Longtime poetry slam organiser, Ben Fagan, on the art, the rituals and the origins of the movement.

It was a hot and rainy December night when the poets arrived. From across the country they flew, bussed and even drove themselves to the Ellen Melville Centre in Auckland to compete in the 14th annual New Zealand Poetry Slam.

They’d all qualified to be there. In the bigger centres they’d made it through several competitive rounds. Some, like experienced Wellington poet Tarns Hood, compete most years in the hope of becoming the new New Zealand Champion. Others, like Tauranga rep Nigel Gregory, had only performed in a slam once before.

At a poetry slam, poets read or perform poems, they get scored, there’s three elimination rounds, then a winner. It’s a competitive format that takes poetry, the beating heart/murky puddle of the written arts, pulls it up onto a well lit stage and judges it with cold hard numbers.

On arrival I hugged organiser Ken Arkind before heading in. A while ago, UK poet Sara Hirsch and I started the charity that now runs slams in five of the nine competing regions. “You still look like the guy I knew” said one volunteer as I passed. Poets can’t even say hi without making it sound sad. There was an excited buzz in the room as we took our seats. Family and friends sitting with handmade signs of support, previous winners arranging the water station. Rain briefly delayed a couple of the poets’ arrival, then emcee Jessie Fenton seized the mic and welcomed us to the table. “Are you hungry? Are you starved? Are you craving a little bit of poetry?”

Fans of Olympic breakdancing know that slam is not unique in turning art into a competition. Like at the Olympics, each of the five slam judges hold up their scores as if they were at a synchronised diving event. Unlike at the Olympics, random, non-expert volunteers from the audience are given the unenviable task of judging. They’re instructed to score each poem out of 10 to one decimal place, the top and bottom scores are removed to protect against bias and each poem is left with a score out of 30.

These poets have carefully prepared, so to have dreams of success crushed by a drain layer or a doctor (two of tonight’s judges) can be a difficult pill to swallow. But the amateur judge is a founding ideal, aimed directly at the literary establishment.

Ex-construction-worker Marc Kelly Smith came up with the format 40 years ago in the windy city (Chicago, not Wellington). His story, and the story of the first poetry slam, has been told in every medium. You could read one of several books on the topic, check out articles, academic papers, documentaries, listen to his podcast, or as I discovered, just give him a call.

I spoke to Marc at his home in Savanna, Illinois, about three hours west of Chicago on the Mississippi River. “The intentions back in Chicago were to open poetry up to everybody,” Marc told me. “Back in the 80s, poetry was the exclusive right of the academy and kind of an elite establishment of poetry. The doors weren’t open. Boy, that didn’t jive with my understanding of poetry.” He paraphrases Carl Sandberg for me. “Poetry is the heart of the people, the people is everyone, you and I and all the rest. What everybody says is what we all say.”

The beginnings of slam are so well known because of its subsequent spread. On every continent (except Antarctica, please comment if I’m wrong) and in dozens of countries you will find regular poetry slam events. From Japanese high school students, to over 20 African countries, to at least three Pulitzer winners and the thousands who found their feet at Marc’s original slam at the Green Mill Cocktail Lounge. Poets involved here in New Zealand tend to go on to great things like writing acclaimed TV shows, crackup Spinoff rankings, and lots more great poetry.

Back in Auckland, we’re rattling along at a breakneck pace. There is a lot to get through and Jessie keeps the energy up, helped by knee-high boots and onstage DJ, Ramon. There is always an interesting split at the NZ Slam between the younger, very rehearsed reps from the main centres, and the often older poets from the regions. The city poets have similar styles and rhythm, while the regional poets could pull anything from the hat: ballads, sonnets, maybe a series of one-liners. Before tonight, Auckland has won nine times, Wellington three and Christchurch one.

When I ask if he has any advice for the poets competing at the NZ slam, Marc gets a twinkle in his eye. “Break the rules.” He tells me about the last time he was involved with sending poets to the national slam in the US. He encouraged one of his poets to teach the audience a dance. “They got disqualified because you’re not supposed to do stuff like that… so if there was some stunt you could do to demonstrate the unimportance of winning, and the absurdity of the rules. You’ve got to be creative. Stay creative.”

It’s a common refrain in slam the world over. The point is not the points, the point is the poetry. A tough sell at a national final where most are seriously in it to win it.

There are few barriers to taking part in or running a poetry slam. You don’t need lights or props or a cast of people, you don’t need instruments or to book a theatre. You don’t need a flash degree. You don’t even need pen and paper if your memory is good enough. The flip side of its accessibility is the importance of making sure that no poems will cause a riot. At community events (not fancy national finals), experienced organisers will check in with any unknown names on the list to make sure that everyone’s chill. No sexism, racism etc.

