 Welcome to the Center for Arts and Learning, where we're really excited to partner with the Kellogg Hubbard Library and poem city to present this poetry slalom. I just wanna do a little introduction. I don't know if all of you even know what the Center for Arts and Learning is, but it's this building that has the River Rock School, T.W. Wood, and the Monteverdi Music School, among lots of other artists and people working in this really quirky kind of space. One thing that we have been working on that I wanted to be sure to mention is accessibility. Right now, the reason that we're using River Rock Space, and thank you very much to River Rock for the use of this space, is that it's one of the only accessible spaces in this building. So we're working on installing an elevator, which is why it's kind of a little dusty, a little, there's a little construction going on out there. So if you'd like to support that, we would love to have you support that. There's a donation box out there, and if you wanna know more about the project, talk to me, and there's literature back there. Other than that, so I wanna thank River Rock, I wanna thank T.W. Wood Gallery for the diesel and other stuff, and I wanna say thanks to the Book Garden, to Bearpond Books, and to Chill Gelato for the prizes. I think you didn't know that there are prizes, but there are prizes, so. And I wanna introduce Jeff Hewitt. He is an accomplished poet. He's the author of multiple volumes of poetry and books for teachers, and he is widely considered Vermont's slam master general. So he ran a great workshop here a few days ago for some kids, and they are going to be some fierce competition, I think. So, yeah. Thank you very much to Jeff, and I will turn it over. I never trust a microphone. And if you join me, you can move closer, or take your chances. Are you slamming today? So I got eight slammers, eagerly waiting to enlighten you and perhaps entertain you. And I'm gonna ask you to call out a number and that number will determine which of the eight slammers goes first. Who will then tell me a number which will determine who is second and will run through eight numbers. John, at the back of the room, a number, please, between one and eight. He chooses one, which is Noel. You stay right where you are, Noel, but think of numbers, one of which cannot be a one. Don't rush me. Okay, now. Seven. Seven. Max. Where are you, Max? There you are, yes. Six. Huh? Six. Eight. Good call, Hazel. Have you been paying attention? Apparently you have, because that number has not been called. That's Leah. And Leah, where are you? I need a number. Four. Good call. It's a miracle, folks. People are really paying attention. Nicole, amazing. Give it up for Nicole. Show today. Whoa, what fun. So honored to have three extraordinary judges. But first, before I introduce them, I wanna acknowledge that some people don't know this, but SLAM is in the Bible. The Bible of Poetry, SLAM. The copies of this are available from the back of my car. Out to the show, they make a wonderful gift. Come with a DVD, so you can actually see SLAM in action, but why wait? You can have it live right here in your own backyard. The rules of SLAM made to be broken? Not today, folks. But there's an anything goes, SLAM, for all ages at Lost Nation Theater the day after we're done with National Poetry Month. Got a poetry hangover? Play the guitar? Know some moves in Jiu Jitsu? Bring them to the anything goes. Lea, you have a question. Would you say that again? What? April. April, and we're now April, I think, 14th. Tomorrow's tax day, folks. Don't forget. May 1st, Wednesday, May 1st at Lost Nation Theater. Free. Come, sign up 10 minutes before it starts and play your trombone. Why not? Anything goes. Bring your poems. The rules of traditional SLAM, the poet shall perform original work only without props or costumes or musical accompaniment within three minutes. But with a 10 second grace period. In front of three judges tonight who will score the work in a range from zero to 10 with decimal points. Very important. Calibrate yourself. Decimal points matter. And the highest and the lowest of those scores discarded. So what would be the highest score when each judge can go from zero to 10? What would be the highest score that one of today's SLAMers could earn? Amazing, the perspicacity of our audience. Why is it 99? Well, no, that's when we have five judges. But today, all we got is three. They're good judges, though I can tell you I want to introduce them to you now. When your name is called, please come forward and join me on the stage. Alice! I asked Alice, what qualifies you to be a judge? And she responded, and I'm quoting directly, because, quote, I am biased. We got David, and I said, David, what qualifies you to be a judge? And the response came pretty clearly, quote, probably nothing. And we've got Michael. Michael is qualified because he was pretty brusque. He just mumbled a little bit. He said, previous experience. That made me a qualifier. What's it been? Three years running? Give it up for