National Poetry Month: "Coded Language" by Saul Williams

Coded Language

by Saul Williams

 
Whereas breakbeats have been the missing link
Connecting the diasporic community to its drum-woven past

Whereas the quantized drum has allowed the whirling
Mathematicians to calculate the ever changing distance
Between rock and stardom

Whereas the velocity of the spinning vinyl
Cross-faded, spun backwards and re-released
At the same given moment of recorded history
Yet at a different moment in times continuum
Has allowed history, to catch up with the present

We do hereby declare reality unkempt by the changing
Standards of dialog, statements such as "Keep it real"
Especially when punctuating or anticipating modes
Of ultraviolence inflicted psychologically or physically or depicting
An unchanging rule of events will hence forth be seen as retro-active
And not representative of the individually determined is

Furthermore, as determined by the collective consciousness
Of this state of being and the lessened distance
Between thought patterns and their secular manifestations
The role of men as listening receptacles is to be increased by a number
No less than 70 percent of the current enlisted as vocal aggressors

Motherfuckers better realize now is the time to self-actualize
We have found evidence that hip-hop's standard 85 rpm
When increased by a number as least half the rate of its standard
Or decreased at three quarters of its speed
May be a determining factor in heightening consciousness

Studies show that when a given norm is changed in the face
Of the unchanging the remaining contradictions will parallel the truth
Equate rhyme with reason, sun with season, our cyclical relationship
To phenomenon has encouraged scholars
To erase the centers of periods thus symbolizing the non-linear
Character of 'cause and effect reject mediocrity

Your current frequencies of understanding outweigh that
Which as been given for you to understand
The current standard is the equivalent
Of an adolescent restricted to the diet of an infant
The rapidly changing body would acquire dysfunctional
And deformative symptoms and could not properly mature
On a diet of apple sauce and crushed pears

Light years are interchangeable with years of living in darkness
The role of darkness is not to be seen as or equated with ignorance
But with the unknown and the mysteries of the unseen
Thus, in the name of
Robeson, God's Son, Hurston, Ahkenaton
Hatsheput, Blackfoot, Helen, Lennon, Kahlo
Kali, The Three Marias, Tara, Lilith, Lorde
Whitman, Baldwin, Ginsberg, Kaufman, Lumumba

Ghandi, Gibran, Shabazz, Shabazz, Siddhartha
Medusa, Guevara, Gurdjieff, Rand, Wright, Banneker
Tubman, Hamer, Holiday, Davis, Coltrane
Morrison, Joplin, Du Bois, Clarke, Shakespeare

Rachmaninov, Ellington, Carter, Gaye, Hathaway
Hendrix, Kuti, Dickerson, Riperton, Mary, Isis
Teresa, Hansberry, Tesla, Plath, Rumi, Fellini
Michaux, Nostradamus, Nefertiti, La Rock, Shiva

Ganesha, Yemaja, Oshun, Obatala, Ogun, Kennedy
King, four little girls, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Keller
Biko, Perón, Marley, Magdalene, Cosby, Shakur
Those who burnt, those still aflamed and the countless unnamed

We claim the present as the pre-sent, as the hereafter
We are unraveling our navels so that we may ingest the sun
We are not afraid of the darkness, we trust that the moon shall guide us
We are determining the future at this very moment
We now know that the heart is the philosophers' stone

Our music is our alchemy, we stand as the manifested
Equivalent of three buckets of water and a hand full of minerals
Thus realizing that those very buckets turned upside down
Supply the percussion factor of forever, if you must count
To keep the beat then count

Find you mantra and awaken your subconscious
Curve you circles counterclockwise, use your cipher to decipher
Coded Language, manmade laws, climb waterfalls and trees
Commune with nature, snakes and bees let your children
Name themselves and claim themselves as the new day, for today

We are determined to be the channelers of these changing
Frequencies into songs, paintings, writings, dance, drama
Photography, carpentry, crafts, love and love, we enlist every instrument
Acoustic, electronic every so called race, gender and sexual preference
Every person as beings of sound to acknowledge their responsibility
To uplift the consciousness of the entire fucking world

Any utterance unaimed will be disclaimed
Will be named Two Rappers Slain
Any utterance unaimed will be disclaimed
Will be named Two Rappers Slain

Copyright © Saul Williams

A leading voice on the spoken-word scene, Saul Williams began astonishing open mic audiences with his impassioned tongue-twisting verse in the mid-1990s and eventually became a grand slam champion at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. 

In 1996, he led the four-person New York team to the finals of the National Poetry Slam competition, a fierce battle of verse that was chronicled in the documentary film "Slamnation." Two years later, in a role that featured many of his own compositions, Williams played an imprisoned street poet in the award-winning film, Slam, for which Esquire magazine deemed him a "dreadlocked dervish of words."

A self-proclaimed disciple of Bob Kaufman and Amiri Baraka, Williams combines the rhythms and themes of Beat and Black Arts poets in his work. His three collections of poetry--The Seventh Octave, Sãhe, and , said the shotgun to the head--tackle difficult social and political issues as well as intangible questions about religion and spirituality. In performance, his work is full of a pulsing frenzy, which the New York Times described as "mind-twisting cosmic rumination with hallucinatory science-fiction scenarios that the poet delivers with an incantatory fervor."

The undeniable beat in the poet's work led to an inevitable transition to music. Initially, he collaborated with DJs and hip-hop artists, reciting his verse to their backbeat. In 2001, he recorded his own album, Amethyst Rock Star, co-produced by Rick Rubin, the legendary producer of Public Enemy, Run DMC, the Beastie Boys, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, as well as the co-founder of the record label Def Jam with hip-hop impresario Russell Simmons. In 2004, Williams released the self-titled album Saul Williams, for which, as he explained, he approached the music as a musician, not as a spoken-word artist. "The last [album] was about poetry over beats," he said in a recent interview, "and this is about the songs."

