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With the regularity of food health scares and the reproductive tendencies of rabbits, posts and articles warning that poetry is dying circulate the online poetry world. The cyber-Cassandras seem to follow two main themes: that only poets read poetry and that the internet is making it too easy for bad poets to share their work. Are we afraid that we’ll either be swept away on a tide of poetasters and doggerelists or spin in ever tightening reading circles until we become some sort of literary Ouroboros?
I have been involved in on-line poetry for a decade now and have come to believe that, paradoxically, the internet narrows our view instead of broadening it. Online, the focus all becomes about who is being published where, which workshops have the best poets or critics and who is considered “good enough” to post at the self-styled “elite” boards. Is it any wonder that online poetry feels like a closed community?
My own view, from South West England, is that poetry is alive and vibrant to those willing to get out there and find it. Given sufficient resources, I could easily spend more than three-quarters of the year travelling from one literature festival to another. As it is, I attend two festivals every year and get to others whenever possible.
Literature festivals have been getting a bad press—perhaps not undeservedly—for filling their programmes with talking heads who are selling their latest (ghost-written) biographies. However, the good stuff and most of the poetry happens at the fringe events which are well worth seeking out. Festivals that are exclusively about poetry, such as Ledbury, Aldburgh, and StAnza at St Andrews, can offer total immersions that should sate the most starved poet or poetry reader.
Festivals can seem rather insular though, much as I enjoy them, and can be self-consciously aware of trends in publishing—a bit too quick to laud the latest ‘young turk’. To find living, breathing poetry, I go to local live events: although I should declare a bias as I run a monthly poetry café here in Cheltenham with established guest poets and open mic. Around three years ago, I mentioned to a few people that it would be great if we had a regular event apart from the festival. They said, “Yes, great! Why don’t you?” But that’s another story.
Apart from the monthly event that I host, there are a half-dozen similar events within an hour’s drive and I get to them when I can. For me, hearing established poets read deepens my appreciation of their works in ways that long study of their writings rarely does. It must be said that my reaction isn’t always positive but even disappointing readings are learning experiences.
Then there are open mics, the subject of considerable scorn in some circles. It seems to be considered received wisdom that open mics are stuffed with angry young poets shouting socio-political tirades; droopy Pre-Raphaelite types (of any age!) bleeding all over the stage from shards in broken hearts; or cozy older folk with sentimental or humour-driven doggerel. My experience has been very different. I often hear good poetry at open mics and it isn’t unusual to see established poets turning up to read. (By “established”, I refer to those whose names regularly appear in reputable print journals or who can command fees for guest spots.) Furthermore, it is always a thrill to find a new voice with something special to offer.
For my own part, there is no better way of finding out if a poem works, since reading to an audience is entirely different from reading aloud to oneself. The lumps and bumps soon become apparent. Open mics can also be a rich source of inspiration as they attract so many “characters”. I met one man, in his eighties, who spent all his time travelling around poetry festivals and open mics distributing copies of his poems to anyone who expressed a liking for them. I can think of many worse ways to rage against the dying of the light.
There are, of course, some pretty bad poets at open mics, but even the worst of them can surprise with a startling image, or sound combination, or theme that makes me sit up and take notice. They are all part of the energy that builds when creative people are willing to be vulnerable. Even the most polite and generous audience will show a difference in reaction to differing quality so I won’t criticize anyone for having the courage to get up there and test themselves. When it comes down to it, for me, poetry is an expression of humanity: humanity can be funny, sad, tedious, glorious, loving, angry and always fallible. Open mics are where we may find poetry when it’s most human and alive.
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