I Spy

To the left hand side, you will see quite a number of links to all kinds of different poetry stuff. The big thing, for me, is the list to the journals that are on-line. Everyone listed there is pretty much a daily check for me, as I love to see what other motherfuckers are thinking or at the very least writing. They vary in content and all are not related to poetry.

One of the new ones I started checking out is Morris Stegosaurus’ journal… “how you do in a poetry slam says as much about the quality of your poetry as how you do in Monopoly says about your financial acumen”… Yeah, that about sums that up.

Skybox View

Watching the next semifinal round unfold this past Monday, I was kinda glad that I was out of the mix. It was good to just enjoy the Slam for what it is and not worry so much about the results and who I might meet at the Finals and shit like that. Still glad that I competed at the first one since it gives me a completely different perspective as to what is going on up on the mic & what may or may not be going through the mind of the Slammers. Last year, I was still pretty much an unknown quantity and it was easy enough to watch the drama unfold and be in slight amazement as to what’s going on and also be a little disappointed at the choice some of my more favorite poets made and wondering why some people that I didn’t like made it into the Finals.

It’s all still in the hand of five random judges and they are always the x-factor and they hit hard when Lynne did ‘Rakim’ in the second round. It was the right poem to do as the judges were, again, swinging wildly toward the political and ‘Rakim’ has all the elements that should have scored well based on what the judges previous score. It didn’t and I have no idea why. I’ve seen Lynne do this poem about 12 times in every possible setting (Slam/Rehearsal/Jammin’/Collaborated) and this was a very good rendition of the poem. The judges scored it low anyway… why? That’s the x-factor and why we can never take this shit too seriously. The reast of the Slam progressed in normal fashion, the judges picked their favorites early and those folks, as seasoned competitors, never let go and kept giving the judges what they wanted. The battle was in the middle as Mara Jebsen & Lynne ended up tied for third going into the last round. Both brought their a-game and Lynne took out Mara by a real small margin.

The dark horse in this race, my friend Ray, couldn’t capitalize on his good draw and ended up in the last place. His first piece, which is usually pretty hard-hitting, came out a bit flat and he never recovered. He still left the night impressing his peers as opposed to the judges and that is pretty good. A victory is better but what the hey… live & learn.

Saturday was a crazy day as I checked out Jayme & Mahina Movement over at the Brecht Forum at a fund raiser that is going to send LBGT youth to a conference in the Philippines. A great night with Regie Cabico rockin’ out with his cock out (not literally, must clarify when talkin’ about Regie). Even got a chance to chat with Reg about the Slam right before the event got going and he shared his views on busting out the golden oldies and his thoughts on the whole angle of the Slam. A good talk and one of the great things about being in the scene—that chance to talk to people away from the mic and all that other jazz.

The actual reading was dope but it ran long and then they had the Open Mic at a real late hour and that shit is very unwise. The angry for anger’s sake poet hit the mic & then some dude ran a marathon “no…/no…./yes!…” poem. Exit stage left, now!

Sunday was a beautiful Easter day that ended in a workshop facilitated by your truly. It was a last minute thing and I was lucky enough to be prepared for the task and had a good lesson plan already worked out in my head. Afterwards, my workshop crew and I hit Westside Rhyme for a less than energetic outing. Oh well, shit happens and not every show can be a winner. More on that laster with the Acentos report.

Pulling a “45”

The optimism I had in regard to my showing last Monday has been tempered somewhat by the actual scores that emerged from the night. I didn’t realize how far I was slipping in the judges scorecards and my dynamic, gut-wrenching rendition of my final poem only generated a so-so score as opposed to the amazing score I had alluded to. Just throwing this out so it can be part of the actual record. I don’t want to be looking back at this journal and seeing some historically incorrect entries.

I am still happy with my performance both the good and bad of it. Which is kinda rare for me, at this point of the game I should be deflating myself and going over all the negatives but I accomplished what I wanted to—making the Semis. The experience is crazy and there is no way that it could be duplicated under any other conditions and while I had a tough match I am truly happy that I was able to put my poems to the test.

The optimistic viewpoint is that I will continue developing as a writer and have enough poems in my arsenal to be able to rock out in a future slam. Which is leading to the semi-retirement of both “Mercy on the Battlefield” and “Ceviche” poems. Unless, I have a feature, I don’t see myself using either any time soon. Time to put “Canto” & “Capicú” to the test at different open mics and not just be the guy that does the Salsa poem. Hope I can live up to this claim. Don’t want to be pulling a Jordan and retiring and unretiring all the time.

