A Curatorial Rant

Back when I was single and just starting out on the poetry scene, I quickly learned one rule of thumb: no matter how attractive, never introduce yourself to a poet until AFTER you’ve heard them read. There’s nothing more awkward than the moment they finish their poem, you realize they’re absolutely terrible – or, even worse, some sad variation on mediocre – and you’ve lost all desire to continue the conversation!

Curating a reading series that includes a slam, I’m always on the lookout for new voices on the scene to invite to read at 13. Whether a potential feature or a new slammer, whenever I’m at a show, I’m careful about who I’m introduced to and, more importantly, WHEN. It’s no longer about attraction but the logic is the same. If anything, it’s even worse.

The absolute worst is people who have established something of a name for themselves – not terribly difficult in these days of DIY PR, the internet and the overall spoken word bandwagon. Recently, I was at a show where one such person was reading. I’d seen her name around and was curious. Thankfully, I waited to hear a couple of pieces before being introduced. She wasn’t terrible, but she wasn’t very good, either. Great performance and stage presence but not nearly enough attention to crafting the words. Most annoying was her identity piece – everyone’s got at least one! – that ranted about the stereotyping of her people while simultaneously indulging in the stereotypes of another. Lacking any sense of irony, it just came off as ignorant.

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A Good Night

Most Monday nights are good nights. Tonight was a GOOD night. Between the snow and my running late, I wasn't sure how it was all going to turn out but it ended up being one of those nights that I look to to remind me why I love doing this so much. A fun show with a good mix of poets, some first-timers - including Elana's friend Pam who, until a week ago was always just Elana's friend Pam but is now Pam, the dancer AND poet; and Rachel, who I've known for five years but never heard read before…

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5 Past 13

The first six months in Virginia weren’t so bad but, when August came around and I missed my first Nationals since 1998, things began to shift. I came up to visit in the beginning of September, hosted the show that Monday and realized how much I missed it all. I’d not only walked away from my baby, which was hard enough, but I’d walked away from my friends. Mondays were my second home, my living room that welcomed all sorts of random people in every week, mixing with the people I held most dear.

When we decided to come back, I knew a big part of getting myself back to normal was getting myself back to Monday nights. When we left, I was extremely burnt out and desperately needed a break. I realized later that it was predominantly my increased involvement on the national scene, and the resulting frustration, that had finally pushed me over the edge. The whole PSI experience left me even more cynical and jaded than usual, but with the proper distance, I realized what a small part of my world it really was. It was the poetry that had gotten me in the beginning – seeing how it could change someone’s life, giving them a voice they never knew they had, or just never knew how to use. That’s what was important. The rest of it was either icing on the cake, or the crusty burnt shit stuck to the pan.

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The Revolution Will Be

NOTE: This article was originally published in POETRY IN AMERICA, Poets & Writers Magazine Special Issue, April 1999, and republished in The Spoken Word Revolution, Redux (Sourcebooks MediaFusion, 2007). It was posted to my old GeoCities site in 1999 and was recovered from the Wayback Machine on 10/29/21. Links to Amazon were replaced, everything else is as originally published. the Academics have much to fear and they will not die without a dirty fight. -Charles Bukowski Faced with the surging popularity of spoken-word and the poetry slam, The Academy of American Poets, long known for its gala reading series, was forced…

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