using text vs voice in videopoems

[cross-posted from Very Like A Whale because I think it's relevant to the Voice Alpha ethos]

I wrote this a few weeks ago with the first text-only videopoem I made:

I remembered that in Tom Konyves’ videopoetry manifesto, he categorized videopoems according to their usage of text, with two key distinctions drawn between sound text and visual text. (He also asserted that visual text is ‘charged with leading’ the videopoetry genre, although I’m not sure I agree with that.) I realized that what with Whale Sound and Voice Alpha and now this interest in videopoetry, I’ve been engaged with ‘sound’ text almost exclusively for months now. The idea of making a videopoem without voice and with only visual text was therefore appealing.

I’ve now put together three vpoems with text only and no voice (links at bottom of this post). This is what I have learned so far, and, very interested, continue to ponder:

- Text is not a ‘poor relation’ to voice in videopoems. Not sure why or how I had absorbed this ‘fact’, but I had. Text is a different mechanism from voice. In videopoems text can be as strong (or stronger, if the voice alternative available is relatively weak) a mechanism as voice.

- Text used in videopoems is not like text on the page – it is more a text/voice hybrid, a halfway mark between both.

- This is probably because a) text on the page is a block, all visible, all together, in front of you while b) voice is a ribbon of sound unfurling for you – each word takes the place of the previous one, which disappears in front of it.

-Text in a videopoem takes on the ‘ribbon unfurling’ aspect of voice – each word takes the place of the previous one, which disappears in front of it.

- Text can be an active, communicative character in the performance that is videopoem.

- Text-as-ribbon can very competently (or more competently, depending on the strength of the voice alternative available) convey the nuances that voice-as-ribbon conveys – font, font size, text animation, sound/sense byte, pace – all these are elements that can convey feeling, cadence, tone, emotion.

- Text-as-ribbon, like voice-as-ribbon, is not a great respecter of linebreaks and other page-centric devices – the best way to present a sound/sense byte as text on the screen is not necessarily the way it is laid out on the page.

- Videopoem makers who are tired of or don’t trust the sound of their own voice need not be limited by the ‘voicings’ available to them, by whatever means – have at it with text, people!

Text-only videopoems:

the situation on Thursday by Nic Sebastian
you never thought by Nic Sebastian
No. XLII by e. e. cummings

poetry readings & copyright – best practices

Thanks to Dave Bonta for sharing this link. Much of interest, and this bit in particular for those who like to or are thinking of reading other people’s poems (definitely a best practice in itself!) at poetry readings:

7. LITERARY PERFORMANCE

DESCRIPTION: Live readings are a staple of the poetry scene in many communities across the United States. Frequently, readers are poets whose programs include both their own work and selections from the work of others. On occasion, poets and other readers also create programs that consist primarily of the work of poets they admire. On some occasions, these readings may constitute criticism or commentary on the works included, but that will not always be the case. Members of the poetry community strongly believe in the value of respect for poets and their work, and they generally agree that prior consent should when possible be obtained for the inclusion of particular poems in readings.

PRINCIPLE: Under fair use, a person other than the poet may read a poem to a live audience, even in circumstances where the doctrine otherwise would not apply, if the context is (1) a reading in which the reader’s own work also is included, or (2) a reading primarily intended to celebrate the poet in question.

LIMITATIONS:

Readers should present quoted passages or poems as accurately as possible, allowing for the nature of the performance event.

Readers should provide conventional attribution to source material as appropriate to the nature of the performance event.

Readers should refrain from the use of particular poems in an event if they are aware that the context would be (or would have been) objectionable to the poet, unless the use is permissible as commentary or criticism.

Subject to the same qualification, readers should not repeat uses to which the poet (or a qualified successor) has objected.

In events of type (1), readers should avoid disproportionate use of the work by one or a few poets in any particular reading; in events of type (2), readers should limit their reliance on fair use to one-time or occasional performances.

Readings that include unauthorized copyrighted poetry may be recorded for archival purposes but not be made generally available without permission from the poet (or qualified successor).