Despite his shift toward songwriting, the words are still of utmost importance to Williams. Demonstrating a political consciousness through his poems and songs is vital. He feels the current hip-hop culture has departed from the thought-provoking work of such artists as Public Enemy and De La Soul to a more inane preoccupation with materialism and a dangerous tolerance of what he calls "bullshit lyricism." He warns against the dangerous and passive acceptance of these negative lyrics transmitted through an infectious beat: "You start building a tolerance," he explained. "Because when you nod your head to a beat, you nod your head affirmatively."

On his own records, Williams has managed to marry hip-hop beats with sober lyrics. "Amethyst Rock Star has to do with the fact that when you're tuned into your spirit you realize that we are all stars by birth," the poet has said. "That's our birthright, literally." The band accompanying him is comprised of a violinist, a cellist, a bass player, a keyboard player, a DJ, and a drummer, resulting in an album that the Times of London named "Album of the Year."

The album Saul Williams was influenced by a wide range of artists including Jimmy Hendrix, Radiohead, and the Mars Volta, and resulted in a fusion that Williams calls "industrial punk hop." Brian Orloff, writing in Rolling Stone magazine, explained: "Musically, Saul Williams matches Williams's lyrics with gritty, frittered guitar and urgent rhythms. 'List of Demands (Reparations)' finds Williams singing, "I gotta list of demands written on the palm of my hands' over a staccato guitar riff that sounds like gunfire.'"

"I'm definitely a hip-hop head by nature," Williams has said. "I'm there in the mix, so I'm turned on by the same things, nod my head to the same things. Even if I'm writing a piece of prose, there is still an intrinsic rhythm that I'm looking for, even without rhyme, even without beats, even without music and microphones." 

Like slam poetry?

Support "Holy Spoken Word," Necessary Poetry's 1st Anthology:

A multimedia anthology, showcasing the amazing writing, artwork, and spoken-word performance of the Necessary Poetry collective, a group of poets from Sedona, Flagstaff and Prescott.

Click here to help support our efforts on Kickstarter. A donation of even $10 or $20 gets us closer to our goal of our first publication and establishment of a nonprofit spoken word collective open to all.

National Poetry Month: "Thank You Thank You" by Donald Hall from The New Yorker

Thank You Thank You

from The New Yorker

By Donald Hall

April is Poetry Month, the Academy of American Poets tells us. In 2012, there were seven thousand four hundred and twenty-seven poetry readings in April, many on a Thursday. For anyone born in 1928 who pays attention to poetry, the numerousness is astonishing; in April of 1948, there were fifteen readings in the United States, twelve by Robert Frost.

So I claim. The figures are imaginary but you get the point.
***

Whenever a poet comes to the end of a poetry reading, she pauses a moment, then, as a signal for applause, says, “Thank you,” and nods her head. Hands clap, and she says, “Thank you,” again, to more applause. Sometimes she says it one more time, or he does. How else does the audience know that the reading might not go on for six hours?

***

For better or worse, poetry is my life. After a reading, I enjoy the question period. On a tour in Nebraska I read poems to high-school kids, a big auditorium. When I finished, someone wanted to know how I got started. I said that at twelve I loved horror movies, then read Edgar Allan Poe, then… A young man up front waved his hand. I paused in my story. He asked, “Didn’t you do it to pick up chicks?”

I remembered cheerleaders at Hamden High School. “It works better,” I told him, “when you get older.”
***

It used to be that one poet in each generation performed poems in public. In the twenties, it was Vachel Lindsay, who sometimes dropped to his knees in the middle of a poem. Then Robert Frost took over, and made his living largely on the road. He spoke well, his metre accommodating his natural sentences, and in between poems he made people laugh. At times, he played the chicken farmer, cute and countrified, eliciting coos of delight from an adoring audience. Once I heard him do this routine, then attended the post-reading cocktail party where he ate deviled eggs, sipped martinis, and slaughtered the reputations of Eliot, Williams, Stevens, Moore…

Back then, other famous poets read aloud only two or three times a year. If they were alive now, probably they could make a better living saying their poems than they did as an editor at Faber and Faber, or an obstetrician, or an insurance-company executive, or a Brooklyn librarian.
***

In 1952, I recited aloud for the first time, booming in Oxford’s Sheldonian Theatre from a bad poem that had won a prize. I was twenty-three. The London Times remarked on my “appropriately lugubrious voice.” When I first did a full-length poetry reading, three years later, my arms plunged stiff from my shoulders, my voice was changeless in pitch and volume, my face rigid, expressionless, pale—as if I were a collaborator facing a firing squad.
***

A question period for undergraduates at a Florida college began with the usual stuff: What is the difference between poetry and prose? Then I heard a question I had never heard before: “How do you reconcile being a poet with being president of Hallmark cards?” This inquisitive student had looked on the Internet, and learned that the man who runs that sentiment factory is indeed Donald Hall.

It’s a common name. Once before a reading a man asked me, “Are you Donald Hall?”

“Yes,” I said.

“So am I,” he said.
***

When my first book came out, in 1955, it was praised. I did a second book, my poems appeared in magazines—but nobody asked me to speak them out loud. I taught at the University of Michigan, which sponsored no readings. To my students, I recited great poems with gusto and growing confidence—Wyatt, Keats, Dickinson, Whitman, Yeats, Hardy—and worked on performance without knowing it. It was a shock when, late in the decade, a lecture agent telephoned to offer a fee for reading my poems at a college. It happened again, and I flew off on days when I didn’t teach. Michigan paid minimal salaries, and most teachers amplified their incomes by plodding to summer school. I stayed home and wrote instead of employing the Socratic method in a suffocating classroom.

As the phone kept ringing, I supposed that poetry readings were some sort of fad, like cramming into phone booths; I would enjoy it as long as it lasted.
***

When my generation learned to read aloud, publishing from platforms more often than in print, we heard our poems change. Sound had always been my portal to poetry, but in the beginning sound was imagined through the eye. Gradually the mouth-juice of vowels, or mouth-chunk of consonants, gave body to poems in performance. Dylan Thomas showed the way. Charles Olson said that “form is never more than an extension of content.” Really, content is only an excuse for oral sex. The most erotic poem in English is “Paradise Lost.”

