being a hatah

you may have noticed, that generally speaking, i portray the world of nyc poetry as very gumdrops & rainbows. it’s not. i just choose to highlight the parts that i find positive and uplifting. in short ebonics– no hate.

that may have to do with my policy of not talinkg shit behind people’s back. if i cant say it to their own mug, i wont lay it out here. thats some punk shit and i aint having it. my last journal outlined a wonderful converstion i had with wanna.be.actor/poetry.will.get.me.to.the.top/minister.of.dis-information, harvey, and how i told harvey he was dead wrong on his viewpoint of poetry, nyc spoken word and me.

now, i may have to put some other fool in their place.

flat night

hosted the baruch latino reading last night, except there was very little latino about it. i held up my bargain– brought myself and three hispanic poets. only to find that there was almost NO latino audience. all of the crowd was courtesy of the cataclysm, a hip-hop group from hunter college.

my hosting did not go well. i was not synching with the college crowd, not even a lil bit. my first open micer almst took 15 minutes all by himself as he got permission from someone else to use music, beatboxed (quite well, i must say) till the music started, couldn’t use the mic, then had to get the music re-cued, told the story behind the rap, restarted, killed the music and then finished his piece.

and here i am, trying to keep a smile on my face. the open mic was not that bad, however, and i was interspersing my invited guests with the open mic. the energy was flowing pretty good, anacaona hit the mIc and started with this:

“i just want to say ‘sorry,’ my poem has a lot of spanish and…”

at that point, fish and i just yelled at her.

‘never apologize for your language!’

man, that shit really boiled me. more for the fact that people were saying ‘ok, we understand’ as if it to give her permission… permission? then, mo’fos were tuning her out.

that lead to the biggest rant i have ever spit on the mic.

man, i have got to contain that energy and throw it into a poem because i was telling these little fools that there narrow-mindness is the same bullshit the gov’t wants to lay on us… and they loved it.

after that, the thrill was gone and i was happy to hand over the end of the show to the cataclysm and break out. as i was leaving, they put on a great hip-hop set. not poetry, hip-hop.

it is said “all men with honor are kings but not all kings are men with honor”

and that same applies to all these MCs who try to drop a verse and think they are fucking saul williams. in nyc, this is a very uphill battle.

so off we go, fish & i, to the martinez gallery to check out rog, lynne & ed kick some pieces. ya know, chill with friends, hear real poetry, get re-inspired. then we get a flat and have to wait two hours for a two truck to show because for some unknown reason the brand new tire fish’s dad put on the car refused to come out. we were taking turns being pissed off and then the tow truck came and he tried to charge us $80 to go to 116th street… when we are at 14th & broadway!

“what do you mean we are going to 116th street”

‘that’s where our mechanic is at’

“what if we go to 38th street”

‘we could do that’

“then what will you charge us?”

‘the same’

“what?”

‘our mechanic is really good, though’

“we dont need a mechanic, we need a tire fix!”

long story short, we got a cheaper tow, got to the tire fix, saw the guy pop out the tire 1.2.3 and then headed uptown. when i got dropped off, i realized i had left my acentos book with all out promo material and a group of my poems!

the remix

“ya know, any fool can hit the bulls-eye on his first try, it’s the second try that really counts”– the back of my mind as i’m heading to acentos

things started on a good note as, while i’m leaving my job, i see victor d., the older gentleman that i’ve seen at a few open mics (including acentos) i offer victor a ride to acentos and then pick up ray. the house is a bit thin when i arrive which is, pretty much, my worst fear. the eight slots open mic fills up quick though and jumps to nine right from the jump as fish puts on raul, who missed out on the last open mic– make that twelve as i have lily (with a phone in request), guy and jayme (our first acentos “virgin”) added to the list.

it’s 7:42 and i figure it’s time to open the show. fish gives me a mic little intro and it’s off to the races. the first half of the open mic is quick and to the point. readers are picked at my discretion to keep a good flow going on the mic. newcomer/veteran, male/female, comedic/serious, conversationalist/imagery or to put it really basic people.whose.work.i.know/people.whose.work.i.dont.know. this allows the show to have a good ebb and flow that never allows the audience to get to comfortable in their chair. i’ve seen a few open mics where it’s bad reader after bad reader, seen a host grab an old-timer by the collar and say “i need you to kick a piece, next!”

