 Hewitt has degrees from Cornell, John Hopkins, and the University of Iowa. He's the author of four books of poems and three books for teachers. He's Vermont's reigning poet and slam champion. And regularly hosts slams throughout the state. And in his words, I've been writing and publishing poems since 1965 and teaching for a living. I hope the language of my poems is conversational, heightened only by a lucky image or a cherished surprise. The Perfect Heart, my book of selected poems from May Apple 2010, reflects that hope. I do not write slam poems, but I brag that I am Vermont's reigning poetry slam champion since 2004. I won by just one tenth of a point. I visit schools and libraries throughout New England with workshops for all ages above seven, sometimes just writing workshops, sometimes connected to and involving a slam. So please help me out. I just want to say, here are also audience survey forms that the Humanities Council would like us to offer to you to fill out if you would like. And this group. So I was coming around the corner and the car had me as stopped. And I'm on cheer ice and my car starts to skid. And there's this guy on the sidewalk with the shovel. And just before my car crutches into the car had me, he throws a shovel full of sand under my rear tires. And my car comes to a stop ten feet from disaster. Half an hour later I'm at the Xerox machine with a job. I've got a half copied in time for the mail, which leaves in ten minutes. And the machine jams and I'm trying to get the paper out. And something throws a spark. So smoke is starting to curl from the ink drum. And I'm trying to figure whether I should run to the men's room for a handful of water when this guy appears with a shovel. There's a shovel full of sand into the machine's underbelly and the smoking stuff. So I call that a poem. It's just a little flight of fancy that I had while I was driving into town about 30 years ago, coming down from Town Hill, that big kerf on North Main Street. You know that coming down. And as I was driving along, standing on the sidewalk talking to somebody else, he's leaning on a shovel. And I thought, if I started this kid, would he? And I wrote it as a piece of prose. It's not written as a poem, but it's a prose poem. Totally legitimate form of poetry. But what I want you to notice is that I didn't say, would you like to hear my poem? I didn't say, this piece is entirely the Sandman. Because my experience is that when you ask somebody if they'd like to hear your latest poem, their eyes glaze over and they nod meaninglessly. So if you can suck them in by, you know, just being more conversational. And then there's the problem. And then we'll get to this, which is, how conversational can you get away with without being misunderstood? And how prissy do you need to be so that you are not misunderstood? And there's the sky on the sidewalk. What did I just say? The sky. Now, when I said the piece before, did you hear the way I wanted it to be? This guy on the sidewalk? You heard the sky. So there's a problem right there. A real problem. I asked somebody, why don't people understand my poem? He says, I don't know about them. But for you, for me, he said, I couldn't tell what the point was having sky on the sidewalk. And I spent the rest of your time while you were reciting it, trying to figure that out. So I think that's one of our main principles. And I'm really sorry, but at least I wasn't being prissy. This guy on the sidewalk with the shovel. It's hard. When you say, I love them all. So it's kind of an awareness. Well, why do we want to recite poems in the first place? Notice the word poems instead of poetry. You know, there's kind of a difference. Poetry is a great art. And poems are things. So I like to talk about writing poems rather than writing poetry. Again, people, when they hear the word poetry, their eyes glaze over and they nod. Rachel. What's your name? Patricia. Say it. Patricia. Patricia. I'm half deaf, which makes me a terrific teacher. Rachel, Patricia. And you are? Jennifer. Jennifer. Susan. Susan? Did I hear that? You did. Good for me. Newton. Lewis. Bruce. Bruce? Bruce. BRUCE? Yes, that's Bruce. Julie. Ah-ha. Julie. One more time. Julie. Julie. J-U-L-I-E. Yes, we're a jewel. Ha-ha. Ha-ha. Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. With an H on the end? Yes. I love it. It goes back and forth. Palindrome. Palindrome. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. My theory is, when you're reading a poem, can you make it sound as if the words are occurring for the first time? Rather than, when at night I ramble up the stairs into my room, visions of the days gone by, when at night I ramble, putting a more conversational approach to it, taking your time, unless you're a hip-hop. And if you're a hip-hop, I can't keep up with you no matter what. I mean, hip-hop poets, there's some buddy Wakefield, anybody read him? Man, or hear him. The images are phenomenal. It's just really wonderful stuff. But you can't piece it all together if you're as old as I am. So my theory is to try to make it seem as if the words are occurring for the first time. Most important to me is eye contact. Is actually selling the poem by looking people in the eye. Not going like this the way theater