In concentrating on sound, as in anything else, there are things to beware of. Revising a poem one morning, I found myself knowing that a new phrase was repellent, but realized it would pass if I intoned it out loud. Watch out. A poem must work from the platform but it must also work on the page. My generation started when poetry was print, before it became sound. We were lucky to practice both modes at once.
***

A chairman of English warned a friend of mine about her approaching audience. “They’re required to attend,” he said. “They don’t listen to anything. Sometimes in class I ask them to open a window, or to close it, just to see if they’re alive.” He sighed a deep sigh, as ponderous as tenure. “I don’t know what I’d do if The New Yorker didn’t come on Thursdays.”
***

It’s alleged that Homer said his poems aloud, though perhaps it was more like improv over centuries. Somewhat later, we learn, Tennyson read his poems to Queen Victoria, but we don’t know much more. In the nineteen-thirties, William Butler Yeats travelled by train from east coast to west, but the master of poetic noise didn’t speak his verses. At universities, to butter his bread, he read the typescript of a lecture called “Three Great Irishmen.” Maybe poets used to be paid not to say their poems?
***

By chance, I had been an undergraduate at the one college in America with an endowed meagre series of poetry readings. Eliot was good, but most performances were insufferable—superb poems spoken as if they were lines from the telephone book. William Carlos Williams read too quickly in a high-pitched voice, but seemed to enjoy himself. Wallace Stevens appeared to loathe his beautiful work, making it flat and half-audible. (Maybe he thought of how the boys in the office would tease him.) Marianne Moore’s tuneless drone was as eccentric as her inimitable art. When she spoke between poems, she mumbled in the identical monotone. Since she frequently revised or cut her things, a listener had to concentrate, to distinguish poems from talk. After twenty minutes, she looked distressed, and said, “Thank you.” When Dylan Thomas read, I hovered above my auditorium seat as I heard him say Yeats’s “Lapis Lazuli.” He read his own poems afterward, fabricated for his rich and succulent Welsh organ. I found myself floating again. In four American visits, from 1950 to 1954, when he died in New York, Thomas read his poems many times at many places, from New York’s Poetry Center through dozens of western colleges. Frost’s eminence among poetry readers disappeared for a time.
***

In a question period I launched into my familiar rant about dead metaphors, asserting that when “I am glued to the chair” equals “I am anchored to the spot,” we claim that a tugboat is Elmer’s glue. This afternoon, I was obsessed with dead metaphors of disability: the crippled economy, blind ambition, deaf to entreaties, the paralysis of industry, and…

At the end I summed up my argument. Guileless, I said, “All these metaphors are lame.”

Why was everyone laughing?
***

Late in the fifties, poetry readings erupted in the United States suddenly and numerously. Probably it was because of Dylan Thomas’s readings, though there was a gap before the volcano exploded. His popularity was not only on account of his voice or his verse. Thomas was a star, and most people came to his readings because of the Tales of Master Dylan—vast drunkenness, creative obscenity at parties, botched seductions, nightly comas—but if people attended because of his celebrity, at least they were going to a poetry reading. Maybe the explosion of readings was also because of a cultural change. Songs were no longer Tin Pan Alley, and the lyrics were worth heeding. When everyone listened to Bob Dylan, they heard lines that resembled poetry. When people heard memorable language sung from platforms, they became able to hear poems recited in auditoriums. The University of Michigan began to schedule poetry readings every Tuesday at 4 P.M. A gathering of students, sometimes three hundred, attended each week, and absorbed what they listened to. A few days after one reading, I met Sarah, a friend of my daughter’s. She recited a stanza from Tuesday’s poet. “You’ve been reading her books!” I said. “Oh, no,” she said. Sarah remembered the words.
***

Once, after a circuit reading, my driver left me at a house for a party. I would spend the night there, while he went to a motel to get some sleep, and he would pick me up the next morning at six. The party was good; the party was long. These were the days when people drank liquor. Our host drooped asleep on the sofa at 4 A.M., which was apparently his daily wont. I didn’t notice, because I was flirting with a pretty woman, whose husband stood dazed beside her, until he emerged into consciousness to attack me. His fist aimed at my jaw, but moved so slowly that I was able to duck. Three minutes later, we became friends forever, and at 6 A.M. I stood on the sidewalk, waiting for my escort to drive me to the next reading, the next party.
***

Poets love to tell stories about readings. After a woman friend performed in Mississippi one winter, a man handed her a heavy box of typewriter paper, saying, “I want to share my poems with you.” When she glanced through “Verses of a Sergeant Major, Ret.,” she found it unreadable. Telling me about it, she asserted that share has become a verb of assault disguised as magnanimity. “Unless you read my poems, I will gouge your eyeballs out.”
***

Bert Hornback ran the Tuesday readings in Ann Arbor, supplementing the English department’s pittance by appealing to university administrators for discretionary funds. After ten years of weekly readings, he burned out, and watched as the feckless department drooped to holding a reading a year. He decided to see what he could do by himself. On a January day in the eighties, he borrowed the university’s Rackham Auditorium, sold tickets for a joint poetry reading—five-fifty each, fifty cents for Ticketmaster—and invited some friends to do a joint reading: Wendell Berry, Galway Kinnell, and Seamus Heaney. On a Friday night—against a basketball home game, against the Chicago Symphony—Bert filled eleven hundred seats with paying poetry fans. The Fire Department permitted a hundred standing-room-only tickets, which sold out, and Bert added further S.R.O.s when the Fire Department wasn’t looking. Unexpected vanloads arrived from Cleveland, Chicago, Milwaukee, and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Each poet read for forty minutes, and after a break did ten minutes more. Outside, the crowd without tickets sulked and grumbled. It was said that scalpers charged as much as fifty dollars.
***

A Dodge festival in New Jersey was massive with poets, schoolteachers, and school kids. Each poet did panels, question periods, and readings. The first night, all twenty-five poets read, a few minutes each, to a crowd of three thousand. Nobody sitting at the back of the tent could have seen a poet’s face if the festival had not enlarged each visage on a screen like the Dallas Cowboys’. For closeups, the Dodge employed a black, jointed steel arm, a foot thick and fifty feet long, which curled and lurched its camera back and forth, grabbing each facial detail in its metallic tentacles. It looked as if it were searching for a source of protein.

