Welcome To The Slam

In contradiction to the general public’s opinion (including my own before last Tuesday) slam poetry is nothing like the WWE. Spearheaded by Claire A, Allard ’15 and Katlan S, Mackenzie ’16, with the hyped backing from Mr. Collis, Head of English, a group of students headed down to Victoria for a Slam Poetry Workshop. On the short bus ride to Reynold’s Secondary School, an impromptu reading was given by Toby CH, Privett ’15 as swarms of hungry listeners gathered round: “When the summer rain falls gently on my cheek, I sqwuak out a tiny squeak—a little shimmy, a couple shakes, a little nature is all it takes.” After his tragically beautiful piece, the white, metal interior of the vehicle glowed in precise correlation to the awe of those around him. Arrival was cued by the giant green fields for high school sporting events and a blue-trimmed building; the mobile hive of students buzzed their excitement into the hall walls, against the navy lockers and down the linoleum staircases. Greeted by local slam poets, such as Jeremy Loveday and Scott Thompson, the night kicked off with a couple of introductory games to acquaint the various students from GNS, Shawnigan, and so forth: guess a movie, tell a story, tell the story you just heard, tell the story you just heard again, some game to do with clams—the types of things that drive strangers together, or apart. After learning, then promptly forgetting, the names of those in the room, everyone was split into four groups to attend various mini workshops. The gracious, often quirky, borderline hipster facilitators lead discussions and activities adhering to some key aspects in slam poetry.  On performance, Scott Thompson spoke about the importance of eye contact, emphasis, and expressing powerful passions in a controlled manner, “ A poem shouldn’t break the speaker, but rather, the audience”. The next seminar up featured an exploration of the extended metaphor with fast-paced word association games, causing woe for participants whose mouths accidentally fixated to select re-occurring words: “’Bear.’ ‘Tree.’ ‘Pine.’ ‘Bear.’ ‘Grizzly.’ ‘Bear?’ ‘Poverty.’ ‘Bear?!’ ‘Jim?’ ‘Bear??!’ ‘Jim, stop, please.’ ‘Bear???!’ ‘Jim, get a hold of yourself!’ ‘Bear with me here.’“ A food break followed soon after and slammers broke into dead sprints to the Panago Pizza and Subway across the street, while still abiding by all traffic laws. They dined on sandwiches, cheese pizza, “Sweet Frosty” dipping sauce—which, turns out, is just icing--, cookies, or whatever they could forage. Satiated, they returned for two final workshop segments, based on recognizing privileges, group poetry, and handling mistakes with relative confidence; these entailed games of fetch, which separated the Golden Retrievers from the clumsy, calico cats of indifference. A flick of a kitten’s tail later, a wind-up meeting was called; everyone was thanked for their presence, invited to support local talent, and the rules for the upcoming 6th Annual Victorious Voices slam poetry competition were discussed. The leaders sold the entire contest when a woman donning whimsical, pink hair, with the ferocity of a lioness’ cub, propagated, “They’ll be spitting some mad hot fire!” Yes, spitting sick rhymes and getting down with their funky selves to various meters, a handful of cool hip-cats skatted their way out of the Brentwood Bubble to “the city that sleeps a healthy amount”; it was there, amidst the angst-ridden emotional pour-outs and comparisons of kitties to birthdays, that the mere page-poets became slammers. With the Victoria’s Victorious Voices competition looming in early April, those in attendance felt their silver tongues rev up for some fierce and emotionally devastating performances to come. A huge thanks to the organizers of Victorious Voices, Claire A, Allard ’15, Katlan S, Mackenzie ’16, and Miss White for supervision and being the biggity bombs. Kimmi G, Hope ‘15