all three of our extraordinary judges. Raise your right hand and repeat after me. I, fill in your name, David, Michael. Do hereby affirm that I shall remain objective throughout the slam. That I shall remain objective throughout the slam. Not giving unnecessarily high scores. Not giving unnecessarily high scores. Wait a minute, you're missing the wave. Not giving unnecessarily high scores. Not giving unnecessarily high scores. To my sweethearts. To my sweethearts. Or my children. Or my children. Or my grandchildren. Or my grandchildren. Nor giving unnecessarily low scores. Nor giving unnecessarily low scores. To those for whom I hold disdain. I took the floor first. I further understand that I have two sets of scorecards. Lovingly photocopied from the Bible of poetry slam. Lovingly photocopied from the Bible of poetry slam. Hewitt's Guide to Slam Poetry and Poetry Slam. Hewitt's Guide to Slam Poetry and Poetry Slam. Finally, finally, I will realize. I will realize. A zero means don't quit your day job. Zero means don't quit your day job. And a perfect ten. And a perfect ten. Signifies. Signifies. Your poem and your performance blew my socks all the way to Lido. Finally, finally, finally, I promise to return the scorecards to the slam master at the end of this performance. To return the scorecards to the slam master at the end of this performance. Audience, shall we empower them with scorecards? Yeah. Good luck. Take it responsibly. Whatever you need for the time. I've got the written down. Don't worry Michael. Thank you very kindly. We appreciate your service. Always fun. Zero, I thought your name was Michael. I thought your name was Zero. Nice, nice name tag. What's the backwards tag? Maybe Judge Marshall. Now every slam has what they call a sacrificial poet. That person who gives up his or her talents. As a way of helping the judges calibrate their scores, they know that when the sacrificial poet is done, he has no opportunity to win one of the fabulous prizes. How many prizes are there today? There are three prizes. The sacrificial poet, that's why they call that person sacrificial, cannot win a prize. But the judges in giving that person their score, therefore calibrate from there each of the subsequent performances. If you by chance happen to give that person a 5.0, then you might give a little bit more or a lot more to a performance and a poem that moved you beyond the 5.0. And of course the corresponding thing. Now as audience members, you have a responsibility and that is to influence the judges. So when their scores are announced, and there's only three of them, so it won't take a lot of effort on your part. I will announce in one score at a time. If you don't agree, because it's too high or too low, this is your opportunity to boo. And if you love the score, you can cheer. And if you're kind of just sit there and be at, who cares? The sacrificial poet, that person. I'll do it. I said I'll do it. Each other. A careful mistake will do, but nothing more. It's delicate this love we carry and know that only what waits is separation and let the new people into your lives. Or is that just a bunch of hopeful crap? It's delicate to this learning how even with degrees, no one said there'd be a job, but there is work. Oh, there is work. How many times I vacuum each week is a measure of unemployment, though vacuuming is nothing I do for enjoyment. I want me one of them riding vacuums, metallic green with special bumpers so I don't mar the furniture as I'm whizzing the room, caroming off the pillars of the old upright piano and making the long run down the hall, wearing the safety helmet that came with the unit and wielding the magic wand attachment and cobwebs as I glide by. Cobwebs. Don't make me think of them. Let me picture a spider's more symmetrical effort, not the chaotic gathering of dust and strands that hang from ceilings. Let me think of spider webs, the organization of desire, a spider's fractal-like construction to ward off starvation, a sticky silver trampoline with plenty of space to fly through, just to avoid the center, claims the stupid moth that fouls the whole web and isn't anything the spider wants, just a dusty pair of wings fluttered to a mealy core. Not to speak of the damaged web to rebuild for though resilient, a spider web is delicate and delicate is like touch, like love, like learning, like the finest, most expensive, tiniest chocolate you're only supposed to have one of. Are you sure? Are you time limit? When you're the timekeeper, all sorts of things are possible. I've got a count of three judges and not before. A one, a two, a one, two, three. Hold on. I've got a slow poke. I've got a no decimal. I've got to find a decimal or else I'm going to be disqualified as a judge on this medium. I've got a perfect ten, another perfect ten. Wait a minute. Oh, no. I've got an 8.4 and 8.6 and a slow poke with a 9.7. He's got ten steps. 