A week after the readings and lectures of the festival, a recent Pulitzer poet received a thick letter from a woman in South Carolina who had fallen in love. The envelope was heavy with amorous poems, and she told him that there were ninety-five more, but she didn’t have the stamps. She attached a photograph of a mature woman in front of a ranch house, and implored him to fly down immediately. She sent an airline ticket with blank dates.
***

It’s O.K. to be pleased when an audience loves you, or treat you as deathless, but you must not believe them. If a poet is any good, how would the listeners know? Poets have no notion of their own durability or distinction. When poets announce that their poems are immortal, they are depressed or lying or psychotic. Interviewing T. S. Eliot, I saved my cheekiest question for last. “Do you know if you’re any good?” His revised and printed response was formal, but in person he was abrupt: “Heavens no! Do you? Nobody intelligent knows if he’s any good.” No honor, no publication proves anything. Look at an issue of the Atlantic in 1906; look at a Poetry from 1931. A Nobel Prize means nothing. Look in an almanac at the list of poets who have won a Pulitzer Prize; look at the sad parade of Poets Laureate.
***

Sometimes an audience is not three thousand. A friend of mine arrived at a hall to find that his listener was singular. They went out for a beer. I heard of another poet who showed up for a crowd of two. Gamefully, she did a full reading from the podium, and afterward descended to shake the hands of her crowd. One was dead.
***

When I was young, I could project, and now without a microphone I can’t be heard in the tenth row. It’s not only the debility of age. One’s range is diminished by habitual use of microphones. (When stage actors spend twenty years making movies, they are inaudible when they return to Broadway or the West End.) But there are advantages to artificial enhancement. There’s a poem in which I moo like a cow. Cows’ lungs are bigger than ours. I approach the microphone intimately, and softly but audibly moo as long as a cow moos. Proximity to the microphone saves my wind as I croon, mm-mmm-mmmmm-mmmmmmmm-ugghwanchhh. My friends say it’s the best line I’ve ever written.
***

After the group-talk of the question period comes the one-on-one. People line up for signatures. Sometimes the seeker dictates a dedication. “Say, ‘With love to Billy and his adorable wife, Sheila, who makes a great pound cake.’ ” The signer should demur, or at least edit. Everyone in line must spell a name, or “Felicia” turns out to be “Phylysha.” (Once, at a prep school, a boy asked me to write, “For Mom and Dad.” I told him my parents were dead, and we worked things out.) If there are just a few in line, the poet can speak with them as if they were people. If the line is long, it becomes impossible to distinguish one petitioner from another. At the end stands the host—the man who invited the poet to the campus, who picked her up at the airport, with whom she had lengthy conversation, who will give her the check, who hands her a book to sign—and she has no idea of his name.
***

Some readings prove memorable for a single eccentricity. On an occasion in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, an orchestra was finishing rehearsal in the auditorium as the poetry reading was due to begin. The introducer and the poet carried music stands into the wings. In London, a reading was to begin at 6 P.M. in the ancient Church of St. Giles in the Fields. Evensong prevailed. Another time, in the state of Chiapas, in Mexico, eight writers sat onstage waiting hours for the governor to arrive. A large audience had departed by the time he walked in, surrounded by bodyguards with machine guns. In fatigue, we each read to the governor for five minutes. “Gracias,” we said. “Gracias.”
***

As I limped into my eighties, my readings altered, as everything did. Performance held up, but not body; I had to read sitting down. When an introduction slogged to its end, I lurched from backstage, hobbled, and carefully aimed my ass into a chair. For a while, I began each reading with a short poem I was trying out, which spoke of being twelve and watching my grandfather milk his Holsteins. In the poem I asked, in effect, how my grandfather would respond if he saw me now. When I finished saying the poem, there was always a grave pause, long enough to drive a hayrack through, followed by a standing ovation. I had never received a standing O after a first poem; now it happened again and again, from Pennsylvania to Minnesota to California, and I thought I had written an uncannily moving poem. When I mailed copies to friends for praise, they politely expressed their dismay. I was puzzled and distressed until I finally figured it out. The audience had just seen me stagger, wavering with a cane, and labor to sit down, wheezing. They imagined my grandfather horrified, seeing a cadaver gifted with speech. They stood and applauded because they knew they would never see me again.

Donald Hall published his final book of poems, “The Back Chamber,” last autumn. This November, he will publish “Christmas at Eagle Pond,” about New Hampshire in 1940. He may be reached via e-mail.

Like poetry? Support "Holy Spoken Word," Necessary Poetry's 1st Anthology:

A multimedia anthology, showcasing the amazing writing, artwork, and spoken-word performance of the Necessary Poetry collective, a group of poets from Sedona, Flagstaff and Prescott.

Click here to help support our efforts on Kickstarter. A donation of even $10 or $20 gets us closer to our goal of our first publication and establishment of a nonprofit spoken word collective.

What does Necessary Poetry want to do?

Help support us on Kickstarter. Donate to help us publish Holy Spoken Word - Necessary Poetry's 1st Anthology: A multimedia anthology, showcasing the amazing writing, artwork, and spoken-word performance of the Necessary Poetry collective.

Click here to help support our efforts on Kickstarter. A donation of even $10 or $20 would do wonders to get us to our goal.

 The poets are some of the best in Northern Arizona:

Visit Kickstarter and support "Holy Spoken Word" - Necessary Poetry's 1st Anthology

"Holy Spoken Word" is Necessary Poetry's 1st Anthology:

A multimedia anthology, showcasing the amazing writing, artwork, and spoken-word performance of the Necessary Poetry collective, a group of poets from Sedona, Flagstaff and Prescott.

Click here to help support our efforts on Kickstarter. A donation of even $10 or $20 would do wonders to get us to our goal.

