Performance

The page and the stage have a complex relationship. Reading poetry on the page is one activity, reading it aloud yourself is another, and having the poet recite/read/perform it is yet another.

I can read it on the page, and with the guidance of language, form, arrangement, and punctuation, I can get some of the intonations and meanings the poet designed in the poem. If I read it aloud, I both see it on the page and hear it outside of my head, and it increases the sensory experience. In forming the words in my own mouth and ears, I’m actively re-creating the poem. If the poet is performing the piece, I’ve got the image of the poet as well as the images the poet has created in the poem, along with the aural experience of listening to the words, the tones, and the focus of the poet – both in the moment and when the poem was written. Presumably, the poet communicates his or her intention in the reading and the performance of his or her own poem, and I get some information that I might not have by reading the poem myself. My impressions and my interpretations of the poem are different because of the emotion, the expression, the life the poem is given by the performance. One drawback of watching the performance is that I can’t have it repeated as many times as I want as I can with reading the poem myself. I get so much depth reading a poem again and again that I miss that experience with the performance. Sometimes the beauty of a word cluster or choice of language fades into the performance of the piece. If I’m watching the performance on video, I can watch it over and over again, but I may miss something anyway if the words go by too fast or if two performers talk over each other or if there’s music and it’s distracting in some way.

The poem on the page is the same words and form every time, but my reading might change depending on where I am, what mood I’m in, or for what purpose I’m reading it. The poet has done what he or she could to present his or her message, but now that I’m reading it, it’s all about me. With the poem on the stage, the poet is center-stage – in the moment – to present the poem. The poem can change with each performance. My listening may change depending on the same factors as with reading it, but there are fewer filters for the form because the poet is performing it, and the breaths, the stopping, the continuing are done for me. The poet controls how I hear it and has the freedom to add, delete, pause, use facial expressions, and use body language to contribute to the meaning of the poem. I am no longer responsible for approaching the poem with just what I bring to the poem; I have visual and auditory clues to assist me in my understanding.

Willie Perdomo, in “Nigger-Reecan Blues,” adds to the piece and changes it in his performance. He brings the conversation to life and creates the dialogue. There’s more humor – there’s different voices. It’s more of a one-man show – a play where he’s doing all the parts. He goes faster than I could read it and, although I couldn’t get every word in the performance, the expression and emotion is clearly better than I could do myself either in my head or aloud.

In Alvin Eng’s, “Rock me Goong Hay,” the performance is so much more about the music than the words. It was livelier and happier than reading it on the page. Where there was anger on the page, there was joy in the music. I had read the poem first and did not expect this performance for this poem. Everyone is smiling and bopping to the music, each musician is introduced and has a solo, there’s community and individuality. The concert atmosphere overshadowed the message in this poem for me. The caps on the page transferred to his shouting at the end, but the repetition of “Rock Me, Goong Hay” was the refrain that stayed in my head after the performance was over. There was confusion between the presentation on stage and the words in the anthology. When I read the poem, I felt the twist of the Chinese New Year’s greeting, but when I watched the performance, it was just a snappy entry into the rhythm and beat of the music. I found myself rocking along, but I lost the words and, therefore, the point of the piece as I understood it from the writing on the page.

“Tito Puente” was a performance for which we did not have the words on the page, and I think that helped. I took it for a performance, did my best at hearing and understanding the words, and appreciated this different entry point. The two performers, Meyda Del Valle and Lemon, talked over each other in parts, but the musical effects they produced were very cool, and I could actually see the homage – the reasons for the admiration and adoration – in their interaction. I don’t know how this would be done on the page.

Sarah Jones’ “Your Revolution,” for which we did not have the video, leapt off the page for me. I went looking for the video after I read it because I knew I needed the poet. I needed her voice, not my own, to say these words, to give it the full visual sound. The version I found varied a little from the words we had, but the tone, the attitude, the posture was there in the performance. I had read and re-read the piece on the page and looked up the referentials I did not know, but seeing Jones perform the piece did much more for my understanding.

I’m going to still read poems on the page, but if there are performances available, I’m going to look for them because the “vivid imagery” of poetry is made that much more vivid and visible by hearing it and seeing it performed by the person who created it.

Sheila Joseph