8.6 for your sack of his own pollen. Please put your hands together. Many people spend tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of dollars on diamond wedding rings. A diamond necklace or diamond earrings might cost just as much. Kids dream of giving or receiving diamonds when they get engaged but how many people have thought about where those diamonds come from? Millions of children between the ages of 5 and 17 work in diamond mines. In fact, they make up more than 40% of the workers in some mines. Many of these children are paid less than $1 per day and some are paid a little more than 15 cents a day and many don't go to school. Their days are long and hard. They might work 12 to 15 hours a day and work 6 or 7 days a week. Kids are sent into narrow mine shafts and deep pits because of their small size and death or serious injury is commonplace. Health benefits, schools, water supplies and clinics near the mines are next to nonexistent. Infant mortality and hunger are common. Many miners don't have proper and proper safety equipment. So if you pick up jewelry with diamonds, put it back down. Wouldn't locally made beads supporting a good cause be more meaningful anyway? Alright. The judges have been fairly leisurely in their deliberations. This really does not help with the sense of a performance. You don't hold them up until I call for them. My gosh. I know when you're done. I can tell by the look in your eyes that if you're still being followed, then I have to call you out for slowness. Now the model of course is Michael. Now don't watch him when he raises his scores because you're not supposed to know it might influence you. But at the same time, be aware that when I say show me the money, Michael's hands are going straight up with both scores including the decimal point. Are you there, David? I'm here. I'm the count of three. Who will? The two. Two, three. Show me the money. Well, it's a little confusing, but I think I've got a 4.6, a 6.4, still doable, 6.4, a 6.8, and a 7.2, a 6.8. It's max. From magazines, does a silly thing to attempt to own, I know, to claim this infinite expanse, but I fell in love with the stars hard and fast. I think it has something to do with the way that they have room to explode outwards. I think I might be a little bit like that too, burning bright and quick and shattering outwards. On days when I can only shower in the dark, I remind myself that my bones are made of calcium, that there is iron in my blood, that 99% of a body is made up of six elements only crafted when a star dies. My veins are a macrocosm. When I get blood drawn, it feels particularly like losing something. What I mean is that you and I are magic-moving bits of rock, hugging and holding and being. Each our own solar system made out of the same basic building blocks. We are the entire universe to trillions of microbes working away in the dark. And us, we exist illuminated by the lights of dying stars. No one remembers their names, but we named them. Wanted so badly to see ourselves in the sky. We gave them names and shrines and sacrifices. We wrote songs and drew pictures to bring them closer to us. Every person, every star in the sky with a story called the moon's sister and the earth's mother, and we are too far off. The stars are a family tree stretching back farther than we can conceptualize. Ancient neural roots stretching deep into the space between celestial bodies. I think astronomical charts are a little bit like photo albums. I think that the wall in my room is a little bit like going home. When I feel lonely or alone, I remember that nothing can be created or destroyed, which means that every atom in our bodies is salvaged from something else. There are lions and mountains and meadows in the space between my fingers. I believe deeply in the romanticism of self. In returning to fungi and moss and the importance of decay, if nothing can be created or destroyed, that means that I was something before and will be something after this body is gone. I am not afraid of being recycled, of feeding trees and flowers and ferns. I think that that will be a little bit like going home too. I'll tell you what, I'll go backwards. That'll give you a little expertise. And then when I get to one, then I'll say, I'll say, which means show me. And when you hear that, then you can hold up your scorecards. Three, two, one, I got a 9.1. A 9 is a calculation. The sake of everybody's eardrums, I will be not getting too close to the microphone. Now, at 1.49 a.m. this morning, I was woken up by a sparrow beating against the window of my bedroom. And now, this is the third year in a row where this has happened. It's practically a little reminder of April where I say, well, it really has happened. The snow has melted and it's still going ballistic against the glass. Now, I wake up and normally I like to get up early. You know, there's nothing wrong with that. Take a nice cold shower, get some coffee. A wonderful feeling. But instead, I'm sitting in bed checking my phone, and it seems like like the expectancy of a sparrow. Predators of sparrows. And then the exciting follow-up to that. How many owls are there in Vermont? There is not an answer. I did get to learn