I left work by 3:30 even though I wasn’t planning on being at the venue until 6ish. The simple fact was that I couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of me. There was work and lots of it but all I could do was stare at my monitor. The only words I was concerned with were my own, dancing around in my head. In a manner of hours I would be reading about 10 of my pieces for the biggest crowd I’d ever read in front of... by far. Anxiety was setting in. So was self doubt. Were my pieces good enough? Would I be able to read them clearly? Would my voice hold up for the 30 minutes? I had never read in public for more than 10 minutes and this half hour show at the 2011 Buffalo Infringement Festival was as ambitious a step as I’ve ever tried to make. I’ve done radio, writing, even a short film, but this was just me, in front of everyone and everything armed with only my mind, my heart and my voice.
I left my desk at least an hour earlier than I planned to but it felt like the right thing to do since I was useless at work. I sat down at home and turned on the television in an effort to take my mind off my concerns. Every now and then I’d tell myself that I’d have fun and everything would be fine but the anxieties were talking louder, faster and more often. I needed to get out of my head for a few hours. I needed a distraction. I needed something positive. I needed something inspiring. I needed something fun. So I grabbed Scott Pilgrim vs. the World and threw it into the DVD player. It’s one of my favorite films of the past few years. I’ve seen it 4 or 5 times now. It’s funny, silly, well crafted and I absolutely drool over Ramona Flowers. Please Ramona, take me away.
Fast forward 1 hour and 53 minutes later and now I have to rush around and get ready for the show rendering me unable to think about much other than the task at hand. Where’s my t-shirt?!? Where’s my fedora!?! Thankfully the nearly 2 hours of mild mind did the trick. I say mild because you can’t shut it off completely but when you are watching a film and really into it, it’s almost like a time machine. You lose track of time and nothing else matters. Suddenly it’s 90 minutes or in this case 113 minutes later. In hindsight I think that helped me a lot but not nearly as much as getting there early and letting myself enjoy and soak in the moment would.
I had offers for several rides down but I thought that none of them would get me down to the gallery early enough for what I needed. Whenever I go to a large event, especially one that I am starring in I like to get there early. I like to see the space, stretch out, relax and get acclimated to it. This always helps with my level of calm and peace of mind. Those friends who’ve seen me when we walk into a crowded bar will understand what I am saying. So I went down on my own in order to get there early.
I arrived at the gallery at about 6:10, which gave me near an hour of time to get into the groove before going on. The other poet I was performing with was the only person there. He was sitting on the step outside. He mentioned that the gallery door was locked and it appeared no one was there yet, well of course except for us. I introduced myself and quickly noticed he was rocking a plaid fedora. Are fedoras the official headwear of poets? We’ve come a long way from berets baby!
We talked for about 10 minutes and I found out we went to the same 2 grade schools which put me more at ease. Something about walking common roads makes me feel like other people are no different from me. It chips away at the fears and anxieties of being strangers. He told me the story behind his work and what he would be doing. I didn’t talk much about mine other than to say it was silly and passionate. As it got closer to 6:30 a few more people arrived. Technically my new friend would go on at 6:30 for 15 minutes and then I’d go on at 7 after a short break. The gallery opened just after 6:30 and we went in to get right.
I watched the first poet and he was very comfortable speaking in public. He read through 5 pieces and 4 limericks and basically made fun of the poems before, during and after he read them. It was pretty relaxed and as he read the crowd grew. Since the gallery owner slightly overslept on his nap we had a late start but it didn’t matter. If anything it helped because people who thought they were 5 to 10 minutes late showed up right on time.
After a short break spent talking to friends who showed up to see me read, which kept me out of my head, I sat on a stool in front and grabbed a stack of papers with the pre-ordered pieces all set to go. As I looked at the paper in front of me I could only see one word “Fear”. That’s not to say I was petrified or anything, that was just the name of the first piece at the top of the first page. For some reason I thought of the great sword fight between the Dread Pirate Wesley and Inigo Montoya in the Princess Bride. The two men face each other in stances and prepare for battle. The only word uttered comes from Montoya who says “begin” and then the steel starts flying. I looked up from the page and saw every seat filled in the room and several people standing on the edges and before it could set in, before I could start to feel afraid I said “begin” and began through the 16 lines of “Fear”. Whenever I read it I like to do it first because it reminds me to overcome my fear and enjoy the moment. When I had finished it, I knew I was smack in the middle of a good one.
I welcomed everyone to that moment and talked briefly about my show. I wished everyone a “Happy Shark Week”, thanked the gallery owner, the opening poet and the festival. I then started the buildup for my next piece “The Day I Switched from Coke to Pepsi” and away I went. I just kept pounding them off the same as when I read them in my apartment for the past several weeks… except this was different. There was a crowd and with the completion of each piece and the applause that followed I grew stronger. I’d look up from the page and see old friends, new friends and strangers looking back at me, wanting to hear my work. It was exciting and amazing.
If the younger me from even a few years ago could have seen myself Monday night, I would have been dumbfounded. The younger me would have said; “what, me read in front of people… you must be joking”. I’ve always been an intensely private person so much so that sometimes my closest friends wouldn’t know exactly how I felt but Monday night was so liberating. I feel like I opened up my chest, peeled back all the skin and showed the room my heart. In a moment like that, where I’m sharing my thoughts, my fears and my passions with a room mixed with people I know as well as people I don’t, I feel naked. I know it’s a cliché but when they say poets bare themselves to the audience, they really do. People told me I looked calm and composed up there. All there was were the words. Especially after the first few pieces and through to the end, I was just in a zone I guess. I wasn’t thinking, I wasn’t worried and I wasn’t afraid. I was finding my voice and really enjoying the discovery. After the show I was reminded of the journey to this day.
I think back to 2007 and 2008 sitting in the crowd at the monthly Nickel City Poetry Slam, hosted and presented by the late Gabrielle Bouliane. I went every month except for December 2007 because just a few hours before the slam I was struck by a car on Delaware and Allen. I remember lying on a bed at ECMC being upset about missing the slam. There I was with a broken leg, torn knee ligament and badly bruised tailbone more upset because I couldn’t go to the poetry slam. They meant so much to me. I got to see Buddy Wakefield, Carlos Andres Gomez, Mike McGee, Corbet Dean and so many other great poets plus local poets who inspired me most of all. Here were people who could be my neighbors, my co-workers or people I could conceivably pass walking down the street. They were up there. I started to believe at that time I could be too. I started to realize I wanted to be a poet and then somewhere along the way I started to realize I already was.
This past year as I have been putting pieces together I think back to those days often. I draw inspiration from everything around me whether it’s memories, new friends, butterflies, other poets, philosophy, religion and apparently Swedish fish. I hope I can keep getting my thoughts together onto a page and reading them out for anyone who will listen. The rush is amazing and when there’s love for it, I feel invincible.
In case anyone missed it, a writer from the Buffalo News caught the show and wrote about it here: http://blogs.buffalonews.com/gusto/2011/08/a-roundup-of-infringement-day-5.html I feel so fortunate that he stopped by.
In closing I think I've said thank you about 150 times since Monday and I feel like I haven't said it nearly enough. I'm in another world since then, where anything is possible and where I am empowered and emboldened to make even more happen. There's been music all week, wherever I've been and the melody is so sweet. I think I'll sway to the rhythm and savor this for at least a few more days. Thanks!
