Magazine The Wo! Front

Contribute

About us

Forums

Contact us

To become a member of our contributor/reader mailing list fill out the form below:

Name:
Email:


Visit Wo!'s MySpace:

myspace, wo mag

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Download "Slam! Bam!" pdf

Slam! Bam! Putting the politics back in poetry

Allie Kilkenny gives Wo! the inside story on a brave but controversial stray from the norm, by her husband and writing partner, slam poet Jamie Kilstein.

Ours is the generation of aggressive apathy and callous ignorance. Leaders such as Robert Kennedy, and revolutionaries such as Che Guevara and Bill Hicks would shudder at our slothfulness. Worse, they would be appalled at the lack of camaraderie between us and at the disloyalty that has infested our ranks. Our generation lives in the time of the western caste system. We divide ourselves into clusters based on socio-economic trends, race, and, sexuality, or other such imaginary dissimilarities. We lack a voice to unite us -- a clear, reasoning voice that called for union, movement, and reasoning.

Some might call me bias, since I'm his writing partner, and wife but Jamie Kilstein is a revolutionary in every sense of the word. He is the product of the radicals who came before him -- a strange amalgamation of Beat, thug, and poet. He is not a comic, politician, or guru, and even the term "slam poet" falls short of describing his craft. Though, he is most certainly a respected poet, and has just earned the coveted title of Grand Slam Champion. He will be representing New York City at the National Slam in Austin, Texas this year.

I have witnessed Jamie’s extraordinary acts of bravery and genius. Jamie recently escaped from the world of stand-up comedy in favour of pursuing his political work. The transition from the seedy world of comedy to the enlightened craft of poetry was not a smooth one. On several occasions I have observed Jamie defending his new craft to old friends, family members, and his management. However, he never faltered.

Trailblazing is not a particularly difficult task for Jamie. Through his trying evolution from comedian to poet, Jamie remained resilient.  He never compromised his vision, even when doing so entailed some social faux pas, and on one occasion (thus far) even the possibility of a riot.  

We were forced to flee
from a New York City comedy club one night after he performed his piece on "Hurricane Katrina" (entitled "I'm Pretty Sure George W. Bush Hates Black People") for an audience of white, rich suburbanites who had migrated into the city for a spell of alcohol-soaked debauchery.  

This scenario began with Jamie's manager phoning to let him know, with great excitement, that he secured him a Saturday night spot at The Comic Strip Live. Not only did Jamie have this opportunity, which most comics would only dream of, but Comedy Central would also be at the Strip scouting for the Montreal Comedy Festival. His agent was ecstatic, but Jamie looked nauseated when the manager told him to go light on the political, and instead perform his familiar, harmless comedy cadence.  

While Jamie's comedy is witty and reflective of his intellect, it is not the medium by which he prefers to catalyse his political platform. Unbeknownst to the manager, Jamie had discovered slam poetry, and was quickly climbing the ranks of the three main poetry venues in New York City: Urbana, Bar 13, and The Nuyorican café.

He hung up the phone and looked at me. For several moments, we were silent, and Jamie finally nodded. There was an unspoken agreement between us that Jamie was going to throw the spot, and instead perform his poetry. Reading his poetry almost completely guaranteed his management would drop him, Comedy Central would blacklist him, and an angry, drunk audience might attack us when Jamie failed to bring the easy "ha-ha"s. But Jamie's commitment to his craft meant he would rather take this risk and express himself with experimental art than cater to a zombie-like audience.

Despite knowing that the audience at the Strip would not receive political philosophy kindly, Jamie performed his Hurricane Katrina piece anyway. The audience, predictably, was not happy. Around the time Jamie exclaimed, "President Bush doesn't hate black people!  He doesn't need a hurricane to do his dirty work! He has crack, and ghettos, and shitty schooling, he has the NRA, the confederate flag, Jerry Farwell, and Ted-fucking-Nugent," the audience began to hum with discomfort. I saw several people hang their heads, as if Jamie was their father, scolding them. A few tables tried to flag down the M.C., the only black face in the audience, but their host was too preoccupied smiling whilst Jamie preached from the stage.  

Audience members began to talk among themselves. They looked nervous, angry, and oddly panicked. Despite these distractions, Jamie finished his set. I can say in all honesty that our running from the club was not an overreaction. People don't like the artist who thrusts truth unexpectedly in their faces. So we ran from the furious audience, and away from Jamie's manager, who followed us onto the wet city streets, screaming Jamie's name until we had lost him.  

When I first met Jamie, he always referenced Bill Hicks, and talked about the potential of intelligent, social commentary hidden between set-up and punch line. Like Hicks, Jamie saw deeply troubling trends in American society, and he wanted to publicly discuss them. However, the only individuals who can afford costly comedy show tickets and outrageous drink prices are usually white, middle class-upper class men and women, and they only want to hear black-people-are-different-than-whites jokes, or dick jokes, or pot jokes. They certainly don't want to hear about the American government planting crack in ghettos, or the army sending recruiters to poor urban areas, where they have a better chance of snagging disenfranchised youth. This breed of audience want their punch lines spoon-fed to them, and club management keeps any form of dissent, or serious discussion, at arms length. "Too many serious thoughts upset the stomach," as Jamie says.

An interviewer once asked Bobby Kennedy what went wrong after he gave an unsuccessful primary speech to a crowd in Seattle. His audience was older, white men and women, who ignored Kennedy's impassioned pleas about the United States economy (with its widening divide between the richest rich and the poorest poor,) and ultimately dispersed. Bobby responded, "If I brought a ghetto here, they'd understand". Like Bobby, some privileged folk don't get Jamie, but that's not who he's trying to reach.

This same spirit of political dissent brought Jamie further success as a slam poet in NYC. I have stood in the thick of a surging crowd in the Nuyorican café - so named for the diversity of the city. Every shade of poor gathers at the Nuyo weekly to preach their messages. This is where Allen Ginsberg read, and where hip hop sheds its beats, and bounces raw from the rafters. I have seen sisters and brothers of all colours embrace Jamie's words, and his criticism of the class wars, racism, and deceit that infest America. In the poetry community, Jamie is not a comedian, nor do I believe is he a preacher, as some have accused. He is possessed by the spirit of something our generation had almost forgotten -- passion. The Beats lived furiously, as did Sartre and the Existentialists. They were in the business of Living, and they found excitement and inspiration in the mundane, while the drooling, dumb masses went unchallenged by other plastic forms of entertainment, and our leaders.

And while politicians do not have the luxury to speak as freely as Jamie, they would do well to study his colloquialism and brutal honesty. Most western leaders lack zeal, charm, and a definite agenda. Jamie's passion is electric when he is on stage and his rallying call is unmistakable. Something in his voice promises a better tomorrow, when Generation "X"ers find excitement in political debate, community development, and social reform.

Jamie and I are touring America this year. We will be drifting from town-to-town, living on the modest pay of various poetry venues, and the kind spirits of Slam masters who have offered to house us. Jamie will share his messages at these venues and no doubt recruit more individuals into his Army of Reason. We consider ourselves part of the Last Beats -- those artists who risk everything in the hopes that they might offer this world something of true, and of original beauty.
    

For more information, tour dates, and journal updates go to:
www.myspace.com/jamiekilstein.