‘well, uhmm, i didn’t really want to read tonight. i kinda, you know, wanted to chill…’

“we are losing the audience. you are up, right NOW!”

i’ll say this– it worked, the old-timer got the crowd back on their feet and the rest of the night went great but if that host didn’t have an ace up the sleeve, shit coulda got ugly.

also seen venues where the host loads up the front of the open mic with all their favorites. nice strategy if you want to keep the same six poets getting exposure and positive crowd response. keeps your crowd really into the poetry as well, for 4o minutes, then they know that new people are coming up and the grand exodus begins. now you have a third of the house giving minimal love to a newbie trying to find their voice. tell ya this– if that had happened to me, when i started, i would’ve never got better.

ed hits the mic as feature and gives me a hysterical intro: “ed is very important to me and my friend…” i was laughing all the way through, ‘specially cuz it’s true. ed was the person who convinced me to turn the salsa poem into a slam piece but that’s a story for another time.

one of the wild things about performing is the energy in the room. it’s a very real thing and, if you’re good, you can make it do what you want. ed knows how to make it do what he wants. he did a wonderful piece about being “special” and was making fun of himself for two minutes before totally flipping the energy and converting all those laughs into genuine concern. mixing old and new, everything flowed well and the crowd responded perfectly to ed’s words… with a 103 degree fever! that’s dedication and a half!

the second half of the open mic started out with jayme, our first acentos virgin (virgin meaning this is your first time on the mic, a nuyorican virgin is anyone who has never read at the nuyo before but that’s the fuckin’ nuyo) i befriended j a few weeks back when i twisted her arm to judge a slam and have been encouraging her since to come to the mic. ‘you’ve never read before? well, how about next week? you know, nah, make it two weeks… you’ll be the first acentos virgin!” love it when a plan comes together… j did great for a first timer and had some real natural poise on the mic. it’s good to know that i helped someone get on the mic for the first time and did everything in my power to make it a great encouraging experience. ditto for lily who has some good verse just needs to get her voice to match up to her words. then, lo and behold, we had a second virgin… harmoney is a friend of hermen’s who has been thinking about taking the plunge and i hooked him up with a spot. also, a good first timer and i can’t ask for much more.

did end up turning away a good six people and even got one real long face. it hurt to tell people they couldn’t get on the mic… this week. i’ll look out for all of them next time around but one of my goals is to have a nice tight show that doesn’t run too late. as opposed to the last acentos were i was letting everybody get on the mic and had a way too long show.

another acentos in the book and things are looking bright for this series and am going to start booking through the summer.

oh, the afterparty was at beau sia’s whatever. it was the usual ruckus as rog, jayme and i met up with helen, omar & lynne. especially when we saw the meatloaf lookalike ” He has a name… His name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen.”

hanging out with the dead.guy.in.the.subway.who.helps.out.patrick.swayze.in.’ghost’ lookalike “Get off my train!!!”

drove the crew home and got stopped at a police check point. in the strangest twist of fate, the young african-american officer was all gung-ho and wanted to get em for something, anything. then the white, ultra conservative, lieutenant was telling him to let me go. the youngblood wasn’t having it but the superior officer had spoken and i got over… big time. i got to fix that headlight, no way i can have this good a luck.

then again, i just brought some more good poetry to the bronx and helped usher two new peeps into the world of spoken word… some good vibes deserve to come my way. circles, ya know?

slam this! indeed

last slam of the season. the bottom half of the standings are real tight so and everybody signing up tonight has already slammed this season. that means anybody that does well tonight can make semi-finals. impressive line-up: seve, omar, ed garcia, ray & dianne roy. all have third round experience and none, except omar, have made the nationals team. add rob neill (who has nationals experience and would love to rep for nyc), al b back (the young upstart is always a threat) and me.

the open mic was fun & tight with new & old voices doing their thing in the style that makes me love coming early to 13.

eric guerrieri rocked as a feature. displaying old work, new pieces, an impromptu group piece with guy, marty, roger & lynne, he got gully when a cell phone rang out (ah, the host in him lives) and ended it in one of the coolest ways ever… “thanks for listening” you know, poetry is sometimes all about simplicity and you can rack your brain for hours coming up with cool catch phrases and over.stylized.word.play when it can all be said just that cool.

so now… the slam. first off, when we did the intricate drawing system to determine the order of the slam– picking up folded pieces of papers with numbers on them. i was really calm and grabbed the paper that fell closest to me and drew 6 out of the field of 8. i think that may be the highest i’ve ever drawn at 13. slammers 1 through 5 went up and the scoring was tight throughout. by drawing sixth, i knew what scores i had to beat to get to the second round.