directors tell you, but actually trying to pick on people in the audience who's grabbing my shirt. So eye contact. I think it's important to have your hands loose at your sides. Yeah, well that's not loose, but we're going to work on that. We spent a little bit of time with some younger ones today. They did real well with that. I think you want to be thinking about your body so that you're not swaying, unless it's part of the poem. And even then, to kind of reduce all things that can distract visually from the words. And yet we'll talk about gesture a little bit. There's always a temptation to overplay it. Today we had a kid who was writing a poem about eating and he was, you know, minding eating. Every other gesture he did was a little bit more abstract and added something, but to actually illustrate what you're saying, I think has to be done carefully. The face. Can you bring the face into the poem? Well if you're thinking of the words for the first time, your face is going to naturally show expression. So that's kind of, even though you've rehearsed it 50 times, you need to kind of remember that. M-pacing. Can you vary fast and slow at appropriate moments? And that's it. We're going to do one together. And I'd like to, I'd like to have these back. So please don't exit with them. These are very valuable. We'll do the one that's right facing you. Don't let her leave. Don't let her leave. She's afraid we won't let her leave. Funny. Should be that way. Let's have it backwards. There you go. So this is Galway Canals Blackberry Eating. And I'd like to hear each of you read it as if you are saying the words for the first time. And I don't want you to do it the way everybody else is doing it. I want you to be using eye contact even though you don't necessarily know the poem. That will slow you down. And we'll all do it at the same time. So if you'll stand. So remember, we're not doing this in unison. Use your own pacing for this. And we'll see who can make it last the longest on the count of three. A one, a two, a one, two, three, hit it. I want you to discern peculiar words like strings, or squished ends, or non-syllable lines. Which I squeeze, squish open, and squirm as well. This is the silent start of a life at work. Blackberry eating late September. Blackberry eating late September. The silent start of an icy black language. Okay, again, this time think a little bit more about eye contact. Try to sort of look at somebody long enough that maybe you can wink at them, and maybe they'll wink back just to play with it a little bit on the count of three. A one, a two, a one, two, three, hit it. A one, a two, a one, two, three, hit it. Blackberry eating late September. each person say a line. Pick up the line as fast as you can. We're just gonna see what it sounds like. We'll start with Bruce and then we'll go immediately to you, to Hannah and to Lee, etc. So Bruce, you get the first line, hit it. I love to go out in late September. I'm on the fat, over red, icy, black, blackberries, blackberries for breakfast. The stalks, very prickly. A penalty they earned for knowing the black art of blackberry baking as I stand among them. The black art of blackberry? Oh yeah, huh? Lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries. Almost unbidded to my tongue. As words sometimes do, certain peculiar words. Like strengths and squintch. Many-lettered, one-syllable lumps. Which I squeeze, switch open, and splurge well. Keep going. In a silent, startled, icy, black language. Of blackberry eating in late September. So, I think that would be fun to try again. And this time to work on the eye contact. And we'll start again with Bruce, so that he knows, if he looks back at the page, he knows what his lines are going to be. And do I have your name, Julie? Is that right? Julie, you know what your lines are going to be. Maybe you can almost learn them by heart, so that you're giving eye contact through. You've got it a little easier, Hannah, because I think there's only one line for you. And Lee, you too. You've got it, so do I. Let's all learn our line by heart. Is it a line or a phrase? Just that one line that you're going to have to say. I'm just not participating. But thanks for letting me hang out. Sure. We ready? I'm watching you, Bruce. I love to go out in late September. Late in September. In late September. This may be hard. This is difficult. I keep second guessing. Try again. I love to go out in late September. Among the fat, purple, red, icy, black, black. To eat blackberries for breakfast. The stalks very prickly. A penalty. They earn for knowing the black art. Of blackberry making. And I stand among them. Lifting the berries to my mouth. The ripest berries. Fall almost unbidden to my tongue. As words sometimes do. Certain peculiar words. Like strengths and squinched. Mini-bloodied, one-cellable lumps. Which I squeeze, squinch over, and splurge well. In a silent, startled, icy black language. Of blackberry eating in late September. Nice job. Wow. Give yourselves a hand. Yeah, I wish it was September. I like that policy. It's a goodie, isn't it? So now I want you to look at the other three poems. Or if you brought a poem that you yourself wanted to work on, get that out and start looking at it. And meanwhile, the rest