Everyone’s voice is welcome at the slams By Kristin Garaas Contributing Writer Slowly they filter in, order a drink, and wait. Time drifts. Candles flicker. People grin while inhaling second-hand smoke of stale cigarettes. Like a tightly wound watch, a disco ball spins and tickles the ceiling and walls with feathers of light. Subtle smiles dance in elated eyes. A murmur goes through the growing crowd. Awkward glimpses rush from gaping lips. Hysteria begins as a nude voyeur perches on an avocado counter top, observing what it takes for the RedHawks to make it to home plate. Eyes widen, and the audience coils in laughter. A woman shackled in underwires, careens on stage and raves about buying her first bra, and a man submits his Buddha belly for approval. The audience growls with bestial animation, and retreats to tears as another discloses his contempt for ignorance and slavery. Who are these masked villains who corrupt simple minds? They are anyone who has something to yak about. They could be you. What is this strange experience? Where does it take place? This is a flavor of the Fargo poetry slam element, otherwise known as “Slam on the Plains.” Currently, the slam is featured on Monday nights at the First Avenue Cabaret, but Fargo is not alone. In a little bar embedded deeply within the essence of Chicago, Marc Smith had a glimpse of reality. It was a time when punk rock infiltrated youth, the Cold War was still freezing, and Michael Jackson was still the King of pop. The year was 1985. The bar, conveniently titled, “Get Me High Lounge.” Since the late 1970s, poetry readings had been a common phenomenon in the area, but with a nod and a yawn. Smith needed something new. Something fresh. Something alive. He wanted to nourish cultural responsibility through an artistic means of communication. “We started (the slam style) with contributions of democratic origin, a focus on the community and the audience, the poet as the servant of the people,” Smith claims. What started as a twist on the traditional poetry readings, gained popularity, and by 1987, Smith had improved the slam format, turning it into three parts: an open mic, a feature poet, and finally the slam itself. Poets compete in rounds, and are scored on content and delivery. Ultimately, the two top scorers battle head to head for the nightly fame. With a growing interest, the event sprouted to other Chicago bars, including the Green Mill, where it received the title “The Uptown Poetry Slam.” Hence the term “slam,” a name that has survived ever since. Consequently, these events gained a more widespread awareness, as slam babies popped up everywhere. Bob Holman jumped on the idea after a brief visit in Chicago, and took the concept back to New York. San Francisco followed suit with Gary Glazner hosting the shows. October 1990 marked the first national slam event, which included the talents of Dean Hacker, Patricia Smith, Cindy Salach, as well as Holman and Smith (to name a few.) People have many reasons for getting involved with the slam scene. Some look for an outlet for feedback on their work. Others just want attention. Still others feel the need to rant about what’s on their mind, or the current state of foreign policy. “It made me realize just how exciting poetry could be for the audience,” Phil West, co-director for this year’s National Poetry Slam, says. “It taught me to deliver to the audience and not just regard them as a given.” He also expresses that the slam has “taught me performance skills, and has led me to memorize poems so I could concentrate on delivery — something that initially scared me.” After performing “the 5th Ramone” in Ireland, Kevin Zepper, Fargo’s first slam winner, looked to Fargo’s poetry slam as a continuing outlet for his voice. “There’s a stigma about performance itself,” Zepper says, adding that the scene “isn’t dead, for the people who are seeing this are participating in it.” Robb Thibault, Fargo’s slammaster (the host of the events) originally started the Fargo slam with a need for something more lively than the traditional yawn and stretch of poetry readings. Thibault emphasizes that anyone can write, and everyone’s voice is welcome at the slams. He encourages people from all over the region to participate, including plumbers, cab drivers and housewives. The slam encourages everyone to overcome the stigmas of pretentious poetry, and speak their voice. Thibault stresses that while many other cities have audiences who heckle the performing poets, Fargo does not. Rather, the audience informs the judges they disagree with their ratings by shouting for higher scores. He wanted to “infect others and help the spoken word become more accessible” by creating an outlet for the spoken word that was up beat and encouraging for all writers. He has also come to discover that “the slam is not only entertainment and ‘art’, but it can be a source of community development.” As slammaster, Thibault