By: Veronica Leffler
If ever there is a time in life to attend your first poetry slam, your college years are certainly that time.
Penn State’s own spoken word organization– aptly named W.O.R.D.S.– welcomes anybody and everybody to compete in and to attend their Penn State Slam series each semester. But it’s not all low-lit fun and games; in fact, the stakes are pretty high. This year is only the second year that the team is going For the Glory at the national College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational, and these preliminary performances determine who stays home and who goes up to bat for PSU.
I’ve been to these slams before. My Craigslist roommate is a true artist in every sense, and she pulled me into her experience as a W.O.R.D.S. poet as moral support this semester.
Taken by Christy Xu
The emotion in the room was endlessly deafening on September 29. This was going to determine the finalists, and for some of these poets, this slam could make or break their chance to compete at C.U.P.S.I. before graduation. The second of three installments which would determine those finalists, that night’s event hung heavy on the shoulders of the competing poets.
I trickled in with the rest of the observers. A slow progression of hip-hop backdrop music lulled me to my seat as the audience-provided judges were selected. I was tempted as always to lie about my motives for attending, so that I could meet the “I don’t know any of the competitors personally” qualification and be a judge myself, but I’m a dreadful actress.
So there I sat, waiting. I waved some affectionate encouragement over to my roommate in the competitors’ lineup, and settled back into my seat, looking down onto the lecture hall floor. The audience buzzed, rallying for their favorite poets and getting comfortable to wait out the duration of the slam. Those with faucets for eyes like myself checked their coat pockets for Kleenex packets– or at least I did. Experience had taught me to brace myself for some hard-hitting life truths.
A few short announcements preceded the Sacrificial Poet, that brave soul who breaks the ice for the competitors by dropping the first few stanzas of the evening. And then we were off on a hell of a display of writing prowess.
Sexuality, sexual abuse. Loss, love. Alcoholism, adventure. The scope of their experiences covered a global range of human knowledge. The poets bared their hearts and crafted their art.
Taken by Christy Xu
“You won’t see me. I can’t see me,” confessed Jocelyn Randolf, on the effects of unrequited love.
Ding, ding, ding! Round one was done. I was so personally invested in those scores that you’d have thought my own child was performing. I had clear favorites lined up; the nature of spoken word opens up the souls and experiences of the poets and shares them with the room. I was rooting hard for the artists whose work I’d deeply admired this semester.
That’s the thing about poetry– it pares down a story into the most powerful words. I’d nearly forgotten myself amidst the snaps and stomps of the crowd around me, each nodding to a statement that hit home, shocked or impressed on some instinctual level.
And round two wound to a close.
Makeshift drumroll. The MC thanked the poets who didn’t make the cut, and the room applauded their efforts. We were down to the final round and the weight of experience was clear– poets beamed with excitement, cried with the truth of their words, and gave way to the last scores of the evening.
Taken by Christy Xu
Round three commenced, and the poets hit hard. They heaved their souls into their words. They brought their personal truths to life in unspeakable, unrepeatable honesty. They trusted their secrets to the dimly-lit room before them.
Rustling papers, audible silence. The MC tallied the scores and returned with a verdict. And just like that, the audience congratulated the finalists. David Gaines, Cleo Roseboro, Rabiyatu Jalloh, David Ossorio and Nadia Souada hugged, cried, beamed, and moved on to the next slam in the series.
Poetry slams–whether they be a W.O.R.D.S. event at Penn State, a rolling progression at a quiet cafe, or an open lawn performance in a park somewhere– are a manifestation of artistic truth. They reach the heart of our experiences as individuals and give voice to private moments and elusive thoughts. And if ever there was a time to see one, I certainly encourage you to see one in any time throughout your college years.
Your next chance will be November 16, when W.O.R.D.S. will host the Penn State Slam Finals. You can find more information here on the W.O.R.D.S. Facebook page.