Necessary Poetry is the collaborative effort of over 15 Arizona slam poets.

Sparked by a common love for written and spoken word, and a collective desire to inspire and motivate positive creative expression, we've joined together to publish a multi-media anthology of our best individual and cooperative creations - Holy Spoken Word. We are a passionate band of dedicated volunteers, and this stunning collection of words, artwork, and recorded performances is sure to seduce minds and ignite hearts everywhere.
BUT, POETRY IS BORING. Not this poetry! This poetry is raw. This poetry is relentless. This poetry captures smiles - it takes mouths hostage.

The poets are some of the best in Northern Arizona:

FAQ

• Is this a religious anthology?
  Words are our religion... so in a way, yes. But in the way you probably meant it - um, no.
  The poetry submitted to Necessary Poetry may have religious themes or imagery from various traditions, but the project as a whole is secular and nonreligious. While some of the poets themselves may be religious or spiritual, others are secular, agnostic and atheist. The title "Holy Spoken Word" stems from the poets' belief that if anything is "holy," then surely it must be poetry and its power to connect peoples across time, languages, cultures, religious and spiritual or nonspiritual traditions.
  
• WHY poetry?
  Because everything is poetry. The way the rain falls, the way the light bounces off a glass, the way you cried hard when your first love dumped you because your freckles freaked him or her out... Inspiration can be found anywhere, and we're passionate about presenting ours in a way which connects us all on a human level. 
  
• What happens when you sell a gazillion copies of the book? Will you sit back to revel in your riches?
  Hell, no!  Necessary Poetry's contributors have all agreed that any monies received from the sale of this anthology will be used to fund a series of workshops on writing and expression, and to support the efforts of aspiring poets and spoken word performers in our community.
  The hardworking poets hope to use those resources to fund workshops and efforts to bring poetry to a wider audience and encourage those who want to want to speak to find the poet and Holy Spoken Word within themselves, whatever that may be.
  
  

  Click here to help support our efforts on Kickstarter.

Josh Wiss wins the fifth Sedona Poetry Slam of the 2012-13 National Poetry Slam season

Josh Wiss wins the fifth Sedona Poetry Slam of the 2012-13 National Poetry Slam season, held March 17, at Studio Live in West Sedona.

Josh Wiss of Flagstaff and Phoenix, wins the fifth Sedona Poetry Slam of the 2012-13 National Poetry Slam season

Round 1

Random Draw

Calibration: Christopher Fox Graham, of Sedona

Gary Every, of Sedona, 3:17, 24.5 (after 0.5 time penalty)
Tom Lamkin, of Chicago, 1:41, 23.0
Evan Dissinger, of Flagstaff, 3:23, 27.1 (after 1.0 time penalty)
Bradley Blalock, of Sedona, 1:46, 23.7
Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff, 2:16, 26.3
Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff, 1:57, 28.8

Teaser: Christopher Fox Graham, of Sedona

Round 2

Reverse Order

Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff, 1:40, 28.9, 57.7
Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff, 2:22, 27.5, 53.8
Bradley Blalock, of Sedona, 2:30, 26.6, 50.3
Evan Dissinger, of Flagstaff, 1:35, 26.8, 52.9
Tom Lamkin, of Chicago, 1:02, 25.9, 48.9
Gary Every, of Sedona, 4:28, 26.0 (after 4.0 time penalty), 46.0

Host poet Christopher Fox Graham claims his Scots-Irish
heritage from Clan McElwee, from County Fermanagh,
in the province of Ulster.

Feature: Crìsdean Sionnach Greum for St. Patrick's Day

The March Sedona Poetry Slam falls on St. Patrick's Day, and will give the poets the added opportunity to celebrate two of Ireland's greatest contributions to the artistic world, poetry and whiskey.

Ireland is home to a numerous list of the world's best poets, including Jonathan Swift (1667–1745), Oscar Wilde (1845–1900), James Joyce (1882–1941), C.S. Lewis (1899–1963) and Patrick Kavanagh (1904–1967), three Nobel laureates: W.B. Yeats (1865–1939), Samuel Beckett (1906–1989) and Seamus Heaney (born 1939), as well as poet and revolutionary Pádraig Anraí Mac Piarais (1879–1916), one of the three leaders of the Easter Rising who was executed for his role in the rebellion that later led to Irish independence.

In celebration of his Irish heritage, Graham will host the slam and perform some Irish poems under his Gaelic name, Crìsdean Sionnach Greum.

Round 3

High to Low

Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff, 1:12, 28.5, 86.2
Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff, 2:42, 28.0, 81.8
Evan Dissinger, of Flagstaff, 2:50, 27.9, 80.8
Bradley Blalock, of Sedona, 1:23, 27.1, 77.4
Tom Lamkin, of Chicago, 1:28, 27.1, 76.0
Gary Every, of Sedona, 3:34, 26.2 (after 1.5 time penalty), 72.2

Sorbet: Christopher Fox Graham, of Sedona

Victory: Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff

Final Scores

Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff, 86.2

Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff, 81.8

Evan Dissinger, of Flagstaff, 80.8

Bradley Blalock, of Sedona, 77.4
Tom Lamkin, of Chicago, 76.0
Gary Every, of Sedona, 72.2

Sedona National Poetry Slam Team

Slamoff Point Standings

12 points

Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff✓✓

9 points

Ryan Brown, of Flagstaff✓✓

The Klute, of Phoenix

7 points

Evan Dissinger, of Flagstaff

Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff

Joy Young, of Phoenix

6 points

Christopher Fox Graham, of Sedona

4 points

Leo Bryant, of Richmond, Calif.✓

3 points

Charles Levett, of Phoenix

Jeremiah Blue, of Phoenix

2 points

Ashley Swazey, of Phoenix

Austin Reeves, of Flagstaff

Bert Cisneros, of Cottonwood

Gary Every, of Sedona

Lauren Perry, of Phoenix

Lynn Gravatt, of Sedona

1.5 points

Josh Floyd, of Flagstaff

Taylor Hayes, of Flagstaff

Valence, of Flagstaff

1 point

Bill Campana, of Mesa

Bradley Blalock, of Sedona

Houston Hughes, of Fayetteville, Ark.