Another residual positive is some of the really constructive advice I have been getting in regard to my stage persona. I’ve received a few tips, here and there, and I do believe I will be putting them to the test.

Two new poems got birthed today and I’m going to flesh them out lovely to see how well they work into the scenario. (Tentaive titles- “Love Poem Request” & “Corner Shouts”) All this is coming from the two workshops I’m taking. Looking at my work SO differently now. One of my exercises revolves around copying someone’s style as your own. I could go the easy way and do a Baca poem, especially since “Canto” is kinds my attempt to do a JSB style poem but I think I may look elsewhere for some inspiration. Maybe Tony Medina or some other more socially conscious writer. Hey, I know who! I’ll go over Martin Espada’s book and see what I can grab. Either would do but I’m feeling Espada just a but more. You never know, I could get my ever elusive “Political Poem” out of this.

For something different, check out Elmore Leonard’s “Cuba Libre.” It’s just a plain novel but sometimes that’s good. Too much poetry will catch up to you after a while.

The Blow by Blow

After a brief Open Mic(!) and a high energy feature in K-Swift and the Project (Jeez, now everything I write sounds like show reviews), we jumped into the Semi-Final Slam. Pretty nervous the whole night and wasn’t really speaking to anybody. Just bouncing all around the room, not really giving myself a chance to stay centered.

Guy announces the Slam and brings us all on stage. Still feeling uneasy. Taylor Mali is the Sacrificial and I am afraid it’s going to turn into a 10 fest. To my surprise, Taylor gets a 25.9 and now, it’s on. Sabrina starts with her father poem and gets little love from the judges. Dawn Saylor is next and hits a political piece that the judges (but not the crowd) rally behind. My turn, hit the Salsa poem. As per Roger’s suggestions, I lengthen the pause between the lines and become much more expressive in voice and face for the piece. Easily, the best Slam performance of the Salsa poem. The judges are still tight in their scores and I am ahead of Sabrina but a bit behind Dawn. Roger rocks out with “Song for Trent Lott,” and establishes a new score high ground as all but one of the judges score him above 9.5. Omar takes advantage at the high that Rog creates and rips put with a humorous political poem that does exactly what it should—Gives the crowd something to laugh with, establishing Omar as his own poet while still making the strong social statement the crowd wants to hear.

After one round, I am still in the mix and look to stick with my game plan. Rog starts out the next round with his father poem. The judges are not feeling him now that he is not the voice of their conscious. Omar rocks out his ‘Gigolo Serenade’ to an awesome response on a poem that just recently entered his repertoire. I go to get a cigarette to ease the nerves. Dawn returns and maintains her ground with a strong narrative. Here we go again, the Ceviche poem comes out and my nervousness emerges. Been a while since I’ve shook onstage and there is nothing I can do. Voice is trembling as well. All of this shakes out halfway through but the judges are not feeling me anymore. I slip lower in the scores. Sabrina is also facing the uphill climb as she drops her sister poem.

Round Three, I am up against the ropes. If I can’t make up ground now, it’s over mathematically. Rog, adjusting from his previous performance, delivers the ‘overtly political poem’ and gets a perfect 30. The crowd is feeling all the social commentary. Unfortunately, I don’t have any. Omar returns with the “Secret Language of Fucking” and emotionally loses it onstage while keeping the poem together. The shit we put ourselves through. Dawn’s going up, I lose faith in my Canto poem and pull in the bag, literally, for Capicu, which I was saving for the last round. I have a few different versions and I have been getting all kinds of weird feedback as to which is the best version. I go with the original, hit a shot of whiskey, and go to the stage. Normally, page reading is a big no-no but Omar has been doing it for some of his pieces and it hasn’t hurt him none. While I nail the Capicu yell, it is not enough and my poor page reading sinks me down deep. Sabrina, back on deck, as some yahoos try to come in and start laughing at the door when confronted with the sight of a poetry Slam. I rush them out quickly and hope it doesn’t throw Sabrina’s energy off. Fish joins me in the stairwell and we start cracking some jokes. “Punch me in the eye!” I joke, “It may get me some sympathy points and I’ll do a poem about defending 13!” “You don’t need that. You’re doing Fine” “I’m out of the running,” I say. He assures me that it’s still possible for me to make third. I laugh and already start thinking about next year.

