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And now back to your regular programming. . . .

IN THIS EPISODE: National Poetry Slam, My Friendly Warning, NPS Daytime Program, Dingo Bar Closes, Guy Gonzales, Santa Fe Team, Ken Hunt, Eileen Myles, New York Times, A Letter from Patricia Smith

Hey y’all,

Lots of stuff going on, where to start, where to start. . .

It has started. The slam season is upon us, and I was nearly ready to dish some dirt on y’all but I actually prefer that cities keep their dirty poetry linen in their own towns and not bring it to Nationals to launder. If we can all play nice, this will be a very sweet gathering. But, like Hank Hyena says, everyone stops to watch a playground fight.

What I meant to say is, I’m getting really excited about the National Poetry Slam. My enthusiasm is secret, because many poets know my sentiments about the slam and my distress about how people are more concerned with winning than with anything else. “Oh Juliette, that’s because you were never on a te-e-eam,” some of you are thinking. “Poor Juliette, she’s never won a slam, she doesn’t know the rush of winning.”

Umm, yeah.

But seriously, I consider the NPS one of the greatest gatherings of poets in the country. This year at Austin Headquarters, we’re working hard to make it the best ever. The slam, as I understand it, has these goals: to strengthen local poetry communities, increase poetry audiences and widen the circle of poets who are a part of it. At least, that’s how I approach the slam. I know I’m not the only one. (The way some people act, you’d think it was their coronation for King of Shit Mountain. Oh! Did I say that? Now you now why Poetry Channel hasn’t been around lately. My language was truly filthy last week.)

There are 45 teams competing -- how presumptuous to hear the top four predictions already when so much of the competing field is fresh. (Not to mention tons of new material from the veteranos.) Plus, you set a jinx when you say it out loud. It makes me cheer the dark horses, even when some of the favorites include dear friends. There’s a lot of basketball metaphor here. Let’s just say I like parity in the NBA, and some teams are already acting like they’re the poetic equivalent of the Chicago Bulls.

I should tell you the names of the heavy hitters people are buzzing about, but it would only serve to inflate their heads further and then we won’t be able to fit them in the doorways. Plus, I don’t have the heart to set a jinx.

To those who want to win at the cost of tearing their local community asunder, please check your head. You still have to go home after the Nationals are over. And poets have long memories, especially where slights are concerned.

Please be nice to the organizers; don’t throw rocks at your friends. We just want the best possible national slam. I hope this is what you want as well. Refrain from sowing seeds of discontent, or at least please wait until the Nationals are over. We are up against multiple deadlines right now. National co-chairs Phil West and Mike Henry are a lot nicer than me; treat them well or I’ll come after you. No, seriously.

Earlier frustrations aside, I’m quite busy here at the San Francisco branch office coordinating the massive daytime program and procuring stuff for the participating poets. Thanks to Poetry Flash, Bumbershoot Festival, Poets House, Academy of American Poets, American Poetry & Literacy Project, Juxtapoz Magazine, Mouth Almighty, 2.13.61 Publications, Manic D Press, Incommunicado Press, Soft Skull Press, AK Press, Last Gasp Publications, Fantagraphics Books, SF Bay Guardian, Seattle Stranger, Austin Chronicle, City Lights Books, Tia Chucha Press, Grand Royal, Poets & Writers, Essential Media, Beyond Baroque, Tower Records & Books for their donations. (Only Texas Monthly turned me down for free stuff, now that I think about it. . . go figure. They said their budget is too tight to afford it, but somehow everyone else I asked was able to donate something. Hey, just making an observation. Texas Monthly, what I meant to say, has an article about Nationals this month, written by the delightful Spike Gillespie.)

