Slam poetry night all kinds of angsty

I attended my first poetry slam Tuesday night.

I was warned beforehand that explicit language and material was pretty normal, which was understandable. You simply can’t go to an event like this and expect a crowd who prides themselves on speech and delivery and the power of the spoken word to hold back when it comes to vulgarity.

While language added color to an already bizarre yet worthwhile experience, what stuck with me was something else entirely. Something outside this room where college-aged kids like me stood up in front of their peers and spoke their minds, or in some cases spoke what they thought those same peers wanted to hear.

Somewhat unexpectedly, the most interesting thing I heard all night was literally outside the venue during a short break in the action. A girl in a black hat sat out back behind WhySound with a friend discussing angst or creativity or whatever, when I overheard the following line:

“I can’t write unless I’m sad. You just can’t write when you’re happy, you know?”

Five poems later, this evening of flipping a collective bird toward organized religion and perceived sexual repression was over, and I still caught myself thinking about that girl in the black hat.

I think she’s full of it.

I understand the point of slam poetry is to elicit a reaction, to be challenging, to push buttons and explore emotions. What I don’t understand is how anyone could really believe that angst and pain are the only things worth writing about, or the only things capable of making people feel something.

I sat and wondered with each poem delivered Tuesday why so many people thought F-bombs and descriptions of graphic disfiguration were the only way to get people’s ears to perk up.

I get it — everyone’s got some demon they’re dealing with. But writing and poetry and speech aren’t exclusively reserved for the repressed and anguished. I’m pretty sure Byron wasn’t wallowing in self-pity, crafting “She Walks In Beauty” while his Pandora station blasted selections from Linkin Park’s Hybrid Theory.

You don’t have to be sad to write — you have to be passionate. That’s a distinct difference. The range of emotions that summarizes our complex human experience shouldn’t be limited to “mad at God” or “mad at my dad” or “mad at America.”

Words aren’t meant for complaining alone, and dark and dreary isn’t the only way to feel. Writing can be eloquent, poetry can be redemptive, and speech is often more powerful when barely above a whisper — not a shout into a microphone.

— Logan Jones is a junior majoring in journalism. He’s currently dating the prettiest girl in Utah. Contact him with feedback at Logantjones@aggiemail.usu.edu or on twitter @Logantj.