香蕉秀

The first-floor commons room in Thomas More Apartments was dark on February 12, save for a string of small white lights on the floor shaped into a heart and strewn with red rose petals, the flicker of a digital fireplace streaming from YouTube on a colossal flat-screen, and a snowblower鈥檚 headlight that occasionally bobbed into view through the glass doors. A steady snowfall couldn鈥檛 keep some 60 students from a night of spoken-word poetry.

SLAM! (short for Soul, Love, And Meaning) is an undergraduate poetry club founded in September 2014 by Haley Kerr 鈥�17, an economics major. Its monthly readings and annual competitions each set forth a theme. Tonight, two dozen students would perform original poems in the spoken-word style (think hip-hop or jazz poetry or monologue theater) addressing 鈥淟ove or Lack Thereof.鈥� Kerr and Kellie O鈥橪eary 鈥�17, a psychology major, opened the show with a poem they cowrote about a failed relationship called 鈥淔arewell to All My Loving.鈥� As O鈥橪eary, in a black crop-top and long black skirt, sang the Beatles鈥� 鈥淎ll My Loving鈥� in a soothing soprano, Kerr, in a black dress and large red bow pinned to the back of her head, shouted over her with pointed attacks such as, 鈥淵ou made me a ghost of myself.鈥� Kerr rhymed rapid-fire, gasping audibly between lines (accepted spoken-word technique), shaking her head, hunching forward, and slicing her arm in a stabbing motion for emphasis. As O鈥橪eary came to the end of the song, Kerr turned her back to the audience and whispered, 鈥淔arewell my friend.鈥� The crowd whooped.

鈥淲ith spoken word, you do all you can to聽connect聽with the audience,鈥� Kerr, who talks just as fast when she鈥檚 not performing, told me after the show. 鈥淵our diction is super intentional. But you鈥檝e also got to聽perform聽to convey emotions, yelling, whispering, making your body move.鈥� A Connecticut native, Kerr wrote verse in middle school, until one day at 15 she came upon an online video of Austin-based spoken-word poet Anis Mojgani, a National Book Award nominee, acting out his 2005 poem 鈥淪hake the Dust.鈥� She memorized its 660 words that day, and started writing her own spoken word. 鈥淭he visceral response that it demands, that鈥檚 what I love,鈥� she says.

There are no hard guidelines for composing spoken-word, but there are strict rules for competitions (called slams), devised by Poetry Slam, Inc., the nonprofit organization that sponsors the National Poetry Slam and the Individual World Poetry Slam: demerits for every 10 seconds a poem exceeds three minutes, no props, and a panel of five judges selected randomly from the audience, who grade both poem and performance. The Valentine鈥檚 show at Thomas More, however, wasn鈥檛 competitive.

Each performer morphed the mood in the room. One moment the beat was gospel, as freshman Olivia Sorenson, an English and communication major, rose to the tips of her toes and recited 鈥淒ivine Intervention,鈥� letting fly with the qualities of聽her聽God, 鈥渢he author of an indiscriminate love so perfect yet so unknown,鈥� to the crowd鈥檚 chorus of聽oh yes听补苍诲听mmm. The next moment, it was jazz. Jude Poku 鈥�17, a psychology major from New Jersey, stood motionless in a gray hooded sweatshirt, clenching the microphone and his notebook as he recited 鈥淎ll Creatures鈥� over muffled synthesizer music he鈥檇 composed. The audience adhered to standard spoken-word etiquette. When a poet announced it was his or her debut performance (eight were first-timers), they cheered, 鈥淗ey, virgin!鈥� Responding to lines that moved them, they snapped their fingers (clapping during a poem, says Kerr, 鈥渄isrupts flow鈥�) or hollered, 鈥淥K, poet!鈥�

Few of the performers were English majors, and many of the poems, works-in-progress sometimes read from cellphones, were deeply personal. Aaron Anderson 鈥�18, a lean English and pre-med student in a black turtleneck, nearly whispered his poem 鈥淐allouses,鈥� a rumination on the weathered features of his father after a long day of manual labor. Chandler Ford, a tall, brawny sophomore in a Fair Isle sweater, recited a reflection on death: 鈥淭here is no justice without you just as there is no mercy with you.鈥�

Rusty Cosino 鈥�19, a film major who was recording the show for SLAM鈥檚 YouTube channel, began with a humorous meditation on coprolite, a form of fossilized feces, but a few lines in lamented an unrequited love interest who worked at a science museum.

The earliest reference in the聽Heights聽to student poetry gatherings appears in 1940, when Boston College undergraduates, including future novelist Joseph Dever 鈥�42, joined Harvard鈥檚 鈥渋nvitation only鈥� Poetry Club. In 1966, the University opened a coffeehouse called Middle Earth (on Upper Campus), at which students regularly shared their verse.

Kerr and friends were hosting readings in their common rooms in the fall of 2014, until she registered SLAM! through the Office of Student Involvement, which enabled them to book event spaces. But every Tuesday night SLAM! reverts to its early intimacy when it holds workshops, often in Kerr鈥檚 Thomas More apartment. About 20 鈥淪lamily鈥� members regularly attend. One night in March, the group spent the hour constructively critiquing two students鈥� performances. Jamila Gordon, a graduate student in the School of Social Work, rehearsed a poem about her family鈥檚 generational strife; students suggested she 鈥減ause after 鈥榖lack bodies鈥� to let the words marinate in the room,鈥� and 鈥渢ry different voices for you and your grandmother鈥檚 character.鈥�

Near the end of the Valentine鈥檚 show, SLAM鈥檚 vice president Karina Herrera 鈥�17, wearing a black sweater, black jeans, and black boots, told the audience she wrote her poem late the night before, as a dialogue with her absent father. 鈥淵es I go to school,鈥� she yelled. 鈥淲ho else is going to bring hope into a house of brokenness?鈥� She stomped on the carpet and swatted her arms in sharp arcs. 鈥淲hat kind of man are you that abandons his daughter for the sedative of a bottle?鈥� She stopped herself, and closed her eyes. 鈥淚 thank him for teaching me in his absence the definition of an independent woman.聽.聽.聽. I don鈥檛 love you. And I don鈥檛 hate you. I just forgive you.鈥�

Snaps and聽mmms聽buzzed through the room.