Jackie Stockwell, of Flagstaff

Jasmine "Jazz" Sufi Wilkenson of Santa Cruz, Calif.

Jordan Ranft, of Santa Rosa, Calif.

Ky J. Dio, of Flagstaff

Lauren Deja, of Phoenix

Little Blue Lyon-Fish, of Phoenix

nodalone, of Flagstaff

Robert Gonzales, of Flagstaff

Rowie Shebala, of Phoenix

Slammy D, of Flagstaff

Susan Okie, of Washington, D.C.

Tom Lamkin, of Chicago

Vincent Vega, of Flagstaff

✓ = won a Sedona Poetry Slam

Celebrate St. Patrick's day with a Sedona Poetry Slam on Sunday, March 17

Sedona’s Studio Live hosts a poetry slam on St. Patrick's Day, Sunday, March 17, starting at 7:30 p.m. hosted by Sedona poet Christopher Fox Graham.

Tickets are $10. On the day of the slam, tickets are $12. Click here to get your tickets now.

All poets are welcome to compete for the $75 grand prize and $25 second-place prize. The prize is funded in part by a donation from Verde Valley poetry supporter Jeanne Freeland.

The slam is the fifth of the 2012-13 season, which will culminate in selection of Sedona’s second National Poetry Slam Team, the foursome and alternate who will represent the city at the National Poetry Slam in Boston and Cambridge, Mass., in August.

Slammers will need three original poems, each lasting no longer than three minutes. No props, costumes nor musical accompaniment are permitted.

The poets will be judged Olympics-style by five members of the audience selected at random at the beginning of the slam.

Poets who want to compete should purchase a ticket in case the roster is filled before they arrive.

The local poets will share the stage with 300 of the top poets in the United States, Canada and Europe, pouring out their words in a weeklong explosion of expression. Sedona sent its five-poet first team to the 2012 National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C.

To compete in the slam, poets need at least three original poems, each three minutes long or shorter. No props, costumes or musical accompaniment are permitted. All types of poetry are welcome.

The slam will be hosted by Graham, who represented Northern Arizona on six FlagSlam National Poetry Slams in 2001, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2010 and 2012.

Contact Graham at foxthepoet@yahoo.com to sign up to slam.

Host poet Christopher Fox Graham claims his Scots-Irish
heritage from Clan McElwee, from County Fermanagh,
in the province of Ulster.

St. Patrick's Day Slam

The March Sedona Poetry Slam falls on St. Patrick's Day, and will give the poets the added opportunity to celebrate two of Ireland's greatest contributions to the artistic world, poetry and whiskey.

Ireland is home to a numerous list of the world's best poets, including Jonathan Swift (1667–1745), Oscar Wilde (1845–1900), James Joyce (1882–1941), C.S. Lewis (1899–1963) and Patrick Kavanagh (1904–1967), three Nobel laureates: W.B. Yeats (1865–1939), Samuel Beckett (1906–1989) and Seamus Heaney (born 1939), as well as poet and revolutionary Pádraig Anraí Mac Piarais (1879–1916), one of the three leaders of the Easter Rising who was executed for his role in the rebellion that later led to Irish independence.

In celebration of his Irish heritage, Graham will host the slam and perform some Irish poems under his Gaelic name, Crìsdean Sionnach Greum.

What is Poetry Slam?

Founded in Chicago in 1984, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport. Poetry slams are judged by five randomly chosen members of the audience who assign numerical value to individual poets’ contents and performances.

Poetry slam has become an international artistic sport, with more than 100 major poetry slams in the United States, Canada, Australia and Western Europe.

All types of poetry are welcome on the stage, from street-wise hip-hop and narrative performance poems, to political rants and introspective confessionals. Any poem is a “slam” poem if performed in a competition. All poets get three minutes per round to entertain their audience with their creativity.

2013 Sedona National Poetry Slam Team

Competing poets earn points with each Sedona Poetry Slam performance between September and May. Every poet earns 1 point for performing or hosting. First place earns 3 additional points, second place earns 2 and third place earns 1.

Based on points, the top 12 poets in May are eligible to compete for the four slots on the Sedona Poetry Slam Team, which will represent the community and Studio Live at the 2013 National Poetry Slam in Boston. Poets can compete for multiple teams during a season and still be eligible to compete in the Sedona team.

For poetry slam standings, videos from past slams, and updates, visit foxthepoet.org. For poetry events in Northern Arizona, visit NecessaryPoetry.Com.

Tickets are $10 in advance and $12 the day of the event, available online at studiolivesedona.com.

"A Compilation Love Poem," by Abby Meade and Stephanie Whitaker

Poets poking fun at other poets in a slam scene is a wonderful thing. This was a slam poem performed by two poets in the FlagSlam scene, performing in the style of the poets. Abby Meade's performance of Josh Floyd was the most spot-on.

Photo by Robert Chandler Gonzales

Abby Meade, left, and Stephanie Whitaker debut "A Compilation Love Poem" at the Cozy Slam.

A Compilation Love Poem

By Abby Meade - Stephanie Whitaker

Christopher Fox Graham: (read by Abby)

Even though I don’t remember your name, you meant something, and in that one night we spent together, your golden hair glinted in the moonlight.

Your eyes like daggers to my soul reminded me that I could never have you.

I know we met when we were 12, but braces looked cute on you, and you made cropped pants look cool.

Jackson Morris: (read by Stephanie)

Thanks, CFG, but I think I got it from here.

As I looked down at our intertwined fingers, I wanted to pinch myself, because who could love a self-deprecating geek like me?

Your sparkling blue eyes like pools rippled with thoughts I couldn’t read. I wanted to take you in my arms and protect you from the monsters in your dreams.

Josh Floyd: (read by Abby)

Girl, you deserve the monsters! You are worse than any nightmare I ever had.