Recording Technology Advice Needed for the Not-Quite-Neophyte

Once upon a time, I could work with all types of technology, both old and new. I had a Sony Walkman, but I also knew how to thread the seemingly ancient reel-to-reel tape player in the college radio studio. In 1986, we did the layout for our college’s literary magazine on an Apple Macintosh, and I knew I had glimpsed the future. I remember the Internet before there was a World Wide Web, back when it was all text.

But somewhere along the way, technology has gotten out ahead of me, and in most cases, I’ve just let most technological developments leave me behind. In many cases, it pays not to be an early adapter. It’s better to let the developers work out all the bugs and kinks before I invest.

However, I often find myself overwhelmed by all the choices once we know that a particular technology is here to stay. Lately, it’s become clear to me that I need to pay more attention to the recent advances in recording technology.

I’ve only recently learned how to make recordings using the microphone and software included with my laptop. It’s easy enough, but I’m not happy with the way that the recordings sound. I wonder if there’s some technique that I’m missing, some way of talking into or at the laptop that would make my voice sound less tinny.

Here’s what I really want to know: at what point do I know for sure that I need to buy better technology?

If I just need to record a poem here and there for online journals that offer readers a chance to hear the poem, then maybe my laptop is fine. But then I wonder if having the better options in technology might open up new doors for me?

For example, would I play more with podcasts if I had better ways to make recordings? I used to work in college radio, and I miss it. I’m an NPR junkie from way back, and I imagine that creating a podcast series would help me feel like I’m working in a meaningful medium, a medium that until recently I thought was lost to me, once I graduated.

If I decide I need to invest in better technology, then I have another set of questions: what do I need to buy? Should I invest in top-of-the-line technology or do I just need whatever would be the cut above the basic equipment that comes with my computer?

And then, there’s a round of software questions. I know that software exists that will let me manipulate the recordings that I make. I can access some versions of this software free, from my school. But the last time I tried to do this, in 2006 or so, I found the software overwhelming. Do I really need to learn a new computer program? Or will most people be listening through inferior devices anyway, so it won’t be worth it to manufacture supreme sound quality?

I know I’m not the first person who has wrestled with these questions, but here, too, technology seems to be an equal mix of blessing and curse. There are lots of answers out there in the Internet realms. Who to trust? Globalization complicates the matter even further, because we now have many more choices than we once did, and many of them are affordable.

So, if you’re a poet who has wandered into the realms of audio production, and if you have some insights, it would be great to hear from you. What technology advice would you give to someone who’s not a complete novice, but nowhere near an expert?

Make Your Poetry Reading More Like a Festive Party than a Forced Eating of Rutabagas

I must be honest:  I never thought much about what to bring with me to a poetry reading until last April.  Don’t get me wrong—I did the obvious things.  I checked to make sure I had enough poems to read and a few extra for good measure.  I brought more copies of my  chapbook than I thought I could sell, along with plenty of money with which to make change.  I even thought far enough ahead to create order forms, for the people who wanted my chapbook but didn’t bring enough money with them.

But then, in April, I read this post by Kelli Russell Agodon, which made me think about poetry readings in a whole new way. A poet could bring handouts!  A poetry reading could have a door prize!  It would all feel so much more festive.

Kelli described (and took photos of) the bright colored copies of one of Susan’s poems, which were on the chairs when the audience arrived, and which they later held up when prompted.  At the beginning of the poetry reading, a young man passed out mint leaves.  At the end, a basket of lavender chocolates made the rounds.  One of Susan’s poems talks about throwing a ball, so after warning the audience, she tossed them a ball, and the person who caught it won a prize.

Immediately after reading this post and Susan’s post where she talks about what she learned (reprinted as a post on this site not too long ago), I started thinking about my own poetry readings.  What would make sense to have on hand for audience members?

I haven’t come to any conclusions.  As I’ve looked at themes in my poems for my forthcoming chapbook, I’m struck by how many metaphors come from my experiences in an office, but the idea of handing out shredded paper or office supplies doesn’t appeal.  I have several poems that mention exotic fruit, but it’s not always possible to find pomegranates.  A bottle of wine might make a nice door prize.  Or perhaps a fruit basket would be better, since I’d hate to give a bottle of wine to a person in recovery.

