D  e  s  e  r  t   E  x  p  o  s  u  r  e        January 2008

Slam Dunk

Slammers get downright serious about the scores. A young man called Cuffee, a slammer from Albuquerque who will perform tonight, has a spiral notebook in front of him, lines and columns carefully drawn for each of this evening's poets.

At a typical Slam, the original 12 poets are reduced to a field of eight, based on their scores from the first round. Scores in the second round reduce the field to four, who compete in a third round, with the ultimate winner emerging at the end.

The Silver City Slam posts the poets' rankings and points on its web site. This will become important as the group works toward choosing a Silver City Slam Team to go to the national competition in Addison, Wisc., in August.

"We'll invite 12 poets to compete for the team," Castello explains about the March 7-8 invitational slam. "The first night, all 12 will perform for two rounds. We'll take the eight best scorers and invite them back for a second night, and each will do three pieces. The total score determines the four winners who will go to Wisconsin for us."

The rules and regs humorously covered, Slam Master Francis now explains to the audience the concept of the "sacrifice poet." Chosen by the Slam Master from among the signed-up slammers, the sacrifice poet goes first to warm up the audience and get the judges into a scoring groove. Tonight's "sacrifice poet" is Ian, who begins simply, "Here's a poem I wrote once."

After Ian concludes his piece, Francis asks the judges to hold up their scores, between zero and 10. Half-points are allowed, and in fact can be the deciding factor when things come down to the wire.

"Don't applaud the scores," Francis calls out. "Applaud the poet!" Though it will not earn him any laurels tonight — as the "sacrifice," he's been yanked out of the actual competition — Ian scores a 15, which makes him smile.

Ian is followed by the competing slammers. Some speak confidently and clearly into the microphone. Others, perhaps simply unfamiliar with the performance aspect of slamming, don't use the microphone adequately, their lines lost to all but those seated in the front rows.

Anna, a blonde local teen, recites a poem about a Christmas wish for others' happiness. Mitchell, a young man in a bandana, performs a piece about what it meant for him to learn Haiku poetry. Paul reads his poem from a journal but punctuates his reading with a few powerful gestures. Another poet, whose voice is so low it can hardly be heard, grips the microphone and points it downward, as if it weren't already hard enough to hear him.

Between the performances, Francis reminds the audience to "applaud the poet, people!"

Erin, a regular local slammer, starts out, "First there was a pill," delivering a poignant piece about birth control, responsibility and freedom. A young man named Tony starts out reciting, then falters as he forgets his next line. He starts over, falters again, then pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket — to the audience's encouraging applause — and reads his poem.

Leslie, a tiny woman in a big sweater, so short she must lower the microphone to reach, belts out her poem in a voice that belies her diminutive size. "So I wonder," she begins, "did they tell yo-o-o-ou what they told me. . ."

Next, a striking slender woman with black hair, Esm from the winning 2005 Albuquerque Slam Team, begins her piece with soft singing, then goes right into the spoken word. Her delivery is melodic, measured, not unlike the famed writer, Maya Angelou. She ends with the line, ". . . memories and sea anemones/ and you will be the most bad-assed mermaid this world has ever seen," to loud applause.

Cuffee, also from that winning Albuquerque Slam Team, opens with some sung lines, then heads into spoken words about peace, how the difference between the words "salaam" and "shalom" is just two letters, but that difference becomes a chasm between two cultures. He sings again at the end and then ends hauntingly quiet with the words, "a long time coming."

As soon as he's done performing, Cuffee returns to his seat and waits for his scores to be read, making notations on the line where he's written his own name into the grid.

Damian Davies then takes his turn at the microphone, delivering an onomatopoetic piece about his mother, bliss, superpowers and inspiration. "But, baby, tomorrow I'm gonna learn how to fly!" he finishes.

At his table, Cuffee is still making notes, calculating and then entering Damian's scores. Davies may well be the man to beat tonight.

Slam Master Francis announces a break between rounds. Much of the audience gets up for another round of drinks and to, perhaps, stretch its legs. The atmosphere is charged, and young people gather in small groups, complimenting performers on their work so far.

Castello comments on the Silver City audience's response. "We have a warm and wonderful community. This is a friendly scene. I've been to some Slams where they could eat you up alive," he says with a laugh. "The audience can just turn on you. I've never seen it happen here."

About 15 minutes after round one has ended, Francis advances to the stage and names the eight continuing poets. Then a teen named Maddie, who is being "sacrificed" to start off the second round, recites a piece she's written.

Each of the round-two poets performs and the competitors are winnowed to four slammers to compete in round three. Ultimately, Damian Davies emerges as the winner, receiving a $20 prize from a "passing of the hat," and 15 points toward his rankings. He now stands at the top of the field of local slammers, a feather in his cap as he edges toward making the Silver City Slam Team.

Writing and performing his poetry have been healing activities for him, Davies says, something he hopes more people will try.

"I write because I enjoy it. It's something I can do without any equipment or money, just a pen and pad," he says. "I perform because I feel words are meant to be performed. There's a long tradition of orating and storytelling, and I feel a part of that."

His message to one and all, he says, is to write something.

"Anybody can do it," Davies insists. "I'm a firm believer that anyone can come on stage and be a superstar for three minutes. People ask me how I get up on that stage and say the things I do. I tell people, you just gotta do it, just bring it!"

All Silver City Poetry Slam shows are Open Slams held at Javalina Coffee House, 208 Bullard St. in Silver City. Future dates include Jan. 12, Jan. 26, Feb. 9, Feb. 23, all at 7 p.m. Poet sign-ups begin at 6:30 p.m. March 7-8 will be a two-day invitational slam to select the Silver City Slam Team.

For more information, see the Silver City Poetry Slam home page, groups.google.com/group/silvercityslam, and rules, groups.google.com/group/silvercityslam/web/silver-city-slam-rules, and Poetry Slam Inc., www.poetryslam.com

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