Spring Break
XandO hosts night of spoken word slamming
Issue date: 11/1/07
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Easily swinging the microphone stand with him, Chris August smoothly dropped his voice an octave and crooned into the microphone. His love affair with slam poetry began here, in the basement of XandO. His passion is still potent five years later as he hosted the "Dead Poets Slam" Monday night in front of a 20-person crowd. For Chris, "hosting" the slam is much more than an MC gig. His role is to draw people in, to "give context" for the poetry that night and to give a framework for people to stand up and slam in.
"You fit into me/like a hook in an eye/a fish hook/an open eye," Nicole's grin completed the 16-word poem by Margaret Atwood. Chris strutted back to the stage with commanding energy, snatched the microphone, pleaded for more applause and announced the next poet. The open mic component of the night was an eclectic mix, from Sylvia Plath to free-form original poetry. Alex concluded the open mic with one of his own poems. He leaned in for the final lines, his volume slightly higher. The last words echoed in the basement of XandO, "…plagued by the question: to watch Fox News and laugh, or to listen to Bill Maher and cry." Snaps, claps, smiles and muttered responses ended the open mic as the perpetually animated Chris announced the featured artist of the night.
A hefty man with an orange bandana pulled tightly over his bald head grabbed the microphone. This used to be Robert Ceriani who worked in a steel mill where priorities were "Football. Cars. Women. In that order." Making blatant and direct eye contact, he quickened the pace of his words. He swayed with the pulse of his story, evolving it into a third-person narrative. He chanted the epic poem of his past. This steel worker with a poet's soul quit his job to become Rob C: Poet.
Rob C has been living out of his car for two months. Poetry on the Gulf of Mexico as the sun rises, and long nights spent on cold park benches: This is his version of being on tour. Rob beamed with pride as he described the confused police that found him sleeping in the park and searched his car, only to find piles of dirty clothes next to thick pamphlets and recordings of his poetry.
"You fit into me/like a hook in an eye/a fish hook/an open eye," Nicole's grin completed the 16-word poem by Margaret Atwood. Chris strutted back to the stage with commanding energy, snatched the microphone, pleaded for more applause and announced the next poet. The open mic component of the night was an eclectic mix, from Sylvia Plath to free-form original poetry. Alex concluded the open mic with one of his own poems. He leaned in for the final lines, his volume slightly higher. The last words echoed in the basement of XandO, "…plagued by the question: to watch Fox News and laugh, or to listen to Bill Maher and cry." Snaps, claps, smiles and muttered responses ended the open mic as the perpetually animated Chris announced the featured artist of the night.
A hefty man with an orange bandana pulled tightly over his bald head grabbed the microphone. This used to be Robert Ceriani who worked in a steel mill where priorities were "Football. Cars. Women. In that order." Making blatant and direct eye contact, he quickened the pace of his words. He swayed with the pulse of his story, evolving it into a third-person narrative. He chanted the epic poem of his past. This steel worker with a poet's soul quit his job to become Rob C: Poet.
Rob C has been living out of his car for two months. Poetry on the Gulf of Mexico as the sun rises, and long nights spent on cold park benches: This is his version of being on tour. Rob beamed with pride as he described the confused police that found him sleeping in the park and searched his car, only to find piles of dirty clothes next to thick pamphlets and recordings of his poetry.
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