I also like the idea of a single poem on people’s chairs, perhaps with my contact information on the bottom.  I don’t want to give away too many poems, since one of the purposes of a poetry reading is to generate some book sales.  But perhaps a poem might prove tempting.

Dave Bonta wrote a previous post about bringing text to a poetry reading, and he talked a bit about technology.  Instead of paper handouts, we could bring ways to project our poems onto a screen.  In some ways, I love this idea.  I love the thought of a more multimedia presentation.  I’ve been experimenting some with videopoems, although I’m at the more rudimentary stage of creation.  I choose photos taken by me and my friends, and I pair them with lines from my poems.  The same thing could work nicely at a reading.  And if I was reading in a busy bookstore, I imagine I might attract more attention that way.

Of course, the downside to anything that involves non-paper media is that I’d have to rely on technology in a way that makes me uneasy.  I know what my voice will do.  I can’t always be sure that all the technology equipment will work easily in a different space.  Far easier to bring paper handouts.

And chocolates!  I must look back through my poems to find out if any of them would work as an inspiration for a chocolate handout.  Or maybe I should look to find chocolates with bits of exotic fruits.

I know that some of you might write in to say that the poems should be sweet enough to stand on their own.  At one point, I would have agreed with you, that poetry should be its own reward.  But after twenty years of teaching, I also understand the benefits of a treat.  I like the idea of a poetry reading being more like a festive party and celebration than a dreary affair that we attend because poems are so very good for us.

10 Things I Learned About Giving Poetry Readings

Some excellent advice from Susan Rich at The Alchemist’s Kitchen. Thanks, Susan!

1. People like to laugh. I wanted my friends and family to have a good time. Since many of my poems deal with heartbreak and aging, this is not a simple task. How to strike the balance between play and profundity? I made sure to include a few lighter poems. I spaced them in-between more somber ones.

2. Make it inter-active. This was my first reading for The Alchemist’s Kitchen so I wanted a party-like atmosphere. Since this was also the Broadsided Post-a-Thon weekend, I printed up broadsides of one of my poems and before I began my reading I had everyone hold up their colorful copy. This brought everyone together in a communal effort. I took a photo of the group and have submitted it to the contest. I promised to let everyone know if I won.

3. Read at a pace slower than you are used to reading. I re-learned this listening to Katherine Whitcomb’s reading last week. Poetry lives in the air; let it linger there so others can take it in, apprehend it. Nerves will push you to speed up, practice reading slowly and clearly. Listening to poetry takes effort by your audience; you can help them by slowing down the lines.

4. Pay tribute to your community. I spent the first few minutes thanking my sisters for flying in from San Fransisco for the day, John and Christine – the awesome owners of Open Books, my South Grand Street Poets, COPR’s (Community of Poetry Readers) and fellow BooklLift members for supporting me. I am deeply thankful for my poetry community.

5. Give prizes! Okay, I only really gave one prize. My final poem, “Letter to the End of the Year” has a line about throwing a ball and so I warned everyone beforehand that I would be throwing a ball into the audience and that the recipient of the ball should see me afterwords . The prize: a limited edition broadside produced by Joe Green of peasandcuespress went to Martha Solano. A lovely final moment to the reading.

6. Lavender chocolate. Yes, that’s right. Everyone received a piece of lavender chocolate (again, associated with a particular poem “Curating My Death”) to eat, on cue, when lavender chocolate appeared in the poem. The backstory: three days before my reading, I’d emailed Christine to ask her about creative ideas for my reading. She gave me a lovely list of what other poets had done (sung songs, showed movies, played tapes) and ended her email with “anything but chocolate.” And in that moment, handing out chocolate became the thing I most wanted to do.

7. Practice, practice, practice. I spent hours deciding on which poems to read and in what order. I read the work aloud over and over so my mouth would know what to do. I wrote out page numbers and marked pages in the book so I would be able to move with some fluidity through the pages. I was so nervous that often I had to read my notes 2 or 3 times to find the page numbers. I had confidence that everything I needed was in those pages because I had gone over it so many times.