of us, choose one of these other three poems to rehearse. Okay, everybody up with your poem? We're thinking about eye contact. We're thinking about facing. We're thinking about facial. We're discovering these words for the first time. A one. A two. A one, two, three. Hit it. When they say, Don't laugh. They say we should get it together. Say one. Just to get a look at this following and this reading of the law on the steering wheel is telling the other the problems with the law on the steering wheel. When somebody I can talk to at work meets with me, it's not something that you should come back to. When somebody you haven't seen in ten years appears to be normal or don't start seeing them when you saw them and never catch them, walk around feeling like a leader and never become a leader. When I say, hey, don't I know you? Just say no. Three bills, Schattel's glass, the Wetford's the Wissle's a win. You've got the mirror. That's a four. No, we're by the law. Before you get a look. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The party is over, but I will be sure to sweep the tiles, return me dry the dishes, and stash the neatly in the pantry, put the chairs back, and smooth the grids, turn off the radio, close the door behind me, listen to the choir, whisper, thank you, for stopping by. I packed in the lock the sign said, I could be told, to bread head nose. All right, there's always a moment when needed. A pause can create a dynamic interest in the audience. You know, when you go to the racetrack to watch the cars go round and round and round, how people are leaning forward, hoping maybe there's an accident so that they can see some real action. Well, people that go to poetry readings are just dying to hear the poet screw up. And so what I want you to do is I want you to pause long enough, somewhere within the poem, that your audience is gonna think you've lost your place. Believe me, a pause in front of an audience always seems longer to the performer than it does to the audience. So I would say that long. Let them lean forward and wonder if you've lost your place. Now this trick, once you know it, is so useful when you do lose your place. So, but there's a point in the poem that's called, well, John Charity called it the fulcrum, a turning point in the poem. And maybe on the second reading, you'll discover that fulcrum and you'll make a nice long pause. On the count of three, a one, two, a one, two, three. The art. The art. The art. The art. The art. The art. The art. The art. The art. The art. The art The art. The art. The art The art. The art. The art. The art. The art, add on location here for us to the stage. Trans attributing a spell. The art. The art. The art. The art. The art. The party is over, but I'll be sure to sweep the tiles before I leave, dry the dishes and stash them neatly in the pantry, put the chairs back, smooth the curtains, turn off the radio, close the door behind me, listen to the quiet and whisper, thank you for stopping by. Give it up for Hannah. So I think it's time to hear some solo presentations and to make suggestions for how to make that solo presentation even better. And of course I'm going to be barking about eye contact and about any kind of trapped hands. I want them to just loose at your side. Of course you're probably going to be holding your manuscript. So one hand needs to be at your side and the other hand can be holding the manuscript. Who will start Hannah? Will you start for us please? Give it up for Hannah. Thank you poetry always wins people. Would you stand please? You're on stage now. Oh gosh, I should have had coffee before. Okay, I have packed your emotional baggage in trunks and left them on the front step for pickup at your earliest convenience. Don't knock at the door when you come searching for pieces of yourself that you stashed in my cabinets for safekeeping. I no longer inhabit this house you helped me to build. The rooms we painted lie empty and I have left no forwarding address. Stamp your regrets, return to sender and don't bother to slip the postcards of the travels we planned under the door. I have locked the garden gate and thrown away the key. Even as I still remember, you gave me your spine when I could not stand alone. Rebuilt my shattered hourglasses when I thought my time was up. Hatched the holes punched in the walls by the careless cruelty. The space lingering between our words were once we talked until three in the morning a void that grew and grew in a static vacuum and sometimes there is nothing left to say. Only the echo of the door slam, a whisper on the answering machine, the empty kitchen strewn with crumpled musical notes after the last song has finished. The party is over but I will be sure to sweep the tiles before I leave. Dry the dishes, stash them neatly in the pantry, put the chairs back, smooth the curtains, turn off the radio, close the door behind me. Listen to the quiet whisper, thank you, for stopping by. Good job. Yeah. Who wrote that poem? I did. You did! Yeah. My gosh, wonderful. Really good. Did you find a place to pause? No. So let's all do it again and think of a place to pause. Everybody up? Remembering eye contact? I'm going to be watching you for the pause. When you pause, when you find that place to