I’m still locking down some feature spots in the daytime events, but here’s a taste. If you want to jump in the pool, let me know. There are plenty of opportunities to read (coaches and alternates, hello), including daily open mics. The showcases include:

• MASTERPIECE THEATER: This is where the hall-of-fame poets read the poems that made slam great. DJ Renegade already said he’s going to read. Evert Eden? Allen Wolf? Danny Solis? Taylor Mali? Lisa Buscani? Patricia Smith? Michael Brown? Hal Sirowitz? Wammo? Seeing all these people would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? If you have any nominations, or if you’re interested, please please let me know.
• NIGHT OF THE CHIHUAHUA: Latino poets showcase. (How does it go? “All Latino, all burrito and looking to spread some panic.”) Lineup includes Kenn Rodriguez, Marta Sanchez, Danny Solis and Guy Gonzales. If you see Tammy Gomez, please tell her I’m looking for her. I heard Miguel Algarin will be in Austin during Nationals -- he’ll be reading at Raul Salinas’ bookstore, more details to follow.
• FIRESTORM: All fem, guaranteed to make your ears burn. This is one of my all-time favorite reading series, and it’ll be the first time in Austin. Lineup includes Leah Deschenes, Anne MacNaughton, Genevieve Van Cleve and Christina Springer.
• CHOCOLATE CITY: This is the African-American poets showcase. Roger Bonair-Agard, DJ Renegade and Jerry Quickley are a few people you’ll see there.
• THE TRUTH ABOUT SUPERHEROES: This is the gay and lesbian poets showcase. I’m really excited about it, even though Lisa King sent her regrets this year. Lineup includes Ken Hunt, Scott Klein, Doug Martin and Justin Chin.

Oh, here is something very very important. I’ll be gathering poems during Nationals for an anthology I’m editing. When you get off the stage, please march over to the merch table and hand me your poem. Please make sure your name, address and phone number are on it. Thanks. It’s the most efficient way to get the poems in my hands. I know the flake factor of poets runs high after we’ve all gone home. I’ll go through the poems when I get home, keep you posted on the status. (Please do not assume this is an automatic acceptance of your poetry. I need to say that to avoid any assumptions about the nature of this project. There are those still pissy at me for not being in the Lollapalooza anthology,* no need to mention names, but I certainly look forward to seeing them in Austin.)

People wrote and called. This is what they said:

Dingo Bar closed, ending the longest running reading series in Albuquerque, Poetry & Beer. I ran it for two years, so I was extra sad to hear the news. Plus the bar owner, Miguel Corrigan, is a pal of mine. I worry about him, but I imagine that a bit of him is relieved also. Albuquerque is a frustrating place like that sometimes.

The Albuquerque Slam moved to the wonderful Launch Pad, but is already entering rough waters.

Nuyorican slam team member Guy Gonzales is getting married this weekend. Congratulations, Guy!

The Santa Fe team couldn’t make it this year because Nationals fall on the same weekend as Indian Market. It’s a huge money weekend in Santa Fe, especially for the bars and restaurants. These bartender and waitress poets can’t give up the weekend, plus it’s nearly impossible to get the time off. Too bad, because I wanted Santa Fe in the house this year on the Road to Austin but, you know. . . .

Ken Hunt has fallen in love and is planning to move to Albuquerque after Nationals.

Sister Spit has been sighted in Austin. Of course, everyone loved them. They ate brunch at Spike Gillespie and Genevieve Van Cleve’s house.

The Great Lakes Regional Slam happened July 11-12 and included Ann Arbor, Detroit, Cleveland, Berwyn, Kalamazoo, Twin Cities and Champaign. Fun! I don’t know who won. I’m way way behind of things.

Congratulations to Eileen Myles for winning a Lambda Award for School of Fish* (Black Sparrow). It happened at Book Expo and I kept spacing it. In fact, here’s a partial list of the winners (courtesy of Cleis Press):

• Lesbian Fiction: Beyond the Pale by Elana Dykewomon, Press Gang
• Gay Men’s Fiction: The Far Euphrates by Aryeh Lev Stollman, Riverhead
• Gay Men’s Studies: Gay Metropolis by Charles Kaiser, Houghton Mifflin
• Lesbian Poetry (tie): School of Fish by Eileen Myles, Black Sparrow and Cold River by Joan Larkin, Painted Leaf
• Gay Men’s Poetry: Beautiful Signor by Cyrus Cassells, Copper Canyon

Coolio was spotted on the Magic Show doing some poetry he said was inspired by Saul Williams in the movie Slam. (Ask Saul what he thinks about the slam -- you’ll get an earful.)