8. Provide visuals. Since the middle section of my book is based on the photographs, paintings, and imagined life of Myra Albert Wiggins, I wanted the audience to be able to visualize some of her work. I don’t own a projector so instead I downloaded an image off the internet, printed up 40 copies, and glued each copy to a postcard. A number of people told me it was really helpful to have the image in front of them when I read the poem.

9. Make the event your own. I know giving out chocolate and prizes isn’t right for everyone or for every book, but it worked for me, for this book. Doing something outside the box, something that people would enjoy and perhaps remember, was important to me. It took extra work but it was well worth it to make the day my own.

10. Your cool idea goes here. I went to many events to study what other poets and writers do to make their events successful. One other thing I learned: bookend your reading by starting and ending with strong, clear, powerful work. And share ideas: let me know what you’ve done that’s succeeded or what reading you attended that stays in your mind as a great one.

Serendipity–Report on a Reading

This past Sunday three of us with poetry chapbooks read to a warm, receptive audience in the community room of the public library.  Here are some things that made the reading work very well:

–A microphone
–Refreshments: cookies, fruit, pastries, juice, nuts
–Informal atmosphere and introductions
–Choice of poems to read to an audience

As one of the poets, Kathryn, said, “We have three very different voices,” and we did, but serendipity wove us together.  We all had some humor in our poems (and in our “patter” between poems), and we all happened to have music in our poems.  Who knew?!  (I even sang a phrase mid-poem, a bit of embedded lyric that is also conversational enough in passing not to be recognized as a song lyric, unless sung!)

I say, “Who knew?” because we did not rehearse, nor get together beforehand to discuss what poems we’d choose, which I think is most often the case at poetry readings, yes?  Oftentimes poets come together as featured guests, or in a group reading, and have some poems prepared and some backups, based on what others read.  See Kristin Berkey-Abbott’s account of this Miami Book Fair reading!   So not rehearsing is probably the norm.

Sometimes, though, I do “rehearse”—specifically with my poetry class, mostly new poets, reading on a shared theme, in a museum setting, and mostly to time the poems, so we don’t go over our allotted hour.  Reading aloud to each other is indeed 1) good practice 2) something we do regularly before feedback and as a revision technique, and 3) it does reveal common themes and serendipitous strands.

For Sunday, I chose some poems with the other poets in mind.  For example, I brought 3 train poems because I had read and loved Tim Hunt’s “Train Window” (and posted it in my blog ), and, during my set, I requested that he read that one.  Serendipitously, he had planned to read it anyway.

The microphone was essential in our public library setting, even though we had plenty of privacy, tucked into the basement auditorium space reserved for large events.  Staff did pass by in the hall, there were latecomers, and the “free and open to the public” nature of the event brought a mix of ages and some people who have difficulty hearing.

Kathryn was least comfortable with a microphone. “I tend to move around a lot when I read,” she told us, and I had shown her how the microphone could detach from its stand, but she stayed put, which was good, as we could all hear her in her whimsical, wry, and honest delivery, and her energy went into the poems instead of movement, except for eye movement, that impish glance to the left when she was being…impish.

The informal atmosphere came from speaking directly to the audience in our brief introductions to the poems, and leaving off fancy introductions of the poets themselves.  Introductions in which a host reads a biography and lists accomplishments can sometimes intimidate an audience and sort of turn them off or close them down in advance.  But our audience remained eager and open, ready to listen.

Tim Hunt read from his forthcoming chapbook Redneck Yoga, with “redneck” settings, language, and music.  As he is a “self-proclaimed redneck,” he means nothing pejorative in the label.  He also read from White Levis (as in jeans).  Kathryn Kerr read from her forthcoming Turtles All the Way Down, in poems that give voice to a turtle “as a cranky middle-aged woman.”  We got to hear that cranky turtle voice.

All three of us chose poems that could be heard and received in one hearing, especially with a wee bit of set up or context for the hearing.  We stuck with mainly shorter poems, or longer poems in sections.  We had room for darkness and complexity, but we also offered poems that could be readily grasped or accepted, if not necessarily completely understood.  We hoped and intended to connect to our audience, and so we did.

