Writing about writing

Joe and I went to the NORAZ poetry Slam in Sedona last night. It was at the Canyon Moon Theatre. We arrived about 25 minutes till 8, which it was supposed to start at 8:00 PM or so we thought based on the NORAZ website. The information was wrong, it was supposed to begin at 7:30 PM. However, as it was in Sedona mysterious things happen and we arrived at the right time to get two seats together in the 2nd row where as they, at first, were going to turn us away because they'd been sold out since the morning. Lucky us!

Some younger poets had too much blame in their art, and not enough life-experience to back it up and others were too rap-like. Our cultural strange attractor at work. One was so theatrical I could hardly watch without being embarrassed or annoyed. If she'd not been so ballerina-like I'd have taken her work more seriously. There's a lot to be said for maturity. Our culture lends so much attention to the young artist, the one who's finding his or her way, that older artist who have deepened in their craft can be over looked or taken for granted. A teacher, her first slam, allowed us to be a fly on the wall of her life; for that I was grateful. She didn't push her ideas on the audience, but showed us how and why she felt this way. Some of the anger in other's poetry over took their meanings and I was lost in the pool of chaos. However, the sardonic humor was ever present and that kept the whole thing moving along. The MC was, as always, clever and sarcastic and funny, most of the time.

One woman's work with the Hindi (I suspect) accent was lost on the audience. I felt she had a deep and profound meaning that wasn't picked up on. I was engaged not only by her, almost, fluid poetry, but by her unique accent. She did not make it through the first round.

The next new poet was a young man who seemed in an altered state with his work. Hopefully it was only his work that put him there, but he had such a rhythm, a meter, that it was hypnotic and I got lost in the beat and stopped listening to these words, which were rapid fired without hesitation.

Over all some of the poetry lacked sophistication but the underlying creativity and open exploration of worlds outside the "box" was stimulating. I rooted for the young man who won. He lost his job earlier in the week and his car blew up, so I felt it was the Universe meeting him half way. His work has grown and evolved over the last year, he was less angry then the last time I saw him and therefore concluded he'd surrendered to his destiny.

I'm grateful for such creativity in my area.