And again...

Over here at Orphans of the Storm we don't like to leave things unfinished (yes, that includes cake, cocktails and movie popcorn). So even though none of you actually asked for it, we bring to you the second half of the Bad!Slam!No!Biscuit! review, straight from the Canberra Circus of Delight and Debauchery

'The poems on the particular night I am reviewing although in reality I am reviewing every night -- because every BAD!SLAM! beer is drunk, words are said, laughs are laughed, love is loved, people watch and people join in and the world keeps moving regardless -- this particular night, some poets have left upset from low scores, but I am sure will be back, some poets have rejoiced in low scores, some judges have been drunken fucks (but we derail them, what was that sir, did you say 8? "no I said 3!" sounds like an 8 to me! and so the poet scores an 8 from that judge because we're at a poetry slam, not running a small south american country so if we want to tell people what they think we damn well do it.

The winner tonight is Degg, who performs his eulogy to his father who has just passed away. The audience is dead silent, afterwards there are hugs, and tears and all five judges give him a ten each, highest score ever, wow! Some poets boo, and I think it is because of this: some poets dodge content, poetry and ideas, and go for cheap emotion -- they burst into tears or scream into the mike enraged, because they think they will win, but in reality, a poetry slam main winner is random, because the five judges always think different things. The reason Degg won is not cheap sentimentality, or because a majority of the audience (but not the judges!) knew of his deep, soulful loss.

Degg won because he stood on stage and he told us the truth -- the naked, deep, burning truth. This is the job of the poet, and as far as I am concerned, we all are poets. Everyone who speaks truths in whatever form, words, pictures, music -- hiphop, rambling, yelling, weeping, whispering, laughing -- if you speak to us your experience of existence, and you speak it truthfully, with conviction, and throw away false tears, and emotion, then you are a poet. If you speak nonsense and make us laugh, if your ant, and hump the mic stand, if you tell us all what we are doing wrong, or right, you are a poet!

In the end, the scoring systems of judges and the Conflict Master (long may he reign) means nothing. If you want to win a Poetry Slam, you need to not want or need to win a Poetry Slam, you need to be prepared to get on stage naked, with nothing between you and the audience but a microphone, and speak truths.

And that's all'

--Hadley, rambling, Thursday, 1am.


Enticing, yes? If we know you (which we think we do) then you'll be absolutely beside yourself with joy at the thought of hightailing it to the Phoenix at 7 tonight for some good, old-fashioned poetic madness.

See you there!