Comments afterwards confirmed this, and the audience stuck around to chat, eat, and buy books, before heading off to Sunday afternoon football on tv, or other delights.  And, because we three poets stuck to the 15-20 minute limit on our “sets,” we were out of there in an hour and a half.  Satisfied our audience and left them wanting more.

If you want confirmation, here’s a review from Julie Kistler at the theatre blog, A Follow Spot.

What are your own experiences with:

–microphones (or lack thereof)
–adapting to the venue (see Carolee Sherwood on flexibility, etc. in open mics post!)
–rehearsing or preparing as a group for a group reading
–timing, allotted time, poets respecting this (or not)
–host’s introductions of poets
–poets’ own introductions of individual poems (and see Kristin Berkey-Abbott’s post!)
–serendipity in poem choices, or serendipity in general

 

Live poetry news from Edinburgh

UK poet Rob Mackenzie wonders whether it’s time to wind down the successful poetry reading series he started in Edinburgh three years ago. Logistics considerations are part of the equation, and Rob compares Edinburgh to London in this regard.

What logistics experiences have you had with organizing live poetry readings? Any ‘best practices’ to suggest?

learning from open mics

I didn’t start reading my poems in front of other people until June 2009 when some of my work had been selected for a local reading series. I had no idea what I was doing, except that I was terrified. But something else happened, too: I loved it. I came away from the experience determined to develop more confidence and better showcase my work.

My partner-in-crime, poet Jill Crammond Wickham, and I started putting local poetry open mics on our calendars. We laugh about it now, but at the first one we attempted, we didn’t have the courage to sign up. We lingered near the door, lost our nerve and retired to a tavern a few doors down. Albany is a small city, but it has a vibrant poetry scene. In any week there are two or three open mics to consider, and so second chances were abundant. We tried again in August 2009 and had a great time. We have been regulars on the scene ever since, and I have learned a lot about reading my work in front of an audience.

The open mic scene is a great training ground.

Oh, the horror! (Get over it)
When people describe the horrors of public speaking, they list standing up in front of people, fussing with the microphone, tripping over their words (or worse, their feet) and hating the sound of their own voices. Reading at open mics exposes me repeatedly to those elements, and they create less and less anxiety over time.

Flexibility
I have also developed a comfort level about walking into a space and adapting to its variables. Sometimes there’s a podium or music stand; sometimes there isn’t. Usually there is a microphone, but not always. Settings are diverse (bars, coffee shops, community centers, living rooms, outdoor parks, conference rooms and stages). There is background noise, and there are distractions. The audiences are attentive in some places and not in others.

Camaraderie
Misery likes company, of course, and at open mics, we’re all in it together. While there are rare instances of grumbling, overall the scene is nurturing. It is a great place to support – and be encouraged by – fellow poets. I have learned to consider audiences as gatherings of friends (even when I don’t know them), and this has helped me quell my nerves. One simple way to establish rapport is to assume it exists.

Role models
Watching my peers read their poems has been invaluable. How long are their introductions? How do they engage with the audience? Are they chatty or business-like? What do they do with line breaks? Do they talk fast? Do they allow pauses? Are they apologetic or confident? In other words: what works and what doesn’t?

Another fabulous component of being a public-speaker-in-training at open mics is witnessing the risks people take with their work. There are poets who sing with their poems. There are poets who dance. On special occasions in our local scene, there is a poet who takes his shirt off prior to reading his “bra poem” to reveal he’s wearing a small lacy, white bra. Although my own boundaries are much more conservative, I am learning about stretching myself enough to execute the best reading for each poem. Perhaps the most basic manifestation of this is enthusiasm. I know that if I sound like I’m bored, my poems won’t stand a chance with the audience.

Trial and error
Readings are ephemeral. It is a skill to pay attention, not only when I am listening, but also when I am reading. I am learning to be in the moment with poems I hear whether they are in my own voice or in someone else’s. It’s extremely rewarding to be present with the work.

It’s also liberating to understand the fleeting nature of the open mic. While I want to do well each time I stand in front of an audience, I realize it’s no big deal if I make a mistake or have a bad night. Another open mic is coming up tomorrow or next week or next month. I can try again.