considered it important to tie the slam to local agencies, where dollars raised from admission would benefit local charities. Most recently, the slam has raised money for the Salvation Army, the Literacy Coalition of the Valley, the Women’s Network of the Red River Valley, as well as Habitat for Humanity. In recent years, controversy has risen from these events, whether they be too rowdy, too alarming, or too distantly aloof, literary fanatics, or grammar grizzlies, are upset. Afraid that traditional style is slipping, some claim that slam poetry isn’t poetry in its purest form. Some feel poetry shouldn’t involve competition. Thibault combats this notion by saying that “poetry is not just trudging through John Milton and getting lost in paradise.” Poetry is written and shared by many, not just the literary elite. As a judge at the latest slam, Sarah Speer says “poetry is an expression” that contains “no rules.” “In 50 years, the traditions will be what they’re doing today,” she claims. Speer adds that judging was difficult, for she felt somewhat “biased, maybe towards creativity and personal choices.” She explains those who were “more articulate” in their performance allowed her to give more attention to their creative elements within the piece. Zepper explains that many people are expecting the content of slam poetry to be more serious by including topics on “Robert Bly, Jesus, and heavy spirituality.” He asks, “when you’re reading about pimples, how spiritual can you get?” Yet, Larry Francis, Ann Arbor’s Slammaster, claims “too many people are expecting to become rock stars.” He suggests there is “not enough focus on language craft,” and too much response to shallow, one-dimensional emotion-mongering.” “There is no one way, nor right way to slam. The slam will grow and mutate as the host community sees fit,” Thibault emphasizes. “Sure, verse on the bookshelf can live forever, but gathers dust — the slam keeps poetry alive, screaming like a baby and resonates within you for time unlimited.” What is the big deal? Why should I care? With the Fargo team traveling to Austin, Texas, in August for the national competition, there is a chance for Red River Valley residents to show the rest of the country exactly who we are. The Fargo slam team has four people ranging in age from 18-33, as well as an alternate. The team feels they represent various thought waves as well as gender, and therefore brings mixed views to the scene. Charles H. Hinton, who performs with a political flair, attributes his experiences to his colorful upbringing in Cleveland, Ohio. He recently received the highest score at the poetry invitational, and says he originally became involved in the slam scene as an attempt “to surround myself with good poets in hopes of crafting my works.” By doing so, Hinton has discovered “a lot of people fail to realize that literature-based poetry is to be read, and slam poetry is to be heard with every ounce of the soul.” Known for her wacky hair-dying experiences, Lyska Janecek, is the youngest poet serving on the Fargo team. She has nourished her desire to write by participating in writing groups since the age of 13, and is often caught scrawling her latest muse, of which most are autobiographical, on napkins in fast food joints. At the age of 18, Janecek enjoys working for minority causes. Thibault, campus programmer at NDSU, waiter, and Slammaster of Fargo’s Slam on the Plains, “attempts to poke holes into the culture of the many,” and speaks from a wide variety of experiences he has gained from living in Michigan, Indiana, Vermont, New York and Massachusetts. James L. Walsh dappled with performance poetry as early as sixth grade, and stumbled onto the slam scene in Fargo’s first slam last September. With a degree in computer science, Walsh wishes to enhance his life by using his education for “humanitarian purposes.” “Failing that, I would like to make a lot of money and own the world’s supply of little plastic useless widgets,” he claims. In case of any last minute accidents or alien abductions, Kristin Garaas (yes, me, HPR’s author of this piece) will be alternating for any of the above team members, if needed. I became involved in the slam scene last September as well, and have recently extended my vocal location by traveling to Minneapolis (along with James) to slam at Kieran’s. Currently, (other than writing this story) I am working on my third chapbook, and hope to have it completed by fall. The new slam season at First Avenue Cabaret downtown Fargo starts with an open slam on Monday, July 27. The winner will receive $20 and a month-long claim to fame. An open mic will be available prior to the feature reading by Ken Hunt, Madison, Wisc., author of “Aerodrome.” Doors open at 7 p.m. with a $5 cover. Support is needed for the trip to nationals. Those interested in sparing a few bucks can contact Thibault at (701) 231-8566 from 9 a.m.-5 p.m. weekdays.