I promised I'd post this at some point, so here it is:
Read the interview in Spanish here at
Revista Bardo, super Argentinian poetry magazine, focussing specifically on spoken word culture.
1)
At what
age did you start writing poetry?
I wrote a ‘get well’
poem for my aunt when I was 7. Does that count?
As a kid, I read and
listened to a lot of rhyming stories and funny poems. At some point – I can’t
be sure exactly when – I started making my own
2)
At what
age did you start reciting it?
I wasn’t aware of
“oral poetry” as a genre before. I remember reading out John Agard’s “I din’ do
nuttin’” as a kid at home, out loud. But that’s the kind of thing I did at home
with my siblings; we always recited things and sang. Later, as a teenager, I
got into hip-hop and I would create and perform raps with friends. It wasn’t
until I discovered the spoken word scene in London when I was about twenty-one
that I started performing poetry in public.
3)
Why do you
keep doing it?
I ask myself the same
question a lot!
Short answer: it’s
addictive.
Medium answer: A lot
of people I really like keep inviting me to perform and I don’t want to say no;
a lot of my social life revolves around the spoken word scene. I often get free
drinks tickets at these things.
Longer answer: It’s a
bit like asking why I write. I write because it’s an innate part of my
self-expression; it’s how I make sense of the world. Performing poetry is the
counterpoint to all of that: when I speak my words, I let go. When I speak, I
connect directly with other people. When I speak, all of my inward energy and
all of the considered thought that goes into a poem goes back out into the
room.
4)
How was
the first time that you recite in public?
Hehe. For me, it was
gradual. I’d acted in a play before. I’d tried to start a rap group before,
when I was at school. So going to a small open mic night in London wasn’t a
massive step away from what I’d already done. For me, the biggest step was
moving from there to my first ever slam. That was exciting and strange and new.
The energy at a poetry slam can be immense, a far cry from some of the quieter
poetry nights around the city.
5)
What does
poetry win (gain?) when recited?
Some of the same
things that a script gains when it’s made into a movie. Spoken word is a 3D
version of a poem; it has rhythm, dialect, pace, volume and, of course, the
physical presence of the author… all these things transform it into a moment.
6)
What does
it lose?
Some words might get
lost. The audience has less control over the poem. They cannot contemplate the
line breaks, or the visual aesthetic of the words. They cannot pause and allow
the words to sink in. The author/performer has a lot more responsibility in
delivering meaning.
7)
What does
poetry serve for?
Big question! I’ll
have to answer it in three smaller ways, in order to chisel away at it a little.
1 – On a personal
level, it gives me a lot of pleasure playing with words. I sit on a bus and
mishear a line of conversation and it replays in my head until I write it down.
Or I toy with an idea, or a sound, and try to alter the meaning by making small
changes. Words are important in how we communicate and poetry is a way of
creating new meaning.
2 – On a physical
level, poetry has literally taken me to places I would most likely never have
been: several secondary schools and universities in London, the Channel
Islands, Warsaw, Washington D.C., FLUPP festival in Rio de Janeiro, etc… And in
all those places, I have encountered open, warm people with a passion for truth
and knowledge-sharing.
3 – On that level of
truth-sharing, I remember running a writing workshop at a centre for people
living with HIV, a couple of years ago. Few of the attendees had done any
creative writing before; all of them had signed up because they were interested
in exploring new ways to express themselves. One of the attendees told me she
disliked and had little confidence in her ability to write poetry. Yet, when
she gave herself over to the exercises, she wrote the most amazing poem, in the
form of a love letter to HIV. She had found a metaphor that best described her
daily relationship with her medical condition. When she read it out, you should
have felt the atmosphere in the room. She had just found a way of putting into
words how she felt that everyone could relate to. Poetry is basically about
metaphor and story-telling, in order to get to a higher truth, in order to
transfer a feeling or a moment in time.
8)
Do you
find poetry in everyday situations, nature or anywhere else?
Yes.
When I’m in the mood,
I can find poetry anywhere. When I’m not, I find it very difficult to write but
I still try.
9)
It´s the
existence of men necessary for poetry to exist?
Men – or humans in
general?
There would continue
to be poetry without men, no doubt.
Humans, on the other
hand… well, that’s more of an existential question. The conditions that poetry
describes – some of those will still exist without humanity.
10)
What
feelings does reciting in public arise you? Does it frighten you?