I used to be a rapper, but even that didn’t hurt me as bad as you.

Now it’s just me and my first love: My skateboard.

Nothing you do is going to separate us.

 She fills the holes you punched into my soul.

Vincent Vega: (read by Stephanie)

I want to rip your heart out of your ribcage and watch it beat in my hand as the blood drips to the floor.

I love you like a horror movie, screams and pain and fear wrapped up in gore and tied with a cute pink bow.

The one you wear on Wednesdays.

The one I want to rip from your curls and tie around your neck so I can listen to you gasp for air.

Blue is a good color on you.

Christopher Fox Graham: (read by Abby)

You still sleep with the blue stuffed dog you had since kindergarten, and I was always jealous.

I wanted your full attention, but you… you had your own plans.

And when you left for college, even though we hadn’t spoken in months, it was like a weight off my shoulders.

I know you’re better off without me.

Jackson Morris: (read by Stephanie)

That night, we lay under the stars and listened to the chorus of crickets around us.

It was the perfect ending to our moonlit picnic, and though the blanket was a little itchy, when you pointed out Orion’s belt, I smiled.

When you think back on us, smile over the memories that might be a little bitter now, but are mixed in with the good ones.

Josh Floyd: (read by Abby)

The aftershocks of your words still ripple through me, like giants stepping through the cities of my mind.

The riot is over, but the wreckage remains I’m trying to clean up after you, but girl, earthquakes reverberate, and this one leaves me *gasp* breathless.

Vincent Vega: (read by Stephanie)

Your soul is too free, so I’ll lock you into a cage and watch you wither away, because I like skinny girls.

I’ll treat you like a woman should be treated: chained up and tortured with my love.

 I want to know that when I leave, you’ll still be there when I get back.

But I also want you to be comfortable, so I’ll only use the best handcuffs on you.

Because, baby girl, I love you.

Visit Brian Walker's new website: BrianWalkerArtist.com

Visit the new website of Sedona's best known outsider artist, Brian Walker, at

BrianWalkerArtist.com

 

3-D Mixed Media

Author series

Jazz

Chinese Zodiac series

New content constantly uploaded.

Ryan Brown wins the fourth Sedona Poetry Slam of the 2012-13 National Poetry Slam Season

Photo by Tara Graeber

Ryan Brown, of Flagstaff, wins the Feb. 16 Sedona Poetry Slam.

Ryan Brown wins the fourth Sedona Poetry Slam of the 2012-13 National Poetry Slam Season.

Round 1

Random Draw

Calibration: Christopher Fox Graham, of Sedona

Valence, of Flagstaff, 2:28, 25.9
Slammy D, of Flagstaff, 2:38, 25.5
Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff, 2:24, 23.7
Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff, 1:36, 24.8
Ryan Brown, of Flagstaff, 3:11, 28.3 (after 0.5 time penalty)
Ashley Swazey, of Flagstaff, 3:02, 25.7
The Klute, of Phoenix, 2:58, 28.1
Ky J. Dio, of Flagstaff, 1:59, 24.2
Susan Okie, of Washington D.C., 1:38, 23.3
Evan Dissinger, of Flagstaff, 2:00, 26.1
Joy Young, of Phoenix, 2:31, 28.2

Teaser: Jeremiah Blue, of Phoenix

Round 2

Reverse Order

Joy Young, of Phoenix, 2:36, 27.3, 55.5
Evan Dissinger, of Flagstaff, 2:47, 26.3, 52.4
Susan Okie, of Washington D.C., 1:39, 23.3, 46.6
Ky J. Dio, of Flagstaff, 1:53, 25.2, 50.9
The Klute, of Phoenix, 2:40, 27.0, 55.1
Ashley Swazey, of Flagstaff, 2:31, 27.0, 52.7
Ryan Brown, of Flagstaff, 28.2, 28.2, 56.5
Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff, 2:10, 26.6, 51.4
Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff, 3:06, 29.2, 52.9
Slammy D, of Flagstaff, 1:04, 25.9, 51.4
Valence, of Flagstaff, 2:02, 28.5, 53.4

Feature: Jeremiah Blue

Jeremiah Blue features at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, Feb. 16.

Jeremiah Blue is a Phoenix-based poet that has organized, hosted, and performed in the poetry slam scene since 2006. He has performed at a variety of venues throughout the country.

Currently, Blue co-hosts a weekly poetry slam in downtown Phoenix at Lawn Gnome Bookstore.

In 2007, he earned the title of Phoenix Poetry Slam Champion and has represented Phoenix twice at the National Poetry Slam. He also became the Individual Poetry Slam Champion for Phoenix in 2012, earning him the slot to represent the city at the Individual World Poetry Slam.

You can reach him on Facebook or you can email him at jsblue@gmail.com for more information or booking.

Round 3

High to Low

Sorbet:Verbal Kensington, of Flagstaff

Ryan Brown, of Flagstaff, 3:00, 28.5, 85.0
Joy Young, of Phoenix, 1:31, 28.5, 84.0
The Klute, of Phoenix, 1:53, 28.6, 83.7
Valence, of Flagstaff, 1:53, 28.1, 81.0
Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff, 3:15, 27.6 (after 0.5 time penalty), 78.2

Sorbet: Christopher Fox Graham, of Sedona

Victory: Ryan Brown, of Flagstaff

Final Scores

Ryan Brown, of Flagstaff, 85.0

Joy Young, of Phoenix, 84.0 - Winner of the Sedona slot for the Women of the World Poetry Slam

The Klute, of Phoenix, 83.7

Valence, of Flagstaff, 81.0
Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff, 78.2

Ashley Swazey, of Flagstaff,52.7
Evan Dissinger, of Flagstaff, 52.4
Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff, 51.4
Slammy D, of Flagstaff, 51.4
Ky J. Dio, of Flagstaff, 50.9
Susan Okie, of Washington D.C., 46.6

