Last night, I stopped over at BB's Jazz Blues & Soups for their new open mic poetry night, which takes place every other Tuesday. I finally got to meet John May, he who sends me BB's concert listings every month for the calendar, in person. I also got to see the remodeled space, which I've been meaning to do now for, hm -- two years? And when I worked downtown at the former Sverdrup Building, I used to walk over to BB's all the time for lunch, and frankly really missed the place. Plus, I hadn't been to an open mic night for a really, really long time. Probably the closest thing to counting would be Get Born -- and even Get Born is not quite your classic open mic.
All in all, I think this was probably the strangest open mic I have ever been too -- but I mean that in a good way. Those who cultivate snobby foie gras and truffle poetic tastes would probably not be so impressed, but I'l add that many times I have fallen asleep in readings given by supposed geniuses.
First of all: I was absolutely delighted by the fact that NONE of the readers indulged in that horrible poetic sing-song cadence (if you have been to even a handful of poetry readings, you know what I am talking about). And even the experienced poets were mindful of not staying on the stage too long. The whole thing lasted an hour and a half, and a good 10 poets read. HIghlights included two poems from Sandy Akins (former member of the Soulard Culture Squad and wife of sax player Willie Akins) who read a tiny poem written on a bookmark, followed by a long, dramatic piece about her grandmother in Arkansas, who lived to be 107. There was also a young woman named Becca, who read three really striking poems that were filled with odd nature imagery. (She reminded me a bit of Alice Fulton). There was rap, formal rhyme and even a letter penned to a parish about plans to build a rec center out in West County. There was quite a bit of poetry dedicated to Obama, the war and the current economic crisis (I heard one poet invoke the Victory Garden, while another told a story about how his parents surived the Depression). If you've got something in your notebook, or just like the idea of letting the poetry happen as it sees fit, note that the next reading is on March 17. --Stefene Russell