Final Round. The judges have just about made up their mind. All you need to do is stay the course and you are fine. Another situation develops in the stairwell. Can’t let the crowd know what’s going. New Yorkers are nosy fucks and need to be in the mix for everything. We initiate some quick crowd control and back to the mix. Rog drops a whimsical poem from his chapbook (I wonder if he read it off page?) Little matter, he is way ahead and not looking back. I am still in the stairway as Omar hits a classic with his Goth poem & I totally miss Dawn’s last poem. Strong performances insure their placing. Sabrina finishes up strong but her early low score held her back the whole night. Last chance, Guy tells me I should actually be in the four slot and can tie for third if I bust out a 29.8. Sure, why not? Anything can happen, right? And then here it comes, I am the last poet of the night, nothing to lose and I reach so fucking deep and come out strong. I drop a brand new, more conversational, lighter Spanish, version of Leticia. I flirt, smile, scream, get somber and soft. Maybe it’s the emotion of the night. Making believe that I am OK with losing when I’m not. Could be that I don’t want to go out like a punk. Who cares? Two rounds too late with the poem that I thought wouldn’t do it, I win the judges over and get high nines across.

And there you have it… the results of the first Semi-Finals… Roger, Omar and Dawn advance to the Finals as Sabrina and I bow out gracefully.

Much compliments from the crowd the whole night and I made a few new fans. “I really loved that Ceviche poem.” “I felt that dancing poem.” “That last piece was so pretty.” Kinda hard to smile at that stuff especially when it’s a judge that wasn’t rewarding you scorewise saying it. Jayme comes up to me and remarks on the emotion I put into Leticia. “Yeah, I need Nazdak’s video. I have no idea exactly what I did.” I’ve heard about that back against the wall feeling and how the poem kinda takes over and you don’t really have any control. It’s a weird fuckin’ place to be. Jayme gives me a congratulations hug and I start wondering if I can ever do that poem that exact way ever again. The whole emotion of the evening starts coming out and for the first time, I think I may lose it. Still thinking of that place.

“Don’t want to hear no negative shit in your journal tomorrow, aight?” Guy tells me at the end of the night and he’s right. I came in dead last, at least I think I did, but that doesn’t really matter. Except for one poem, the crowd saw me at my best last night. I can run with the pack and deliver. Not much more to say than that.

Vampirism and Skydiving.

If you have ever done either thing, even once, you never really have to do it again. It automatically adds you into the hall of the elite or despised and no matter what the circumstances behind the incident always leave you as marked. OK, the vampirism thing only happens in Eastern Europe or Oswego County, NY, but you get the gist of it.

Found out that my compadre, Al B Back, was Slammin’ at the Nuyorican again. Originally, I had no desire to head on downtown as I’ve spent the whole week in and out of the City and was looking forward to a casual Friday uptown. Maybe head over to the Blue Ox and check out that Jazz band they have coming in. Fish made me an offer I couldn’t refuse in that he would be the ride downtown so I said “Sure, why not!” Worked out quite well, in that I almost got to be the feature. The original scheduled feature, Karen Ladson, was having some type of difficulty getting to the Café. Nothing new, I’ve seen two features pull a Houdinin and know that da Boogieman got lost coming to the Nuyo once, so I wasn’t too shocked. Karen Jamie, the new host, asked me if I could fill in.

Let’s step back here for a sec, less than two years in the game and I have an opportunity to perform at one of the most easily recognized venues in all of poetry. I mean people that don’t know shit about poetry know about the Nuyo. Not to mention that Semi-Final bout at 13 this Monday. The opportunity to drop five pieces anywhere would be welcome.

Karen, the host, decided to star the Slam without the feature. Went a whole round and then Ms. Ladson showed up, dropped a great set, had a break and then continued with the Slam. It threw the dynamic a bit out of whack which didn’t make anything easier for Al or Ed Garcia who was also Slamming. I ended up doing a piece between rounds two and three. Got to plug Acentos, synonymUS and the PPG play before doing ‘Ultimo Canto’ and had a blast performing the piece. Al came in third, Ed in second and Vanessa Hidary won the night.

Am I disappointed that I didn’t get to feature? Nah, Karen Ladson rocked and she had her start in Slam at the Nuyo so the night was a type of homecoming full circle thing and you know how I feel about them cycles. The cool thing was that I had a full set ready to go (four pieces memorized only one would have been off page!) and was not nervous that I was short changing the crowd. I knew that if I had gone up there, the house would have had a dope show and that is an awesome feeling.

The thought of adding… “featured poet at the Nuyorican Poets Café,” to my poetic resume sure was tempting though.

Next time, we’ll see if the circle comes back.