pause, raise your hand and keep it up for as long as you are pausing. As soon as you start talking, put your hand back down. Okay? On the count of three, a one, a two, a one, two, three, hit it. The monastery and the one person, all the others, hope you are able to travel around the city. I have got to go and get it. I'm going to go and get it. So let's not have a seat in the temple or the doors. Don't start to hear. I'm going to go and get it. I'm going to go and get it. I'm going to go and get it. That's the oldest country in the world. But you know this is the oldest country in the world. There's one street you talk to, the community is warning, avoid, get it. There is nothing left. Don't start to sing. Only the echo of the door slam, a whisper on the answering machine, the empty kitchens. With crumpled musical notes as the last song is finished. The party is over, but I will be sure to sweep the tiles before I leave. before I leave, dry the dishes, stash them neatly in the pantry, put the chairs back, smooth the curtains, turn off the radio, close the door behind me, listen to the quiet whisper. Thank you for stopping by. What's the title? It's called To Fairweather Friends. Friends that were only around when things are good and then they kind of take off. So there's a couple slams coming up. You know what slam is? You've been to slams. Oh, you did at the Kendrick Typhoon? Yeah. How was it? It was really good. Who was the slam master? Bill Biddle. Who? Bill Biddle. Wonderful. Yeah. It was really fun. Did he read a poem too? He read a couple. I think he did. He didn't slam. He did like the sacrificial first poem. Good. So what is the definition of slam? A slam is a cross between a literary tea and mud wrestling. And the idea is that people are selected at random from the audience to serve as judges and give scores to recitations of somebody's poems. And there's the traditional slam and there's a traditional one coming up on the 21st. That's a Saturday at the Center for Learning and Arts at 46 Barry Street at 3.30 p.m. That's a slam that's gonna feature some younger slammers especially, but it'd be fun to have some older ones too. And then on the 25th, a Wednesday at City Hall, Lost Nation Theater is presenting and anything goes slam. You were there last year. Did you perform? I don't think so. Except under duress of Gabe that we were. Were you a judge? I think that's what I said. I think you were. Maybe this year you were a bit more. I remember you. Anything goes means not only is the three minute time limit eliminated and lengthened to five minutes, but you can do anything. Now, as a slam, traditional slam, you need to be performing original work, stuff you wrote. And in anything goes slam, you can juggle. You can sing a song. You can go up there with a choir and perform five minutes. You can read other people's poems. In other words, covers. Or you can do your original work. So anything goes. And that's great fun. So is slam, anyway. The idea of judging. Where is it going to be? That's gonna be at Lost Nation Theater on Wednesday the 25th, 7 p.m. But come to the Young One Slam too, 3.30 on Saturday the 21st, right, maybe? Yeah. So Bruce, I want to hear something from you. A solo, go ahead. Just from here? Whatever you choose. Okay. Please give it up for Bruce. You understand? Sure. I love to go out in late September among the fat overripe icy blackberries to eat blackberries for breakfast. The stalks very prickly. A penalty they earn for knowing the black art of blackberry making. As I stand among them, lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries fall almost unbidden to my tongue, as words sometimes do. Certain peculiar words, like strengths or squinch, many-lettered, one-syllable lumps, which I squeeze, squinch open and splurge well into the silent, startled, icy black language of blackberry eating in late September. Wow, nice job. Thank you. There was a little drop off in your voice when you got to the last words, September. Was there? Yeah, and I think probably you want to actually elevate those final words, so that there's a kind of a way of making sure the audience gets it, but also kind of announcing it's over rather than it's over. But I exaggerate how much you dropped off. It wasn't big, but I need to say something that you can improve. Lois, you got something? I did. I have a poem by Lucille Clifton, who was an African-American poet, who died at the age of 73 in 2010. I hope that applies to anybody who asked me. So, and this poem doesn't have a title, so I'll just start. Some dreams hang in the air like smoke. Some dreams get on your clothes and be wearing them more than you do, and you be half the time trying to wave them away. Their smell be all over you, and they get to your eyes and you cry. The fire be gone and the wood, but some dreams hang in the air like smoke, touching everything. You are all right. Great pause. Did you lose your place? Not really, but I thought Lucille Clifton. Well, that's a really brave, long pause. Yeah, it really works. Yeah. And for Julie. Sure. It's because I'm short. My uncle, great Norman, whose leg was full of finest German steel, broke three chairs and a table when the kids set off firecrackers on July 4th, 1946, just after apple pie. You all right, nice