a couple of fun facts. Did you know that there's actually a migratory population of snowy owls here in central Vermont? I didn't. I'm not sure I wanted to know. But now I do. And now you are all stuck with it as well. Anyways, so I wake up and it's still hitting against the window. And it's going like this every 30 minutes. And then maybe a little quieter next time. Maybe two in a row. And it's driving me nuts. I try. And I'm starting to think that if I do open the window, there's going to be a mass of feathers and little scratchy claws and bee little bird eyes just trying to get in. And I mean, I shouldn't be feeling this way about a sparrow. I mean, a sparrow is essentially a tennis ball on wings. It does not inspire people. There is no reason for an obsession. But I'm thinking about it. And I can almost hear it scratching under the door at the same time it's going against the window. And I'm going a little nuts. I've said this already, but it's happening again. And I'm watching the window. I'm watching the sparrow. And it stops. It used to be going every 30 minutes. And now it isn't. And that's when I realized it's nine at night. I've been watching this window for a couple hours now. So I go upstairs. I've decided that what I need more than anything is some bed rest. And as I go up there, I turn on the light. And to my horror, I'd say there's a hole in the window. It's gotten it. So my first instinct is lock the doors. But that's what I realized. All I'm doing is it can get in and out that. I cannot get out a hole in a window. All I am doing is trapping myself. And then my next instinct is, so you know what? I'm walking. I'm leaving my house. I'll call a friend. I mean, it's nine at night. I'm sure someone's awake. I'll be like, hey, can I sleep on your couch for the night? There's a bird in my house. And that's when I realized that maybe I'm thinking a little too much about it. But I leave anyways. So I'm making my way down the driveway. And I can't use props. But I ask them, can I sleep on your couch? And they say, why? And I say, well, there's a bird in my house. And they go, again? And they sigh. And you can hear them talking to someone off the phone. And then they get back and they say, you know what? This is the last time. And I respond, thank you. It won't happen again. And I know it will. So again, and I'm walking to the couch. And I grab the blanket. There's dog hair on it. But that's nothing new. I grab the pillow. And I lie down a couple hours past. And I wake up at a normal time. It's eight, in fact. And nobody's in the house. I'm assuming work or something. Maybe it's a school day. So it'll last track of the time. And then as I get up from my seat, I realize that there's a little trail of brown, small, sporadic footprints leading from the door to a hole that has been dug into the mattress. I feel a pain in my chest. Thank you. On a count of three, I'll go forward this time. So listen up. One, two, three. Let me see them. I got a 4.7. Oh, a 7.9. Curiosity at the intricacy of woven body alchemy, the ways in which reflections and interconnections can stir the surface from our depth. The socialized, industrialized, capitalized disconnections that keep me from radiating fully alive and free my potentiality. No matter how long I dive in a dedicated, isolated shadow unraveling within the dark caves of my ancestral mystery and inner fear-based self-mockery, I am socialized. My ancestors were tortured and dehumanitized. I've been ridiculed and shamed. And for many or for much of my people, we've had held guilt and blame all in relation to other people. So it really takes a village here to raise the blinds of inner windows to illuminate these shadows as I weave myself back into the fabric of humanity. This body holds memories, the pressurized accumulation of thousands of years of undigested trauma, which have been dumped on the other cultures and people. We European descendants have marginalized. And so I continue the unraveling, the shaking and dancing free of this large-scale integration, practicing community co-regulation. In essence, it's at the root of all people's liberation. And it begins right here at the sacred crossroads of spirit and flesh, rivers and blood, sunlight through plants manifest as muscles, and these here bones remember. They are made of the stones of this very Earth we all call home. You know, people are always coming up to me saying, you're such a good-looking guy. I bet they are. They do. They said that. They wonder, you know, how would such good looks? I could also be somebody who writes poems that are so extraordinary. I don't know. I think I got a 7.2 on my poem, you know, when the judges were being mean. You're such a good-looking guy. Your poems are like Shakespeare floating down to heaven. How is it that you can also be so quick to come up with the numbers when you're telling people? And, you know, when there's three judges I have to admit it's hard to make it up. But generally, I figure out a number I like. On the count of three judges, one, two, three, we got a