that big one... the one they totally get... the one that hits a familiar chord they'd forgotten how to play but still wanted to.
I suppose I can keep loving this. The getting ready. The qualifications. The contest of teams. Pushing my poetry beyond traditional limits. The challenge of getting a message through in spite of all the distractions. The belief that what you have to say is needed, and valid. Believing in your own found truth enough to stand and pronounce it to anyone and know, even if the scores absolutely suck, you've served your own truth well.
There is an energy here that is addicting. It's not about the game, or about winning, or about individual accomplishment. It's about the sharing of our poetically charged selves, meeting to extend a common voice to whatever world will listen, touching other lives, one poem at a time, instantly.
Yes. I suppose I can keep doing this. I just need to get to Albuquerque. Hundred degree weather and up to 80 teams of poets. I just have to learn not to sweat.
National Poetry Slam. Why do some of us put ourselves through it?
Days of poetry and poetry events. Putting our hard wrought lines of words to the test of everyday listeners--some poets, some officionados of the art, others who just happened in and wondered what the crowd was doing. We travel halfway (and sometimes more) across the country, knowing we might get to read six minutes of poetry in actual mainstream competition if we're normal, nine minutes if we're lucky, and twelve if the heavens actually open--if we get to finals--and that I can't describe. If our poems are most useful to a cohesive team. If we have the right words to offer a listening audience at that moment. The moment of truth. The moment an emcee asks, Team Columbus, who you sendin' up? Or some other strange question meant only for crazies.
This is slam, and the energy and electricity are unmatched in any other literary activity of which I've ever been a part. There is a rich, exciting taste of words in the air, the heightened sense of 70 mile per hour criticism as your words fly by. As minds unaccustomed to poetry in performance become nets, looking for that big one... the one they totally get... the one that hits a familiar chord they'd forgotten how to play but still wanted to.
I suppose I can keep loving this. The getting ready. The qualifications. The contest of teams. Pushing my poetry beyond traditional limits. The challenge of getting a message through in spite of all the distractions. The belief that what you have to say is needed, and valid. Believing in your own found truth enough to stand and pronounce it to anyone and know, even if the scores absolutely suck, you've served your own truth well.
There is an energy here that is addicting. It's not about the game, or about winning, or about individual accomplishment. It's about the sharing of our poetically charged selves, meeting to extend a common voice to whatever world will listen, touching other lives, one poem at a time, instantly.
Yes. I suppose I can keep doing this. I just need to get to Albuquerque. Hundred degree weather and up to 80 teams of poets. I just have to learn not to sweat.
posted by Rose | 1:04 PM
2 Comments:
I once entered a poetry competition. I'm glad I didn't win because I was awful.
Hi, Tom. Don't realize every thought shared is valid? How could you have been awful? There are no awful poets. There are only unprepared poets.
Post a Comment
<< Home