Self-conscious (in a good way)
I am not free from fear of public speaking, but it isn’t crippling anymore. It is no longer a hurdle, and I credit this: practice, practice, practice. There are still skills that require my attention if I’m ever to develop them – I mumble, for example, in daily conversation, and I need to do a better job remembering to enunciate and slow down when I am performing – but I have an awareness of myself that I couldn’t have achieved without participation in the open mic scene.

And lastly (in case you had any doubts!) check this out: The Ear is an Organ Made for Love

Bringing the text to a poetry reading

In a recent post, Nic asked whether a poetry reader should make eye contact with the audience. One way to complicate this issue is to give audience members the text of the poems and let them read along as they listen. Then their eyes are on the text much of the time, rather than on the reader. I’m not sure whether this is a good or bad thing for shy readers — more on that in a minute — but I do think it’s a strategy worth considering if you really want to grab and hold people’s attention.

Sharing the text with the audience at a poetry reading is something that never would’ve occurred to me on my own. I rather enjoy the feeling of being slightly lost, like listening to a challenging piece of music for the first time, letting it wash over me and not necessarily focusing too hard on what it means and where it’s going. The sound of well-chosen words is often enough for me, and I read so much poetry on a daily basis that I’m able to develop a pretty good sense of a spoken poem even on first listen. But my number one priority in giving readings is to try to reach people who are not themselves poets, or even poet-geeks — that elusive general readership I think most of us fantasize about — and I’ve been told by a couple of good friends who fit that description that having the text in front of them greatly reduces the intimidation they otherwise tend to feel at readings.

As an environmentalist, however, I am loathe to print out a bunch of handouts that are only going to end up in the trash. I suppose one approach, if the reading is in support of a published collection, would be to have a whole bunch of copies on hand and loan them out at the beginning of the reading, but I’d be wary of putting that much emphasis on the product, and possibly making people feel like heels if they don’t shell out for it at the end of the reading. Another approach might be to spend a little money at Kinko’s (or wherever) and make handouts, optimally on recycled paper, of a high enough quality that people will want to keep them afterwards. Still another strategy could involve making a nonce website for the reading on a mobile phone-friendly platform such as Tumblr or Posterous, and encouraging audience members to log on at the beginning of the reading and follow along.

At the last public reading I gave, I projected the text of my poems onto a screen, using that dreaded software synonymous in the public mind with bullet points, ridiculous transition effects, and droning presenters. Yes, I used PowerPoint! But if you have a PC, it’s simply the most convenient tool, and this reading was all about tools: it was in support of a collection called Odes to Tools, consisting of poems I’d originally posted on my blog. Feedback from online readers had taught me that some of the hand tools I wrote about weren’t as commonly known as I’d assumed. So it actually made a great deal of practical sense to have a slide show and include pictures of the tools. For a few of the more obscure ones, I turned it into a quiz: show a picture of a tool, ask people to guess what it was, then proceed to the text of the poem about it. So there were lots of opportunities for audience interaction. Since one of the poems was about a musical saw, I was able to incorporate an audio recording as well, a minute-long snippet of a subway performer in New York City. PowerPoint handles audio inclusion really well.

As for eye contact, I ended up reading from the screen rather than the chapbook, though I had an annotated copy of the latter along with me just in case. I positioned myself at a right angle to the screen so I could glance back and forth from the screen to the audience, and they of course glanced back and forth between me and the screen, but the fact that we were reading from the same text made it into a kind of communal experience, faintly reminiscent of church, minus the piety. The house lights remained all the way up, because we were in the middle of a busy bookstore.

It was gratifying to see how easily passing customers could be snagged. Ordinarily, I think unwary bookstore customers tend to be annoyed to find themselves suddenly trespassing on poetry readings, but here they could stop, glance at the screen, and immediately get a sense of what was going on. So I guess I do recommend this approach for readings in any kind of busy public space, if you can pull it off. A good mike is probably a must, and you might need to bring your own screen in addition to all the other equipment.