job. That's a hard poem to find a pause for. Maybe broke three chairs and a table on July 4th, 1946. I think after table was a good one because it left wondering what happened. Can you do it now with that pause and you can stay seated if you want, but I want you to yell for me, okay? That's hard for me. Yeah. That's what we're doing is we're challenging ourselves. Okay. My uncle, great Norman, whose leg was full of finest German steel, broke three chairs and a table when the kids set off firecrackers on July 4th, 1946, just after apple pie. Yeah, I think so. You found it. Good job. No, Ted, what do you got? A tribute to slam poetry. I need a slam poem. My writer's mind is a blank sheet of paper. So eating alphabet soup is how I prepare to organize words, randomly swallowed words, or range themselves in my throat and stomach. I'm not afraid to eat my words, but it's scary to spit them out. I hear a crowd of words in my head. They mell around and thrash and look for a way to stampede onto the page where later they can slip away into the air a spoken word poem. Herbed by a gathering of people. Some not quite sure about being here. Others already decided. Not me. I'm not getting up there, but still they came to here and maybe, maybe some of you did you not come to listen to poems, but not get caught speaking a poem you wrote, though you'd kind of like to see what judges and audience reaction might be. Yes, they feel it could be interesting and secretly think the best thing to happen would likely be the poem that they're not going to do. So they'll sit back and listen, pull up a chair, till boom, they find out you'd be the judge. All poems to evaluate and depending on the decision hear audience cries of joy or derision. But it is better, isn't not when we get into it, take part, get involved, not sit around like a bump on a log, follow around a curious three-year-old who tastes the world and sips every drop of life as some new delicious flavor. Stand up and speak to your poem. What we do is what makes us who we are and together makes us more whole than we can say life is fun. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Good pause. Great pause. Lee, what's your response to the gesture he was using? It seemed fairly, it seemed fairly natural to me. Just like it was coming with words coming out with it. Did anybody think it was overdone? I thought it was very complimentary. It seemed. Because he hit it and you'd already pounded on that ground. Seemed absolutely to arise from the words of the poem. I probably would hold back on some of it just so that when you do it, it's a little bit more, you know, choose the moments for it. But I get stuck with them being able to see the words. Uh-huh. And once I'm sure and tuned back in, then I can feel the flow. So there were a couple moments I did get a bit lost in me gesture wildly reaching for life. So let's try something new. You and Hannah Lee are gonna be partners and Julie and Bruce are gonna be partners and Lois and Newton are gonna be partners and Susan and Jennifer are gonna be partners and you can just be a partner with Rachel and Nona, you and I will be partners and you two are partners. And one partner will stand with me. One partner will stand next to the other partner and hold for that partner, the manuscript. And then we'll do it again and we'll switch and my partner will hold for me. And for the sake of those of us that came in late, what is the it? It? We'll do it. We're gonna say our poem aloud. Okay, I'll let the sign through. Yeah. So if everybody will stand. Now the reason we're doing this is so that your hands are totally free. And therefore you're able to find gesture, you're able to resist the tension to do funny things with your hands on the count of three, I guess I'm sorry. Do you want me to start? No, I'll put it on the screen. On the count of three. A one, a two, a one, two, three, hit it. They say your right hand will already be on the right hand. Right, that's right. Like, burn it in or reach it. Someone's telling you it'll allow you to do it. They want you to do it when you come to reach it out for pieces of yourself. And they say, we should give her a gift. Say why? I know why you don't love her, but I have it. I'm trying to remember something. The photos we painted lie empty, and I have lost her no money. Tell them you have a new project. You'll never be fit for that. What's so precious to you in a grocery store is a train to center. And don't trouble someone you haven't seen in 10 years. Don't trouble yourself. And, of course, I'm gonna feel like it's real, no need to sign the papers. Then, just, I'll go to the mountains and turn this on. I can't stand the load. You may find my shadow out best. I got my time up. Looked at the whole touched-in-law by Carolus mostie, space lingering between our words, whereas we talked and agreed in the morning And sometimes there is nothing left to say. Only the echo of the door slam, a whisper on the answering machine, the empty kitchen strewn with crumpled musical notes after the last song is finished. The party is over, but I will be sure to leave the tiles before I leave them. Dry dishes, stash them neatly, put the chairs back, smooth the curtain, turn off the radio, close the door behind me, listen, it's a quiet and whisper. Thank you for stopping by. I think it was my god. Oh, OK. Did you two switch? You both did? Or are we going to wait? Where do we wait to switch? Both of them. Yeah. You both did? What, what? Yeah. You both read? Yeah. You both read? Yeah. Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. OK. Bye. Bye. Bye. And I use so long. OK. OK. Bye. Bye. OK. OK. Bye. Love it. Love it. … When the kids set out tired of your freshman degree until I formed my supernova, Everybody get a chance? Okay, great. Susan, it's your turn to sell one. It's my turn to sell one. If you want to pass, you may. I'd love to hear it. Put your hands together for some time. Susan, whose leg was full of finest German steel, broke three chairs and a table when the kids set off firecrackers on July 4th, 1946, just after Apple Pie. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, stay up. Julie, will you stand, too, please? I want to hear this as a duet. Don't try to stay together. You know, just experiment with what happens when we're hearing maybe echoes, or who knows, on the count of three. One, two, one, two, three, hit it. My uncle, Great Norman, whose leg was full of finest German steel, broke three chairs and a table when the kids set off firecrackers on July 4th, 1946, just after Apple Pie. Nice. That was fun. Thank you. There's a place far in the woods. If you know how to get there, but less know how to get back. If you're lucky, you'll find a tree. It was down in the storm of years past. The bark is rough against your hands. As much as I wander, I always seem to come back to this familiar place. How long has it been there? How long until it's gone? How many people have been here before me? Did they find the same hope I did? Sitting there with mud-caped feet, small soft whispers of wind rattle the leaves. Skies turning a soft yellow. In the distance, you hear a gentle giant stir. To the left, a squirrel runs up a tree, knocking a twig down. It falls softly and lands on the ground. The damp earth, it smells different this time. It's hard to place. A little sweeter? No. A little crisper. Brittle. It's almost ready to break. Orange and pink hues. Rain down. Kissing your cheeks. And you know that your time here is up. And the long journey home, it must start. But with every step farther away, you remember that place of peace. Far in the woods. How'd you feel about it? Say again? Mediocre. Mediocre? It was okay. What would you do better? I don't know. I mean, I think you have it. I like the fact that your gesture is there, but it's, you know, it's not overwrought. It seems natural. Great eye contact. You could learn that poem by heart, right? Have you done that before? Learn to poem by heart. Say again? Learn to poem by heart. Learn to poem by heart? Yeah, I said it in front of people. Yeah. Was it hard for you? I went to a poetry reading by Cora Brooks, who I think is living in Montpelier now. This was 20 years ago at the Washington Public Library in Washington, Vermont. And she read for 45 minutes. And I noticed she never looked at her book or at her manuscript. She, everything was closed on the podium in front of her. She just gave it all like this. And when it was over, I went to her and I said, how did you memorize all those poems? She said, I don't memorize. I learn by heart. I love that. Isn't that nice? I mean, it just, if you learn by heart, you have all sorts of room to walk around within the poem. But if you're memorizing every word, you know, that, and that can be really confusing. So I would encourage you to, you know, learn that by heart and bring it on. Do you want to perform, Rachel? I do. I'm just going to hold on. I'm going to take the poem off the wall. Why don't you get, Sam? Just the work. This is not a criticism, for sure. It's an idea. It's like, you had breaks and phrases, what not, that I liked, but they were very measured and consistent. You have some gorgeous phrases and words that, if you change the almost perfect break rhythm, I would love to have heard a little more different rhythm. But not necessarily a correct line. I like that. Thank you. This is not my poem. This poem is called The Funeral. It's by Ruba Jackson. The funeral for Jackie Jones. One, we have become the elders we saw at the funerals of our youth. Two, my old college friends embrace still makes me cry. Three, I am no longer ashamed to quote scripture along with the minister. Four, bum rushed by sorrow and more middle-aged hugs. Five, there is so much I want to say. I feel it strongly, but I do not dare death is not that shy. Six, coffin wheeled down the aisle hysterical encore said five differently. You would have won. I would have said the number five differently. There is so much I want to say. I feel it strongly, but I do not dare death is not that shy. Yeah. I've read this poem a few times. I love the idea of saying it a different way. Let's all stand and say our poem twice. The first time, however you want, the second time, very differently. If you need to put a southern accent in, if you need to read it as fast as you say it as fast as you possibly can, whatever you're going to do the second time, make it different on the count of three. One, two, one, two, three, hit it. Let them, on the front step. Someone telling you what to pass. They want you to read it. If you need to put a southern accent in, whatever you're going to do the second time, make it different on the count of three. You should get your accent in. I don't know what to do. I know the first time I read this poem, if I didn't know it, I would have been really happy. