In the democratic institutions of literary journals and open mics, reputation is not supposed to matter. A poet is only ever as good as her last poem, and everyone recognizes this. Such nice ideas. So untrue.
Reputation, like trust, is earned through experience. Observing myself at an open mic reading, I notice my attention ebb and flow. When a poet who has built some reputation with me takes to the microphone, I relax a little. I give them a bit more of my attention. I perk up. I take notice. I listen. As open-minded as I try to be, new faces have to earn my trust.
Poetry is a profoundly intimate art. We demand the full attention of our listeners on something as complex and undecorated as words. No backing music, no other channel to flip to while the commercials are on. We make every word tell because it has to–because with a captive audience comes a lot of responsibility. Just calling a piece of writing a poem ups the ante considerably on both sides.
When a poet I really trust and whose work I really admire starts reading their poems, I take off my skin. I turn up my antennae. And if in that fully exposed state they take advantage of me or worse just let words fall flat, I go away almost wounded. The dial drops a notch on how much I can trust them with my most vulnerable self, the rare and precious commodity of my full attention. This constant unconscious fiddling with rating knobs in our psyche is reputation.
It matters because with so many poems and poets nowadays, all of us seeking the ones we can trust to deliver great art–and all with very different criteria for what that means–an individual accounting of reputation is the only way we can justify letting our attention ride on new poets and poems. Our audience-minds, like professional gamblers, lay down chips, see what happens, and adjust. Of course we’re all rooting for the long-shot, the underdog–because it is also in our nature. In the end, though, we have to feed our creative selves from our winnings–and reputation makes all that possible.
6 Comments
Well said. I feel the same way. And I love the intoxicated spell I sometimes fall under. One of our young readers sounds sultry like Dorothy Parker and she never looks up, but it works.
Sound is so important, isn’t it?
I often hunch down, elbows-on-knees during readings, blurring my eyes and honing my ears. Sometimes people think the poem is making me nauseated or sleepy, but quite the opposite – usually it means I’m *listening*.
Interesting direction you took on reputation.
Sound makes a difference. Some poets have such a lovely voice I can’t hear a word they say. Others so grating, the same. Some hit the middle note and to get my attention some just blink and wink and blush and have my full attention.
Thanks, Pearl. I have been thinking about reputation for awhile, since my instincts are to be all about the moment and root for the underdog. But seeing it as a personal accounting of taste put it in a totally different light for me.
Sound is critical. I had the privilege of working with a voice coach who got his inspiration for speech coaching from the Bel Canto school of singing. He basically divides voices into strength, beauty or wisdom and talks about the what to bring out in each (and how). Amazing stuff. Sounds like the lovely but un-hear-able voices fall into the beauty category, like my voice does – so the main thing is to work on dynamics and projection to make sure you don’t lull your audience to sleep.
You seek out the most extraodinary array of people and opportunities; A voice coach as well. Wow.
Thanks for the link on the migraine clinic. Biofeedback as a concept always intrigues me. And I thank heavens that I only get them once or twice a year not daily like some of the clients profiled there.
The voice coaching was actually sponsored by my employer, even though I don’t actually present their material as part of my job. My favorite voice coach is Valerie, who brings 20+ years of performing experience to every reading of mine she attends, and debriefs with me afterward about how it went. Invaluable.
Biofeedback is pretty fascinating. I watch my brain waves for about an hour per week, and over time they become “smoother.”