There’s a delightful picture of the 1996 Austin team (Danny Solis, Phil West, Wammo and Hilary Thomas) in the New York Times on Friday. It was from a film review of SlamNation, which called Saul and Taylor Mali the ‘unoffical kings’ of the genre. (I have yet to see SlamNation. I’ve been solicited to help publicize it, but haven't yet got a videotape copy to be able to have an educated opinion about it.)

Okay, here’s something special, coming to you from Patricia Smith. She asked me to post this to the community at-large:

Poetry Channel is the most pervasive, insightful and unpretentious mouthpiece I know for the community that matters most to me. So I have no doubt it's the best place to thank my extended family for the unerring support that sustains me even now. You guys are DA BOMB.

During my center stage stint in the middle of a VERY public crisis (Katie Couric called!), your nurturing, ass-kicking shoutouts were necessary air. From Paris, Tucson, the Apple, New Orleans, the Ozarks and Chi-Town, an unselfish and non-judgmental love swept in and, before I knew it, I took the barrel of the gun out of my mouth. Even Bob Holman, with impeccable timing, picked a helluva time to be an angel. Your letters, e-mails, artwork, cards--and, of course, poetry--built an island in the midst of a wildly rushing river. And that's where I stood. It was hard to fathom that your belief in me was so unshakable, even after the person I love most in this world decided that elsewhere was suddenly a pretty interesting place to be.

But let's not sugarcoat. I fucked up. I fucked up ROYALLY. I ruined a career I spent over 20 years building and irreparably compromised the ethics of an ethics-driven business. For anyone out there who has absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, I'M the notorious journalist who was found to have fabricated quotes for impact or a sense of poetic closure to my columns. Think back. It was in ALL the papers. I confronted the chaos, apologized publicly and took refuge as all hell broke loose. I was called unrepentant, probably because I didn't immediately commit suicide to absolve the profession of any responsibility for my creation. I was a bitch because I didn't start walking on my knees.

I did fall to my knees. But it didn't feel right. Writing is what I do. It is the way that I breathe--but I never said that I wasn't bringing a flawed, fallible and needy person to the table. That I have failed mightily shouldn't be a surprise to anyone who's heard me agonize over every damned syllable of my writing or anyone who's ever REALLY listened to my work. But if I have truly failed my friends (and some feel that's a message that needs to be pounded home time and time again), it is here I want to apologize. (In fact, I'd appreciate it if you Channel surfers will pass this on to other poets who may not see it.)

This unique and invaluable family of poets, especially the slam community, are indeed anchors in a storm--but also hard teachers when there are lessons to be learned. So I not only appreciate those who rallied to my side, but also the betrayers, deserters and backstabbers who still busy themselves celebrating a weakness I never tried to hide. Every single one of you has helped me to define my life, as well as my place in a world that creates treasures like you, poets who scream, rage, commune, cajole and weep. Know that I have too long looked to the wrong place for my strength--when all the time it was in all of you.

I love you. I owe you. Just wait 'till you see how I rise from the ashes.

Thank you, Patricia, for the letter as well as your kind words. If you read this, we’re trying to get hold of you at Austin Headquarters. We’re hoping you’re going to be with us.

That’s it for me today. Please keep in contact. If you want to unsubscribe please do so at poetry.about.com or email poetry.guide@about.com. (Thanks, Margery!)

I was thinking about killing Poetry Channel, because a couple of copycat ezines have popped up and are using what looks like a duplicate mailing list. But I’m not quite finished with this particular project.

Please send me stuff I'd like to sofasurf@usa.net. I enjoy hearing from you, even if I'm still offline. . . .

xox
juliette torrez

This week at poetry.about.com

• If you missed the brouhaha Patricia Smith describes above, read our feature with links to the newspaper articles.
• This week's feature is a report from Icelandic poet Birgitta Jonsdottir on how the Ginsberg memorial that didn't happen actually happened.
• And don't forget to welcome our new chat hostess, Kim Holzer aka The Lioness, by stopping in at the Poetry Chat Room
  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 5
  10 - 11 pm edt (7 - 8 pm Pacific) See you there!

*As a result of a commercial relationship between About.com, its Guides and Amazon.com online booksellers, these titles can be purchased directly from Amazon.com by following the link above. (Note: Amazon.com is solely responsible for fulfillment of book orders placed through these links.)