On Being a Guest Poet

How do you choose poems for a guest-poet gig? And, how do you present them if you are not a performer at heart? These were my questions when I started selecting poems for my first solo presentation.

The Hidden Life of Poems

As I sifted through my poems to choose what best to read on the night, I found myself reading my work through other’s eyes; editor’s eyes and my poetry seemed — dare I say it? — boring.

Fortunately, that feeling didn’t last long once I settled on a topic. I decided to bring together my Australian poems, poems that could not have been written about other places, or, as it transpired, by anyone else.

The organisers asked me to say what inspires me as a poet and where I get my ideas. And, as I sifted and sorted poems in these terms, something magical happened.

I could suddenly see how my selection fell into three parts, thus revealing more about me and my life than I could have imagined.

Could I have predicted this? Perhaps. After all, I am a fan Clifford Geertz who argues that, no matter how theoretical, esoteric or academic our writing may be, our lives are always embedded therein.

But the truth of Clifford’s dictum didn’t emerge until I gave each poem its particular history. Only then did I learn that my poetic voice also varies depending on content, introducing the element of time in a process that is both subconscious and, I would argue, instinctive.

Sample Poems

Does your voice change with different poems? Can you see how mine does in the three examples below?

Down Under

‘Strine’ is the Aussie word for ‘Australian’. It is a mocking voice, but here, the poem mocks itself. I grew up with Strine. It comes to me when I’m cynical. It is my first and youngest voice.

Down Under 
 
My name is Stralia
I live in the sun
walk in rubber thongs
and the crack of my bum
smiles at strangers unabashed — 
long as they're not Asians,
Muslims, or some other weird mob.
 
We're a nice lot here
plenty barbecues and beer 
but our beaches brim with sharks
and jelly fish stingers,
invisible floaters that kill 
and in yards across the nation
Funnel Web spiders
and King Brown snakes
will jump up and bite —
as quick as look at you.
 
Ours is an island nation
borders tight as the sphincter of fear.
We have a warm side
a welcoming side
but we won't suck up to them others
'cos if we had our 'druthers
illegals'd all be white
unless they're Christian of course. 
 
We are a sunburnt country
mateship rules our waves —
I may be no better than you
but you dare not differ from me.

The Palimpsest

In this poem, the voice is a mix of anthropological observation and political statement matching my middle years; my professional life. Notice a completely different tone?

The Palimpsest
 
Rain's caress 
tentative on scorched earth
yields a steam of joy, 
lizard tongues dart among wet leaves 
in search of droplets, 
respite for insects
whose vigilance turns to birds
that flit and trill through the canopy,
alert to feed chicks beneath
darkening skies.  
 
Air turns fecund with humidity,
lightning and thunder explode in a deluge
that swells rivers to greet an invasion
of parched tongues.
 
Prey and predator line muddy banks
in thirsty truce,
macropod, ruminant, single or cloven hoofed,
wary only of the boot
that erases subtler signs:
matchstick sketches of a trillion, trillion birds' feet,
pointy padded tracks of the kangaroo,
snake and goanna glissades,
ancient marsupial traces, and
Dreaming tracks
all but expunged, not by fire nor storm
but a hobnailed tread.

Joy is This

This last poem is in my mature voice.

Joy is This
 
tears wash wrinkles
when old women cry
in the presence of
a newborn…
 
…soft cheeks and bottoms
arouse pain, love…
 
…and the breathless terror
of death

Once I discerned the difference in voice by addressing my host’s questions about inspiration and ideas, the presentation structured itself into three, meaningful sections.

Reading, Reciting, and Performing

I like to read poetry, to spend time with it, to go over things to skip others and cherish my favourites away from others’ eyes. I also like to critique other people’s work as we do in TramsEnd Poets where we all first read our poems out loud, then silently read everyone’s before giving written feedback. Listening and reading are two different things; two different methods of appreciation and understanding.

When it comes to performance, while listening to slam and spoken-word poetry can be fun at the time, much of it does not translate well to the pages of solitude.

I like and participate in open mike gigs like Friendly Street Poets and other public readings in cosy, arty cafes and venues in and around town. Adelaide also hosts number of poetry-friendly pubs around town where we can find a mixed bag of performance-based poetry, slam or spoken word, sometimes with music as well. We are lucky to have such a lively and creative underground scene.

For a serious-minded soul like me, who learned elocution as a child, the idea of performing in many of those forums is frightening. In elocution class, I learned to recite classical poems by rote in terms of mood, rhythm and meaning. For those who don’t know, elocution is the study of formal speaking. You learn how to enunciate, pronounce, emphasise as well as coming to terms with grammar, mood and style. You will find a plethora of fun lessons on YouTube.

From Page to Performance

From page to public reading is one leap. Another is from eisteddfod to performance in spoken-word or slam events. Of course, there are always judges when prizes are involved, so competitions differ only by degree from eisteddfods because, by definition, judging decides who’s in and who’s out of a particular scene or genre. They set the paradigms.

Spoken word poetry is 50% written especially for performance. We often mistakenly speak of spoken word as slam poetry, but the word ‘slam poetry’ refers mainly to a usually high powered, competitive event which has certain constraints, such as a time limit.

Keepers of tradition and theoretical purists (academics and judges) may speak of spoken word poetry and slam events as not being poetry at all. But, that’s a bit stiff. Poetry is on the move. It changes as it travels through space, changes cultures and periods.

Paying Homage

I thank the Poet’s Corner of the Effective Living Centre for inviting me to be a guest. I write in free verse, which is not at all suited to performance so, I thank my elocution teachers for showing me how to read out loud properly. While I no longer need to recite with books on my head to ensure my posture shows good character as they taught, I pay homage to them in this little poem.

I want to write a real poem
 
I want to write a real poem
using dactyl trochee or iamb
in hexameters or pentameters 
heroes of the academic scan.
 
I want to write a real poem
with caesuras or rhythmic beat
plus plucky pyrrhic substitutions or
enjambment and mixed feet.
 
I want to write a real poem
a bouquet in metaphor
far from the raw description
that proper poets abhor.
 
I want to write a real poem
where decisions must be made
about line and punctuation
to appeal, delight, persuade. 
 
I want to write a real poem
an ode perhaps or villanelle
or take exotic paths
into gatha,haiku or ghazal.
 
I want to write a real poem
one of these prosody days
‘till then I trust I’m forgiven 
if I stick to my funny old ways.

Try This

Decide on a topic, something you write a lot of poems about and select 20-30 shortish poems that fit comfortably on a page. Go through each poem and ask yourself —