XandO hosts night of spoken word slamming

By: Claire Cravero

Posted: 11/1/07

Easily swinging the microphone stand with him, Chris August smoothly dropped his voice an octave and crooned into the microphone. His love affair with slam poetry began here, in the basement of XandO. His passion is still potent five years later as he hosted the "Dead Poets Slam" Monday night in front of a 20-person crowd. For Chris, "hosting" the slam is much more than an MC gig. His role is to draw people in, to "give context" for the poetry that night and to give a framework for people to stand up and slam in.

"You fit into me/like a hook in an eye/a fish hook/an open eye," Nicole's grin completed the 16-word poem by Margaret Atwood. Chris strutted back to the stage with commanding energy, snatched the microphone, pleaded for more applause and announced the next poet. The open mic component of the night was an eclectic mix, from Sylvia Plath to free-form original poetry. Alex concluded the open mic with one of his own poems. He leaned in for the final lines, his volume slightly higher. The last words echoed in the basement of XandO, "…plagued by the question: to watch Fox News and laugh, or to listen to Bill Maher and cry." Snaps, claps, smiles and muttered responses ended the open mic as the perpetually animated Chris announced the featured artist of the night.

A hefty man with an orange bandana pulled tightly over his bald head grabbed the microphone. This used to be Robert Ceriani who worked in a steel mill where priorities were "Football. Cars. Women. In that order." Making blatant and direct eye contact, he quickened the pace of his words. He swayed with the pulse of his story, evolving it into a third-person narrative. He chanted the epic poem of his past. This steel worker with a poet's soul quit his job to become Rob C: Poet.

Rob C has been living out of his car for two months. Poetry on the Gulf of Mexico as the sun rises, and long nights spent on cold park benches: This is his version of being on tour. Rob beamed with pride as he described the confused police that found him sleeping in the park and searched his car, only to find piles of dirty clothes next to thick pamphlets and recordings of his poetry.

Once Rob C starts, he almost never comes up for air. His poems undulate from vast imagery and heavy metaphors to snapshot moments from "sitting jaded on jagged mountains," to "that place in the dreams of goldfish." Rob's second poem reflected on dreaming, "where the only sin is when you stop laughing, and the only sadness is when I wake." His setlist juxtaposed abstract poems against specific personal ones. At one point, he crossed his arms against his chest and, looking up at the ceiling, called out to his unborn child aborted by his first wife. Another poem is a plea to a friend returned from Iraq. Rob C described "Mickey's" symptoms in the throes of severe post-traumatic stress. He begged his friend to understand how much he is loved, even when suffering. Rob weaved pleas from friends and family with the images of Mickey shooting holes in his Sony TV after a commercial for a military video game. This ex-steel worker-turned-nomadic poet hit every poem in his set with fever and contagious energy.

In his final poem of the night, Rob explained his passion for art: "And if you look in a sky and hear your name sung through shadows/feel comfort and peace for I am with you, holding your hands through pre-scribed lands/and kissing your face in the chaos of it all. For I am poetry and we have just begun." Chris bounded to the stage again, but there was no need to beg for applause. Even with the small crowd, the basement of XandO pulsed with praise for Rob C.

After Rob took a seat at the back of the basement, the slam competition began with Megan Kile who read a poem by Francis Pange. Megan is a student from the North Harford area who attends these Monday night gatherings for the sheer love of slam poetry. Tonight, in honor of Halloween, she slammed her dead poet's words in costume, complete with an elaborate Mardi Gras mask. Later in the line up of slam-competitors, Dave approached the mic and slammed dressed as Edward Scissorhands. His poem was a fallen soldier's dedication to his wife. Dave, better known as Granma, began Slamicide in 2000 when he asked the owners if they could have slam poetry in the basement of XandO. Monday nights now serve as a cultivation of slam-talent and a practice arena for the Baltimore slam poetry team. This year the Baltimore team will compete in the national championship in Madison, Wisc.

After the judges awarded points, Twain Duley took home the Dead Poets Slam prize in the form of a $20 bill for his performance of "Dark Prophecy" by Etheridge Knight. After the applause, Twain hands Rob C the 20 dollar bill in exchange for some of his books and a CD.

It took a flickering of the lights from upstairs to finally rouse the remaining loquacious crowd to leave. Janna Tanner, Chris's co-host, laughed as she described how they have had to finish the slams outside in front of the Homewood apartments when XandO kicks them out after closing. This is what a Monday night in the basement of XandO is like for only a $5 cover fee. Free to sit and listen or stand up and slam, everyone is invited to share in the art of Slamicide.