guy calls my name, i go up and hit the ‘ceviche’ poem. not my finest performance of it, my nervous energy led me to rushing through the piece and i flubbed two points in the poem but i was able to recover nicely. on the plus side, i felt very expressive and thought that my face was also telling the story my voice was generating. came off stage and the scores were good enough to land me into the second round. roger, who was score/time-keeping offered a few comments on the poem but i was lost in my own thoughts and was already going over my second round poem in my head.

round one saw al b (time penalties and first draw), seve (who had mic problems) and rob (also time penalties) not make the cut. in the second round i went with ‘mercy on the battlefield’ and also delivered a sub-par performance. for some reason, i kept having the clock in my head. there was some voice saying “you’re going to do well and lose on time penalties.” this led to another rushed delivery and i also didn’t move as well i usually do when i rock that poem. the judges felt different and awarded me a real good score that almost guaranteed me into the third round. almost. so i had to sit for a second and wait to see what developed.

third round baby! i finally made it and in the #1 slot no less. so now, thoughts of winning this whole thing became very clear. ed and omar also made the third round which insured their inclusion into semi-finals. they both busted their pieces and then i went up with ‘el ultimo canto’ which while going over the piece in my mind came through full circle. this poem is the last song of lavoe, the last song of all those motherfuckers who came through gave their all on stage and lost something big along the way. this poem is a warning and i had the ending that finally expressed that.

i was real calm doing this piece and only flubbed twice but the poem has a mellow tempo to it that allows for me to pause really hard and not make it TOO noticeable. no, i messed up one line entirely but was able to recover very well (big performance tip! unless you tell them by saying ‘i forgot this part’ or do the scrunch face and stop completely… no one will know that you fucked up. NO ONE! so just go through your piece at your pace and feel free to improvise your way through the error and you’ll be aight. trust me, i know)

the final, improvised stanza came through well and was able to let me leave the stage confident and proud.

the scores got tallied and when it was all said and done i lost to ed by a (cue james earl jones voice) tenth of a point (end james earl jones voice) but it was all good. i made the third round of a ‘lil bit louder’ slam, earned two points in the rankings, shared the final round with ed & omar (which gives me unofficial ‘filatino’ status) and i made the god-damn muthafuckin’ semi-finals! normally, i am cool and calm. win some, lose some. and i spent the whole slam trying to be in that calm mode. no matter what was happening inside, i was presenting the same exterior to the crowd. that shit went out the window when guy announced me as a semi-finalist and i was all smiles, hugs and dance right afterwards.

all in all, i am really happy with coming in second. my main goal was to make semis and the second place finish accomplished that. losing to ed is no major crime and it was only by a (insert michael buffer voice) tenth of a point (delete michael buffer voice) so i know i can step it up that half notch to get the full win. especially when i saw ed get handed the ‘book’ (when you win a 13 slam you get a book and $13 bucks, what you thought you get? a def jam contract?), an anthology of mexican poetry. that image is going to stay with me next season when i will be looking for blood onstage and going for full out wins but for now i am very happy with my second place finish and, of course, my chance to show my stuff at semi-finals.

habits

rehearsing for the slam at ray’s house. interesting epiphany: ray performs his poetry as if he was on stage doing music. we are going over his pieces and i keep saying the same things to him. “you’re shoulders are too narrow.”/”you keep holding your hands rigid”/”you keep looking at the ground.”

only after i saw him packing his instruments did it hit me, he looks like hes holding a guitar or playing the keyboards or looking at musical notes. addressing the root of his performance it became pretty easy to give him a tip or two as to how to change it.

me, my big problem is that i hear too much slam poetry. man, i can tell when the three.minute.mark hits. good thing is that it seems to be my natural writing style but i am not interested in having a natural writing style. have to read more shorter work, started with some margaret atwood and will be absorbing some sharon olds as well.

poetically incorrect (btw, the worst name possible for a poetry series) was cool. crowd started thin and packed in later. i did the ‘ceviche’ piece. i could have busted out a political piece(!) i did during my workshop but i don’t know. political pieces at poetry reading is all about preaching to the choir. i did al b’s “who’s against the war?” trick and also threw in my “if you’re a poet, who do you read?” schtick. the crowd ate it up and i was just curious as to who did NOT like that question.

tonight is the slam and i have a strategy worked out and, of course, i have to be ready that the whole sucka could blow up in my face. just have to remember to leave it all on stage and accept the outcome.

also, strikeforce morturi is one of the greatest comic book stories ever done.