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. I know the first time I read this poem, the second time I read it, I would have been really happy. and decided to give them a number of things. You gave me a first life, but I could not stand alone. We built my shattered hourglass, but now my time is up. But they say, I know you, so when they invite you to the party, remember, a party is our life. We're answering them. We're telling you in a loud voice, they want to overcome with the lack of being connected. And sometimes, there are nothing left to say. Then there's a lie, they say if you get together, say why, so that you don't love them anymore. You're trying to remember something too important to get. Trees, the monastery, now at twilight. Tell them you have to be ready, and it'll never be finished. The party is over, all that I look forward to is to be a child before I leave. Drive the door, don't start sitting in the hall. Stash the mealy in my tree, put the chair back in the second room, and the other side will sit. Turn off the radio, close the door behind you, listen to the quiet whisper. Thank you, stop and buy. Was that the one in Long City last year? No, I just wrote it a few days ago. It'll be in Palm City next to every canal. Or maybe we won't hear it in one of these slams. No, no, no. Now, and it's a start of an idea. Okay, since this month started, so an idea is blooming. Where can I find a way to get through to those high and mighty MacArthur grand people about our racial and what she made world and awesome all over our town, even in the wet cold. Wow. You are right. I can't read very well, but I can think. You're so good. I mean, that's what we're talking about. You know, the words occurring for the first time, it seemed like. And that, you know, rather than, you know, a recitation, it was, you know, part of a life that we were hearing. George, can we hear it for George, please? Bruce, do you know what the word needed means? Yes. Would you tell me? To need something. Okay, there's another meaning to what you're making, Brad. Oh, yeah. You mixed it all together. That's an indispensable part of the poem. I just finished. And I'd want to make sure that I left anybody else because you don't see anybody needing Brad very often nowadays. And this is something that we'll ring a bell. Bruce, does this ring a bell? Don't sit under the apple tree. No. How many does it? Okay, Bruce. Bruce, don't sit under the apple tree. Sit over here with me. Seek safety and don't be led. That tree will drop apples on your head. Go to Montpelier and throw this poem on the pile. You may find another style. I parked in the law. The sign said that I could be towed. The bread I had was damn well needed. Yeah. One more time for us, George. I already thought a little bit. Don't sit under the apple tree. Sit over here with me. Seek safety and don't be led. That tree will drop apples on your head. Go to Montpelier and throw this poem on the pile. You may find another style. I parked in the law. The sign said that I could be towed. The bread I had was damn well needed. Yeah, okay. In other words, I brought the poem over and it got needed. I wonder if you were to type that out and, you know, large print. I try to get as much size as I can on the page so that when I'm in a situation, you never know sometimes what the venue where you're saying your poem, whether it's going to give you enough light. So I'm wondering whether if that were typed up, you would have an easier time really spilling it out in the form that you want it to be. I wouldn't be surprised. Yeah, because handwritten, you know, sometimes brand new poems. So I admire the fact that you are such a good performer. George often will tap dance as he is performing his poem. He carries a board with him to slams and especially if there's a rug. We do this at the Aldrich Library quite often and you'll be dancing and saying your poem. It's coming up soon. Aldrich? Yeah, I'll be under the rug. You're right, the last Friday in April. Yeah, you should come. Yes, thank you for remembering that. Five minute, anything goes. Say that? Five minute, anything goes. Oh, it's an anything goes slam and bring two poems or two case we have time. You would say, yes. Are you doing it? Are you leading it? I'm sorry? Are you leading it? Yes. And so there'll be a pre, a writing. There's a writing activity just started, yeah, yeah. So that's at six o'clock at the Aldrich Library on the last Friday of April. If you arrive at six, you can have pizza and soda and at 6.30 we actually start with a brief writing activity and then people slam and the last four or five times we've had anything goes, slams, which are really quite a lot of fun. So yeah, there's something else to remember. Bob, I really heard you for Bob. Well, this is a poem I wrote last year for my wife for our 35th wedding anniversary and I wasn't really going to say it, but I have the pride of authorship. So