I concluded the reading by showing some of my videopoems, which went over rather well, though it meant giving up the live-reading feel and letting people turn their full attention to the screen. But the videos were each just a couple minutes long, and of course I gave spoken introductions to each one. My videopoetry style is to include the poem in the audio track rather than as text, however, and I think the opposite approach would actually be a better fit for a live reading. It would be fun to try swapping slides for videos altogether and doing something like a hybrid between a poetry reading and a video installation. The only question is whether I have the technical skills and stage presence to pull it off.

So is this a way for shy performers to escape the dilemma of whether to force themselves to make eye contact and risk utter befuddlement? Not being very shy myself, I’m not sure I can give a definitive answer, but I think the public perception of PowerPoint is pretty well founded. A hell of a lot of mediocre public speakers apparently believe that giving people things to look at while you drone at them helps keep their attention, but in reality, I think it just makes them feel trapped. And in poetry, more than in any other form of verbal expression, the goal is to open new windows, right? So having visual aids can be great, but it doesn’t leave you off the hook. You still have to read as if your life depended on it.

On looking (or not) at your audience when you read poetry

Poets looking for guidance on how to best conduct their readings tend to rely on suggestions made for public speakers. Understandably, since there is much overlap, and there are so many resources for public speakers on the internet. Are they all good for poets, though?

There is one public speaking tip that seems to have been endlessly repeated and drummed into poetry readers, which is: ‘make eye contact with your audience.’ As one random but representative public speaking guide out there says:

the audience is there to see you and to hear what you have to say. They deserve to be included and to be made welcome. Lack of eye contact creates a barrier between you and the audience; it makes you look untrustworthy, shifty or unsure of yourself; it drags down your presentation and sucks the life out of it.

So why doesn’t this necessarily apply to poets? Sure, when you come up to the podium and introduce yourself, or when you’re chit-chatting about a poem before reading it – absolutely, make eye contact with your audience. But when you’re reading? If you can’t do it well (which usually means you have memorized chunks of your poems ahead of time so you don’t need to look down at the book), I say, don’t do it. Some people can do it well, but for many – most – people, I submit that the need to keep looking at the audience leads to awkward head-bobbing, meaningless unfocused millisecond glances in the general audience direction, losing of place in text, and ends up being a general distraction for the audience, instead of an aid to their enjoyment. I personally find it distressing to watch. I’m not going to post any videos in demonstration, but there are plenty out there.

I submit that what the audience wants is a connection with you, a sense of authenticity and engagement from you, they want to see you perform for them. Can that involve eye-contact? It can, of course. But is eye contact a must for audience connection? No – it’s not, I say. It can even diminish audience connection and enjoyment, as just described.

As an illustration, I’d like to point to this video of a reading by Canadian poet Jordan Scott (which was brought to my attention by Hannah Stephenson at The Storialist – thanks Hannah!). Scott, who stutters himself, explores ‘the poetics of stuttering’ in his collection Blert, from which he reads in this video.

Scott is clearly not someone who enjoys making eye contact with his audience – watch how he doesn’t do so in the first couple minutes of chit-chat. As an audience member, that strikes me as a pity, but ok, so maybe he’s a bit shy. What I’m really waiting to see how he performs during his reading. He begins reading about minute 1:50 and really gets into his stride about minute 3:30.

When he is reading his poems he is still not making eye contact with the audience, but it absolutely ceases to matter. He has gone inward and is focusing on the text, you can practically see his vibrant engagement with the text – his whole body, voice and energy are fully committed to voicing the text for the audience. It’s a wonderful performance that engages his whole being. As an audience member, I believe in it and want more. And all without any eye contact with the audience.

Now take a look at this video, which is a performance of Ravel’s Bolero conducted by Andre Rieu (and seems to have garnered some 5.5 million hits on You Tube). The camera does a great job of following each of the soloists and the musicians at large.

And what I’m thinking as a member of this audience, is that they remind me of Scott – they have gone inward, are focused on the score, on working their instrument, the music, the conductor. Not the audience. None of them even considers looking at the audience. The audience is implicit and deeply recognized on a level that transcends mere eye contact.

OK, so Scott was one performer and this is a whole orchestra and in many ways this is an apples-and-oranges scenario. But the point is that as a member of the audience, I don’t need, or want, to be looked at. I just need to be convinced of the performers’ authenticity, their passion, and to hear them play well.