You can’t always catch them. I’ve been an emcee when a poet has said something to enrage the crowd. It’s tough, but it also feels healthy. You know that person is not going to leave the gig without having some hard conversations. The tighter knit the community, the more likely that someone will buy you a drink and tell you why you’re wrong. As nature intended.

Whatever “woke” is, slam is that. But there is no governing body of woke, and there are always differing ideas about the best way to achieve justice in a changing world. Before live events were turned off and on again in 2020, and still now, the fervour of trying to do the right thing can tear communities apart.

Marc himself became a pariah. In 2017 he was invited to perform at CUPSI, a colossal American inter-college poetry slam, and at the age of 70 was cancelled after reading these three poems.

Two years later, Poetry Slam Inc., the umbrella organisation of several large scale American slams, including CUPSI, closed after 21 years in operation. “We have heard a number of reasons for the fall of Poetry Slam Inc,” wrote academics Javon Johnson and Anthony Blacksher a few years later, “including financial problems, claims that it was taking advantage of volunteer labor, and, as always, inner turmoil and politics.” They also note that “the general discourse in the community centred on how PSI failed to properly respect Black women, many of whom have generously laboured in paid and unpaid positions.”

It’s difficult to keep arts communities going at the best of times. There is a constant balance between relying on free labour, and trying not to burn out your volunteers. New Zealand towns are full of the spectres of creative groups that existed on the backs of one or two passionate people, only to disappear again for years when those people wore out or moved away. Often all that is left when you look for signs of life are dusty, abandoned Facebook pages. 

Zemara Te Haeata Waru-Keelan (Ngāti Porou, Ngāti Kahungunu, Tūhoe, Rereahu) was at the NZ slam representing Hamilton. A PhD student and mother of two, Zemara goes by the stage name The Jaded Lioness. “I’ll be honest, we are starving for opportunities to read in Hamilton,” she told me. “We need more events to be together and perform spoken word. When I read my poem in the first round I felt the whole room shake. The audience were clicking their fingers and giving all the sounds of encouragement. It was electric. The only thing I know that feels that same way is haka.”

Marc agrees that it’s outside of the big cities, where there is less funding and infrastructure, that poets need those opportunities most. “I don’t know how it is in New Zealand, but here, smaller towns don’t have any arena where people can go and express themselves that way, and it’s very important. Fortunately, a lot of slam poets that have won in these bigger competitions are just good people, and they go back to the community.”

One such good sort is Mat Marsh, the 2024 Hawke’s Bay Slam Champ. Mat is an award winning rollerblader and works at a motorbike dealership in Hastings. He told me after the slam that he wants to get more involved in supporting poets in Hawke’s Bay. “We’ve got some talented people here who need a little push. Hopefully I can give them a nudge in the right direction.”

Internationally, Marc remains a hero of the slam movement. In December he was in Madagascar as a guest of honour at their national poetry slam, the aptly named Madagaslam, a trip paid for by the US Embassy.

France in particular has embraced his creation. In 2022 he became a chevalier (knight) of the French Order of Arts and Letters for “l’ensemble de son œuvre et pour avoir créé le Slam, mouvement de notoriété mondial,” but as always he is more interested in the community. “A French guy, Yann Francès, he came and visited me in Chicago for two days, then went out on the Brittany coast to a little town, Trédrez-Locquémeau, where people don’t even know what a slam is and he taught slam workshops. Then I came out for their big night, their first festival. It was grandmas and farmers, and it was just gorgeous.”

Back home the emotional marathon continues as we push through the second half. Disappointment when a poet scores low is quickly replaced by elation when another scores high. There’s trauma then hilarity. With only three minutes each, the next poem is always just around the corner. Host Jessie starts to pun with wild abandon. The end must be in sight.

After three rounds, 17 poets, and almost 40 poems, we have a new champion. Samoan youth development worker, writer, and spoken word artist Talia Stanley from Tāmaki Makaurau took out the event and became the 14th New Zealand Poetry Slam Champion.

Marc’s advice to the new NZ Slam Champ is to pay it forward. “Based on your credentials, start a slam where there is no slam… or help somebody start it, that would be a great, great thing.” Something that Talia, as one of the people behind the new Tāmaki Makaurau Regional Slam, is already doing.

A final karakia and it’s all over. I stack enough chairs to feel helpful then it’s out into the murky puddles. By the time I get to the other side of Freyberg Square, the crowd has dispersed into the night.

Even though he thinks it needs to lighten up, Marc believes in the future of slam. “It’s live, it’s supposed to be live. It brings different people together, from different generations, different races, class, everything. I think it could be a very important thing, in this age that we’re in, where people don’t talk to each other.”