Sedona National Poetry Slam Team

Slamoff Point Standings

9 points
Ryan Brown, of Flagstaff✓✓
The Klute, of Phoenix
8 points
Josh Wiss, of Flagstaff✓
7 points
Joy Young, of Phoenix
5 points
Evan Dissinger, of Flagstaff
4 points
Christopher Fox Graham, of Sedona
Jackson Morris, of Flagstaff
Leo Bryant, of Richmond, Calif.✓
3 points
Charles Levett, of Phoenix
Jeremiah Blue, of Phoenix
2 points
Ashley Swazey, of Phoenix
Austin Reeves, of Flagstaff
Bert Cisneros, of Cottonwood
Lauren Perry, of Phoenix
Lynn Gravatt, of Sedona
1.5 points
Josh Floyd, of Flagstaff
Taylor Hayes, of Flagstaff
Valence, of Flagstaff
1 points
Bill Campana, of Mesa
Gary Every, of Sedona
Houston Hughes, of Fayetteville, Ark.
Jackie Stockwell, of Flagstaff
Jasmine "Jazz" Sufi Wilkenson of Santa Cruz, Calif.
Jordan Ranft, of Santa Rosa, Calif.
Ky J. Dio, of Flagstaff
Lauren Deja, of Phoenix
Little Blue Lyon-Fish, of Phoenix
nodalone, of Flagstaff
Robert Gonzales, of Flagstaff
Rowie Shebala, of Phoenix
Slammy D, of Flagstaff
Susan Okie, of Washington D.C.,
Vincent Vega, of Flagstaff
0.5 points
Verbal Kensington, of Flagstaff

✓ = won a Sedona Poetry Slam

Get your tickets now for Sedona Poetry Slam tomorrow

Jeremiah Blue features at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, Feb. 16

The current lineup:

Ryan Brown
Talyne Corlyn
Ky J. Dio
Evan Dissinger
Sammy Dominguez
Lileana Fangz
Josh Floyd
The Klute
Taylor Hayes
John Quinonez
Austin Reeves
Jackie Stockwell
Ashley Swazey
Joy Young

Sedona's Studio Live hosts a poetry slam Saturday, Feb. 16, starting at 7:30 p.m. featuring Phoenix poet Jeremiah Blue and hosted by Sedona poet Christopher Fox Graham.

Tickets are $10 if you buy them today. Tomorrow, the day of the slam, tickets are $12, so buy them by midnight!

The Feb. 16 poetry is slam is also the qualifier for Sedona's representative to
the International Women of the World Poetry Slam

All poets are welcome to compete for the $75 grand prize and $25 second-place prize. The prize is funded in part by a donation from Verde Valley poetry supporter Jeanne Freeland.

The slam is the fourth of the 2012-13 season, which will culminate in selection of Sedona's second National Poetry Slam Team, the foursome and alternate who will represent the city at the National Poetry Slam in Boston and Cambridge, Mass., in August.

The local poets will share the stage with 300 of the top poets in the United States, Canada and Europe, pouring out their words in a weeklong explosion of expression. Sedona sent its five-poet first team to the 2012 National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C.

To compete in the slam, poets need at least three original poems, each three minutes long or shorter. No props, costumes or musical accompaniment are permitted. All types of poetry are welcome.

The slam will be hosted by Graham, who represented Northern Arizona on six FlagSlam National Poetry Slams in 2001, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2010 and 2012.

Contact Graham at foxthepoet@yahoo.com to sign up to slam.

Jeremiah Blue

Jeremiah Blue features at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, Feb. 16.

Jeremiah Blue is a Phoenix-based poet that has organized, hosted, and performed in the poetry slam scene since 2006. He has performed at a variety of venues throughout the country.

Currently, Blue co-hosts a weekly poetry slam in downtown Phoenix at Lawn Gnome Bookstore.

In 2007, he earned the title of Phoenix Poetry Slam Champion and has represented Phoenix twice at the National Poetry Slam. He also became the Individual Poetry Slam Champion for Phoenix in 2012, earning him the slot to represent the city at the Individual World Poetry Slam.

You can reach him on Facebook or you can email him at jsblue@gmail.com for more information or booking.

Women of the World Poetry Slam Qualifier

This slam is also the qualifier for Sedona's representative to the International Women of the World Poetry Slam, to be held in Minneapolis from March 6-9. The highest ranked female or female-identified poet from earns Sedona's WOWps slot.

Eligibility: Poets who live their lives as women are eligible to participate in the Women of the World Poetry Slam. Competitors are eligible from certified venues or as individuals from areas without certified venues (a.k.a. “Storm” poets). Certified venues have a window of time to enter before individuals not associated with certified slams are able to enter. All certified venues must have a competition to determine their contestants.

All competitors must be PSI members in good standing and must agree to participate in the event following the rules of Slam as well as the Code of Honor, and must allow for PSI to videotape their performances for PSI owned product.

What is Poetry Slam?

Founded in Chicago in 1984, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport. Poetry slams are judged by five randomly chosen members of the audience who assign numerical value to individual poets' contents and performances.

Poetry slam has become an international artistic sport, with more than 100 major poetry slams in the United States, Canada, Australia and Western Europe.

All types of poetry are welcome on the stage, from street-wise hip-hop and narrative performance poems, to political rants and introspective confessionals. Any poem is a "slam" poem if performed in a competition. All poets get three minutes per round to entertain their audience with their creativity.

2013 Sedona National Poetry Slam Team

Competing poets earn points with each Sedona Poetry Slam performance between September and May. Every poet earns 1 point for performing or hosting. First place earns 3 additional points, second place earns 2 and third place earns 1.

Based on points, the top 12 poets in May are eligible to compete for the four slots on the Sedona Poetry Slam Team, which will represent the community and Studio Live at the 2013 National Poetry Slam in Boston. Poets can compete for multiple teams during a season and still be eligible to compete in the Sedona team.

For poetry slam standings, videos from past slams, and updates, visit foxthepoet.org.

Tickets are $10 in advance and $12 the day of the event, available online at studiolivesedona.com.

Studio Live is located at 215 Coffee Pot Drive, West Sedona. For more information, call (928) 282-2688.