Bittersweets

Tonight, Kalliope had an open mic at Sugar On Top. The turnout was….less than desirable- but it meant a higher cupcake:person ration, so I wasn’t all too displeased. As the readers sauntered to the makeshift stage and recited their poetry I couldn’t help but notice how the even in the loosey-goosey galaxy of creative literature, the textbook’s suggestions on public speaking delivery apply. I’ve noticed something after attending years of readings through high school. Whether at the Dodge Poetry Festival, or in an ENGL 50 class, a writer’s poetry-reading voice is as unique to them as the fingertips that grasp their manuscripts and chapbooks. I know Billy Collins not just by his vivid imagery and subtle musing tone, but by the story book lull in his delivery. For poets, as for any speaker, the way we speak matters just as much as the words we speak. People have voices for talking to dogs and for admonishing children. For ordering fast food or making toasts at family gatherings. There’s a similar way you can fall into a voice as a reader. Whether embedded with bravado or hushed like a sigh, whether plodding forth or pacing, the voice becomes part of your presence.  

Tonight, those readers who spoke their own words in choppy line breaks and droning monotone lost something. The meaning of the verses- the excitement embodied in metaphor and the allure of alliteration- it all fell flat on the speckle carpet floor                                                                                         when the sadly when the speaker mustered little to no enthusiasm. And everything about the social and physical context of Sugar on Top aided in the ease of delivery! Here, we had a more intimate setting, so the speakers could be relaxed, eye contact could be easy, and at least for me, anxiety could be minimal. Yet the poets who sounded as if they cared little for their own words seemed to, unfortunately, make the listeners feel likewise.