The alarm woke me on Saturday morning and I felt horrible. I wish I could say I was hungover, but I did not have any booze the night before.
Took a quick shower and got soaked on the way to Little Bread. Got a bagel with cream cheese, coffee, and a chocolate croissant then headed back to the room to follow the morning's soccer action.
Happily, I found a great audio link via talksport.com to get a live audio stream of all of the matches. Free!
But this is not about Everton getting a draw at Wigan.
The food did not make me feel better, it was not staying in its place for the right amount of time. Lied down and tried to sleep some before J.W. Bazillo's workshop. It was not going to happen.
Ended up watching Arkansas beat Auburn, hey Auburn are really terrible!
Began to feel a little better, possibly able to leave the room without need for a restroom every fifteen minutes so I went to Rogue to check out the comedy open mic.
It was hosted by The Klute, a wickedly funny guy sporting a fez. I signed up, ended up going first and read Spam Folder of Love.
I have no idea how it went over. There were not many people there at first. By the time I was to read again there were more people. I got called up and read An Obscene Phone Call From Mr. Potato Head. This was better received, I think.
There was some wit with a bite, as a work poem by a guy named Toaster demonstrated. Ethan did Toast and river danced on the stage. The second half was much improved on the first.
Felt even better so I went to the Hawg Haus for a burger and some bourbon before headed to finals.
Four of the finalists I had been in bouts with during the tournament. Three of them in my Friday night bout. I thought the quality of the work in these finals was much higher than what I saw in Berkeley. Most of the poets were outstanding. More on that in a bit.
Thuli Zuma's work is heartbreakingly beautiful. Her second poem about feeling guilt for the color of her skin knocked me out. 6 is 9 did a frantic and clever reading about cocaine and why it really became illegal. Franny Choi's Letter from Jessica Alba to Her Father turned the tables on some cliches. Seth Walker's poem from the persona of a tree that tries to prevent a suicide was an amazing example of body use in performance poetry. He also came up to the stage for his third poem, realized he had the wrong paper - ran back to his seat, found the right paper and sprinted back to the stage. Yes, there was a time penalty! It was a pleasure seeing G. Yamazawa on finals stage as he had been in both my bouts.
Ed Mabrey won it all, by just a tenth of a point over Thuli. So close! Ed was one of the first poets I saw in open mic in Columbus in 2006. The man has a voice, a set of pipes that always amaze me. It was so cool to be on the same stage with him on Friday and then to see him win his second IWPS title.
One poet has evoked some controversy. She read a letter to a person who raped her friend. The accused rapist was a poet in the room. I've been thinking a lot about this over the past couple of days. Read more than a few Facebook status updates and a good blog about building a safe poetry scene. Still have not really come to a conclusion. Not sure if that was exactly the right forum for this to be read. Not sure if it was the perfect forum. Wondering what an audience member, who may have been attending their first poetry slam thought about the poem. Would continually seeing poets beefing on other poets bring an increased audience of non poets into slam events or open mics?
There's a lot to digest. A lot of conversation is still necessary concerning safe spaces for women in poetry. It's ugly, but should not and can not be hidden.
But it's not going to be solved on social media sites.
Here's the part where I name drop the cool people I met. It's hard for me to meet people. I'm not an extrovert and rarely engage in deeper talk with people I have just met. Introducing myself to new people, even if we're in the same field, terrifies me.
I'll start with my driver, Josh. Thanks for the ride, and the tour on the way to Fayetteville from the airport. Your volunteering was much appreciated by many.
The people of the Little Bread Company. Your spirit and support of poetry was well respected. The baked goods you make are nothing short of delicious on a level that is not of this world. I have no idea if I ever will return to Fayetteville. But if I do, keep a cream puff for me. And if anyone reading this has to go to Fayetteville, you must go here!
Greg Bee. I met him at the Last Chance Slam, which he won. Such a kind and open man. A poet with a huge heart. He's an older poet and we bonded over being of a certain age, and in slam. Not too many of us out there.
Elizag. Another poet of a certain age. I did not realize she was from my home state. She reads tough. She talks smart. She's just getting started and is eager to learn. Maybe we will start the poets over 45 support group!
Leah Noble Davidson. Another poet just getting started. She has a farm girl's style and the soul of someone very wise. I predict we're going to read big work from her.
Jesse Parent. I wish we talked more. I had no idea he was Sonnets the Clown at Extreme Championship Poetry until he took the wig off. I still have not seen him read. This has to change.
Dogmatic. Saw him read and the comedy open mic and we had a good conversation about funny poems at the after party.
Wish I stayed more at the after party, but it was a smoking bar and I had not been in one in years. My eyes were freaking out on me.
Jenith Charpentier. Another first time poet at a national event. She asked me to take pictures of some good luck charms her daughters made for her. How could I refuse?
Cynthia French. It was good to finally meet her and see her skate around during Extreme Championship Poetry. She also read some good work at the comedy open mic.
Tapesty. Read some of the most gut revealing work I've experienced at a slam. This man has been in war and told stories. Deeply revealing. Then he plays Jack Deadman at Extreme Championship Poetry. Very cool!
Stephen Sargent. Energetic man from Austin. We met during his first bout, which was after mine on Friday. Pleasure to watch him work the stage.
The Klute. Bill Campana suggest I meet him. I think if I saw Klute and Campana together I'd need to wear diapers. These two are extremely dark, funny men. I was honored to be asked to be an audience of one for him rehearsing his one minute piece.
And I again thank Ethan Rivera for making himself available for me to vent my stress at him during my first bout. He did not have to be there, but it was good to have a person I actually knew for assistance.
Thanks to everyone at Writers' Block, especially Louise Robertson and Scott Woods, who dealt with my angst filled emails. And a big thanks again to everyone who assisted me financially. Give me time to get cds and other gifts together.
The biggest thanks goes to my wife, my biggest supporter, who painted the living room in my absence and watched my son while I was out of town. I love you.
To all the organizers, drivers, names I have mistakenly omitted and volunteers of IWPS: a big thank you and well done. I admit to being skeptical about having to go to Fayetteville, but came away really enjoying the community. You have a great scene.
Got back yesterday after a delay in leaving that required a push back of my flight from Atlanta. No other problems. Even had the exit seat legroom on the trip home. Shared the row with a young man who works for Abercrombie & Fitch, whose travel reading was the latest by Tucker Max. No fight broke out, we talked about our fantasy football teams.
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