Yes. It frightens me. And
it’s also exhilarating.
11)
Which was
the best experience that you lived with oral poetry?
I’ve had a lot of
great experiences, so can’t really pin one down and say that was the best. I’ve
just come back from Rio de Janeiro… that was one hell of an amazing experience.
I got to perform at a slam as part of a favela literary festival, FLUPP, with
loads of people from other countries, having no idea if the surtitles behind me
were going ok or not! Or performing with a samba band during that same
festival. Or, last year, watching a pupil I taught at a school performing a
poem… and understanding all of the circumstances in her life that had led her
to that point where she was confident enough to read out her poem, and have
everyone applaud… that’s also incredible. Or maybe even the gig a few weeks ago
where a couple of my relatives turned up unexpectedly. Or one where I gave the
most honest, raw poem about my parents, which I may never repeat again… I could
go on!
12)
Which was
the most incredible place where you recited?
See above…. FLUPP.
13)
Can oral
poetry change the world?
Probably.
14)
Why is it
important to write poetry?
In my answer to
question 7, I think I started to touch on it. Again, it’s a big question…
Poetry is about partially
about finding metaphors. If I say: “this question is a donkey and I need to
pull its reins”, I’ve started to use metaphorical language that then leads to
interrogation of the question. How can the question be a donkey? What
commonality do these two things have? I start to make connections between two
unrelated concepts and I start to use my imagination to pull the strands
together. When we start to use our imaginations, it takes us from the present
reality into other possibilities…. There goes the theory, right?
Going back to question
7, when the woman from the workshop described her medical condition as her
lover, I began to see it – and her – in a different way. The poem was a little
dark, actually. It wasn’t the conventional lover you can just split up with!
But the poem was short, and powerful, and I gained a new understanding of the
woman in front of me – and other people in the room were moved to tears – just
because of the way in which she used a few words.
15)
Do you
believe in poetry as an educational tool?
Yes - but I would say that; I’ve used it in schools
and I’ve used it as a form of emotional literacy, as well as a tool for
encouraging literacy in general.
16)
Is oral
poetry a new genre, opposed to written poetry?
No.
Have new spoken word
movements arisen over time? Yes.
But poetry has always
had a wide history of being spoken as well as written.
17)
Is humor a
valid resource in oral poetry or does it turn it into standup comedy?
Yes, humour is valid
and sometimes necessary. But I come from a country with a huge tradition of
satire, so I would say that. You can be funny and make a point; in fact, when
you’re funny, it can make a serious point have an even bigger impact. Stand-up
comedy and oral poetry have a lot in common.
18)
Does the
oral poet have to write for the public or for himself?
It depends on the
editing process. I always write for myself first. I make sense of the world by
writing. I make sense of myself by writing. I write a lot of stuff that no one
else will ever see.
Then… and this is the
important bit, I think… I reread what I’ve written and think, which parts of
this will only make sense to me? Which parts could be different? Which parts do
I have a personal attachment to, but aren’t going to connect with other
readers/listeners? For me, that’s one of
the hardest bits.
19)
How
important is the body when reciting?
Very. My body is part
of the poem.
That doesn’t mean I’m
acting when I’m on stage, or that I’m going to be making loads of theatrical
movements. But, at the very basic level, it means I’m going to pay attention to
my posture, my breathing, my use of space and movement, my facial expressions,
etc.
20)
Can
performance on stage turn good a poem that isn´t?
Sometimes, if you have
the right combination of an extraordinarily compelling performer who can
deliver words in a convincing way, what they’re actually saying becomes less of
a focus.
21)
In that
sense, is the "how" more important that the "what"?
No. They’re two sides
of the same poetry coin.
22)
Can anyone
be an oral poet?
Yes. Absolutely
anyone. Just like anyone can be a footballer, musician, serial killer… If you
have the passion for it and put in the time, why not?
23)
Do
competitions such a Slams contribute to oral poetry or do they turn it into
something frivolous?
Slam culture has had a
huge and overwhelmingly positive impact on oral poetry; there’s no denying it.
By the same token, I disagree that you can really judge a poem’s merit on a
scale of 1-10, against other poets, on any given evening, based sometimes
purely on applause. If that was the real point of slam poetry, then I would
refuse to take part; the competitive element has the function of attracting new
audiences, making poetry nights more atmospheric, making it a democratic space,
and allowing different voices to be heard.
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