five point, a 7.5. Another 7.5, and an 8.7. Hazel comes down to us. I score a raft, just put it all together, and you got mine. I'm going to treat it then craft wood planks, and a good crafting table to join the ranks. Be aware of the monsters that come out at night. Just craft a sword and kill the mobster to return the fright. This is the greatest game in the world, even if guests had fireballs hurled. No, this game is not a test. There is no denying. Minecraft is the best. There was this guy on Channel Three News, named Bird Birdat. I don't know if anybody remembers him. He's been gone for years. He was like the kindly image of the slightly overweight and quite white-haired gentleman. And I always imagined him as soon as he was off stage, saying to some stage, get out of my way. So, I try to imitate him, but I'm too kind. On Channel Three Judges, wood, two, three, let me see them. Ooh, I got a, ooh. I got a 7.4. Zero. As we stare at a moved taco, loved to dance, I was surrounded in my room. My room is made out of tacos, because tacos are cold. Extraordinary, brand new work that he encouraged to bring here and present to everybody. I'm going to play a little tribute to you on my musical instrument, because I'm so impressed. I don't want to influence the judges, but I overtook the judges. Even though it was a spring day, they were behaving as if it were. I had some marks. I don't know when your holiday is, but that's when I take my rest. Please, give it up. Teacher and ask her to send you my homework. Where do you keep your sleds? What's a skateboard in here? Can I have a coloring page with Pusheen Unicorn that has a hamburger? Can you help me clean the glass out of my backpack? Also, do you have any band-aids? Living at the library. Judges, wood. Really speaking, the judges keep their scorecards in their hands so that they don't have to hunt them up each time a performance score is called for on a kind of seven. Two. Our last slammer of the afternoon. Fletcher, we might give it up. That velcro-pro-feet tripping. Today, I'm not looking for approval. Standing in the checkout line, dipping my chip in, showing the powers that be, I'm perfectly fine. Spending just under my last dime, all eyes anticipating my decline. But my glass is half full. Paper, please, keep the receipt. Bags in hand, I'm walking. Not waiting for approval, not today. Been thinking about where I'm at and that I think therefore I am ain't gonna cut it. I've been liking this body, these senses. For years now, been flirting with a half century. Eyeballing each other across time for what feels like an eternity. Me and 50, we're about to get to know one another. Up close and viscerally. Head up, shoulders back, breasts as high as allowed by the liberation of brawlessness and gravity. At my age, a cardinal rule. The body and the mind are tools with which to tease. Got a 50-50 chance of having the transcendental pleasure of being the one brought to my knees. Course, in the end, I might need your hand getting back up again. Just not today. Been thinking about where I'm at. Way in the this and the that. Stats telling me as a black woman I've been living the last 17 years as a Negro's ghost. In 19 hot, her life expectancy just under 33. A couple of years into motherhood for me in effect her death, a resurrection for my maternal identity. Senses say I got another 28 and a half years of haunting before. The African-American woman in me rises to meet her maker once more. But not today. Till then, kinked hair, gray and flabby flesh, folding wrinklin' skin, mappin' out all I've known, as matron I claim the crone. Spreadin' wings of wisdom set me free as mother rooted bodily bound to the earth can never be. I, neigress, not needin' papers, tellin' me I am my own. Been thinking about where I'm at. That place along the way between where I've been and where I have never been. Where I'm at, I am here. And that is enough today. Remind you that Poland City is alive and kicking in downtown Montpelier. Lots of wonderful things to do. I'm amazed at what we heard today. I thought we had some extraordinary poems. And I hope the musicians in the crowd, the comedians, the Jiu-Jitsu artists, and the painters will join the poets and the writers on Wednesday, May 1st at Lost Nation Theatre. Five-minute time limit, not this constricting three-minute time limit, but five full minutes at the stage. In the all ages, anything goes slam at LNT to cure your National Poetry Month hangover. It's hair of the dog on May 1st. Then on May 3rd, not to worry, if you missed the May 1st slam, come to the Aldrich Library Friday, May 3rd. For another all ages, anything goes slam. Judges on a count of three, a one, a two, a one, two, three. Let me see them. I got an 8.6. An 8. Give it up for Leon. I should have announced the scores in the opposite direction. But anyway, you know. Thanks to the audience, you influenced the judges pretty darn well, except for the meanie and the group and I can't tell you which one that was. Thanks to River Rock School, Alice for making this. Thanks so much.