[Tyr Zalo Hawk]: 712.Essays.No One Coulda Stopped Us

So, there I was, in Java U with four people I knew and at least ten that I’d never even seen before in my life. The smell of hot chocolate and cocoa beans wafted through air, relaxing the group as we idly chatted about nothing in particular. No one quite knew what to do, or even where to begin. An awkward chuckle went around the room once, stopped, and then Sara was nominated to begin.
She started slowly, quietly, reading a piece by Pablo Nerudo. Over the dull buzzing of conversations being held through the rest of the shop, she was a bit hard to hear, but the poem still got through to my ears, at least. Her reading was simple, easy, but, as expected, slightly weird for everyone involved for about twenty seconds or so. Eli followed with one of his own memorized poems, making everyone laugh and, thankfully, relieving 96% of whatever tension was left in the air before leaving us all hanging by forgetting a line or two of his second poem. Taking the initiative while Eli struggled to remember, Kelsey then recited an exceptionally long work-in-progress called “Goddesses of Oz.” She was looking for incite as to how to make her poem better, so we all gave her a bit of it. Although I was next in line, a woman I didn’t know from the sidelines stepped in and, with true beatnik form, awed me with a poem she’d committed to memory. With slow, long, calculated pauses, but a continuous energy she let the words flow free. She was, as far as I was concerned, the most enjoyable poet out of the group, even if it wasn’t her own work that she did. After a performance like hers, I knew I had to step it up. I blasted out “Jabberwocky” with all the emphasis I could, probably frightening a few of the other patrons during the middle of the poem, and then gently delivered “Hope” by Emily Dickinson. Martel finished us off with an appropriately themed Thanksgiving poem, at which point most of our audience decided that they’d seen enough and took out into what was left of the rain. Although the reading was technically over, I did quickly slip in a pair of my own poems that I checked up on using the internets.
The performances themselves varied from the soft, almost inaudible reading by Sara, to Eli’s dry humored recital, to my own over-energetic display. Once the nerves were out of the air, everything just sort of slid into place. We clapped, we laughed, we gave insights into each other’s work when asked to or when we felt it appropriate. It was really just a group of semi-strangers (to me) who were all having a good time listening to poetry. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

© Tyr Hawkaluk (2004-Present)