June 4, 2009
Slam away, poets. Ignore the shriveled naysayers who say poetry slams, a Chicago-born art form that has spread across the country, are crude abominations.
Ignore those who call poetry slams the "death of art" and "karaoke of the written word."
Be happy that President Obama last month held a poetry slam at the White House.
And be very afraid that now that poetry slams have gone utterly main- stream -- slammin' at the White House? -- they have lost their subversive edge.
Because what's a slam without a little seething on stage and catcalls from the crowd?
Poetry slams, staged every Sunday at the Green Mill Lounge in Uptown, are a competitive poetry showcase created almost 25 years ago by local poet Marc Kelly Smith. Poets (and would-be poets) get on stage and perform -- never just dryly read -- their work.
A few are good and many are not, and the audience picks a winner.
As poetry slams have multiplied, so have critics. The poetry is bad, they say, and the setting is barbaric.
As if poetry should be recited only in a bookstore and never in a bar. As if bringing poetry to a wider audience by emotional mixing it up is uncouth. As if any poem that can be understood without serious study cannot be good.
Poetry slams don't cheapen poetry. At their best, they free an art form long held hostage by a self-anointed literary elite.
Slam away, poets.