in here I mentioned something about our Roman poet. That's Catullus. Catullus wrote this famous poem, Dami bassia nile. Give me 1,000 kisses and then 1,000 more and then we'll mix up to count. So at 5.30 we're remiss, so much time without a kiss. A kiss a day we're not too great, scarce with it, my hunger-sake. Let's make the Roman poet envy. We'll beat as bigly count in v. For it's not just a show of woo when I say I love you. For a kiss is not just a kiss, the song had it remiss. But heart-questing joined the heart shy as time goes by. I forgot to mention also that there's the song, a kiss is not just a kiss as time goes by. You must remember this. Yes, exactly. And the Roman poet's poem is number five, V. V, yeah. OK, now here, here. Thank you. Did your wife write a poem as well? No, no, she suffers me. Suffers my attempt. Did she get a kiss? Well, once in a while. I kiss a day. That's a pretty amazing manuscript. You don't have to talk in with George about typing it up, and you come up with a post-it note. I had this, no, I had this in my pocket, in my wallet. So good. I carry around some other poems too, not by me. So there's poem in your pocket. When is that? Yes, in your pocket. Oh, there's one out there. Oh, there's one out there. Yeah. Does anyone know how to get to the Republic of Grand People? Google it. Is it who that you founded, Paul's City? Oh, yes. And they're doing it all over the world now? They are. Yes, they are. Let's see. You have a better eyes, maybe. Oh, here it is. Thursday, April 26th is poem in your pocket day. Good. And people are encouraged to find poems that they want to carry and recite to other people. We will have poems here at the library for people to pick up if they want. And you can go to Down Home Kitchen. And if you recite your poem in the restaurant to the people who are there, you'll get a treat. Wow. That's a new pocket day. That's a new take. That's on the 26th of Thursday. Yes. The day after our Anything Goes Slam at the City Hall. That's right. Lee, can we put our hands together for Lee? Visiting a friend at Children's Hospital. As I walk to your room, I see a child propped in a wheelchair connected to tubes and bottles. You tell me, last night, they rushed the boy across the hall into an oxygen tent. This morning, his room is scrubbed empty. We watch at the window as first snow kisses last flowers. Parents press the sun's hand to warm off ice. In the hall, as we walk, a child's watercolor, yellow slabs, red sloshes, a green blobble, black creeping around the edges. Back in your room, afternoon sun, nests in your wheat-ripe hair, spatters against white walls, falls and prisms of beads, comets, fruit, puzzle pieces. You look up, and the elevator down, parents huddle in corners. Why won't anyone tell me when you can go home? Yeah, nice job. Nice pause. Yeah, really good. And I don't know, anybody got suggestions for making it better? Really? Well, I just revised it. I just revised it while I was here. It's a very old poem. I'm curious to know what you did when you revised it. Or is that not what we're doing in this book? Go ahead. What did you do when you revised it? It would probably be easier if I could show you. I literally did it while I was here. I rearranged. I changed the title a little. I rearranged things. I changed word here and there. I changed a line here and there. I moved this from there to here. Actually, I skipped that section because I forgot to see my arrow. I had one little piece. Having done that, and then you read it, do you like the changes? Yeah, I think so. I mean, I hadn't even read it in years. It's a really old one. I was at the Slam the other night and I thought, this is really different from how I've been writing it. I don't know. Then I thought, I used to write some poems that were more like that, that were more personal in a sense, and conveyed maybe more emotion rather than wrap them, kinds of things. I pulled some of them out and thought, I'm going to take one and revise it. Yeah, it's the first time I've worked on it in decades. I mean, I haven't even seen it in most of that time. It's amazing I found it. Okay, one last all-group rehearsal. Think about eye contact if you can do without holding the poem all the better. Hands loose at your sides. Expand your gesture. Have fun with it. I'm going to count on three. One, two, one, two, three. Yeah. The fashion brand is not in the best of the best because it's boring and fun. Don't stop. You'll do a lot of good things. You'll do a lot of good things. That's the best. I can't listen to things. I don't listen to things. I don't like to listen to things. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That's what I'm going to do. Don't worry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Hopefully in 10 years it appears... Space? No, start singing all your new songs. You'll never catch us. Walk around feeling like a leaf. You tumble any second. Then decide what to do with your time. Damn! Well, Rachel, thank you for hosting us, for all of you for coming and doing such a great thing. Thank you, Rebecca, for recording this, the posterity. I need these manuscripts back. I want to introduce myself. How are you? How are you? How are you? How are you? How are you? How are you? How are you?