How Did Speak For Yourself Open Mic Start?

Origin Story

People ask me all the time how Speak For Yourself Open Mic came to be so I thought it might be a good idea to blog about it. As with most events, everybody involved comes to it with their own story and this is just one perspective of many.

A couple of years ago I moved to Utah County from St George, leaving a beloved poetry community called Storm the Mic. It had been such a great community and had so positively impacted my writing that I hoped to find a similar community here in Utah County. Salt Lake City has a thriving spoken word community but as a mom of young children the one hour commute to be a regular part of that scene was not palatable to me. I came across several warm and welcoming groups (shout out to Rob Blair and the UVU Creative Writing Club for their kindness and support) but didn’t find anything that was similar to the open mic I frequented in St George.  The organizer of that open mic, Darren Edwards, suggested starting one myself and after talking to other writers I had stumbled upon in my search for a writing community I found two writers who were interested in starting a creative writing open mic in Utah County—Roah O’Reilly Beisinger and Jessica Dixon.  Roah was involved with a periodic open mic/poetry reading night called Speak For Yourself that was started by Jacob Rees and Kyle Nelson around 2009 in the Lone Peak High School community. I loved the name and asked if we could use it for this new venture.

Together we found a venue (Enliten Bakery) that was willing to give us a three week trial run in May 2014. With the help of Salt Lake performance poet RJ Walker, we put together three weeks of fabulous featured writers (RJ himself, Courtney Hammond, and Benjamin Barker) followed by an open mic that was overflowing with wonderful Utah County writers. After the first week, the manager of Enliten, Oscar Camarillo, said he didn’t consider this a trial run anymore; he wanted us to make Enliten our home.  We were ecstatic and consider ourselves so lucky to have found such a supportive venue (bonus: it is also an incredibly yummy restaurant). The most amazing part of this origin story, though, is how many talented and passionate writers show up every week to be a part of this community.  With very few exceptions, each week we are full to capacity with thoughtful, gifted writers and each of our featured writers has been so incredibly generous with their time and talents.  It has blown me away!  People often thank us for creating this community but it’s really all of you that have created this community (we’re just the folks who facilitate it). 

So thank you for creating a community that nourishes and encourages writers of all stripes. Thank you for making Speak For Yourself Open Mic a safe place for writers to thrive. Thank you for speaking for yourself.

Compilation Poem for May 28, 2015

two poems, or seven minutes
or
this doesn’t have a title, and it’s really, really rough

I would like to welcome you all to our special symposium tonight —

I kind of live in the ghettos of Salt Lake, 
so I can drown unnecessary thoughts enough to sleep — 
the big ones that hang from a chain stretched between towns.

I fell for you faster and harder than the water did,
being the only thing holding a parachute to the ground — 
it was supposed to be frosting but it wasn’t quite soft enough — 
but she was stuck in the repeat: eat ; sleep ; pump ; power-nap
pork loin ; meerkat butt cheek ; fa-jee-ta — 
does that mean I’m looking back into the future?

ah, my perverted men — drops pool along your lower lashes — 
embers — an actual remembrance of mitosis ;
the roses have wilted and the violets are dead;
every sunset was a sunrise — 
they once were hunted here.

if we’re only here but were praying for there,
I bet your Lucille’s waiting all tuned up, just for you
on most nights, under an embroidered quilt — 
Daisy, I feel you, and I want to feel more
— every day my feet grow further apart — 
do I want to be sober?

to all the fuckers who want to shut me up, I have two words:
One. Deep. Breath.

Compiled by Dennis Clark

Featured Writer for May 14, 2015: Laura Hamblin

Our featured writer for May 14th was the incomparable Laura Hamblin!  A Utah Valley University professor, Laura has many admirers among our writer regulars and I can see why.  She seems incredibly generous of spirit and her words really resonate. She shared from her book The Eyes of a Flounder as well as her contribution to a book that compiled her late son's work on a zine called The Fifth Goal (http://thefifthgoal.tumblr.com/).  Here's a link to the book itself: http://www.divisionleap.com/pages/books/23134/and-contributors-travis-low-kate-davis-adam-davis-laura-hamblin-greg-bennick/the-fifth-goal-1998-2003-transcendental-graffiti-zine

Also, before the feature she told us about an oral history project she is working on with Iraqi Women Refugees (iraqiwomenrefugees.com).  Fascinating work!

We feel so lucky to have had you join us, Laura!

Here are a few pictures of Laura reading:

Anniversary Chapbook

In honor of our anniversary/birthday, Trish Hopkinson put together this wonderful chap book of our weekly compilation poems!

http://issuu.com/trishhopkinson/docs/speak_for_yourself_-_compressed__a_

Compilation Poem for May 21, 2015

YOU GOT TO KNOW

Speak for Yourself Compilation Poem, 21 May 2015

By Colin Douglas

When sense just doesn’t make sense,

And the capitalists drink gin and whiskey on airplanes

And cut me in half with a handsaw in my mom’s basement,

And Heaven looks like the lamp section of Home Depot,

A place where literally no one knows me,

And many rows of mourners separate me from the casket,

And the self-help books fit me about as well as I fit Taiwan,

And I see her car turn over and over into that good night,

Acid rain boiling into my eyes,

And I put a blade to my skin,

You got to know:

You know how to meet a fellow wanderer.

This is no longer my war.

A visitor’s gift is what you bear,

Something other than a recursive cacophony,

All these foul-mouthed folks

Ravaging silence.

You bear a puff of air against my face pushing out rhymes,

A quick lick and a promise,

Hair glittering,

And lunch with fries.

I come knocking at your door,

And iron butterflies cavort in sunshine on Christmas morning

And blaze like meteors brought back from France,

Leaving us weak in terror and delight.

Then I am the king of May,

And you are not the girl from my freshman year,

And by God, by science, or by gravity,

I am not going to let it die.

Open Mic Themed Creative Writing, Part Two

Ode to speak for yourself

by Daniel Gladden

Shepherds of the night.

For the last year thoughts and inspiration filled this brick haven. I feel the twinge when I contemplate how many poems were lost to the nothingness. Lost in the exhaled breath that could not be held in the fleeting thought. Lost in imperfect memory of souls held in small bodies that somehow touch the stars and in these precious moments manage to bring the shining fragments to a eager audience of fellow seekers. And there are days I bring my rage that can bring its beast that needs the music to calm. And I thank all the poets that yearn for Thursday nights and for the moment I paused long enough to listen to the song in this breeze. I leave each night filled with inspiration, so much so that the pages of my book are stuffed to the brim and some nights I find myself unable to sleep, looking at the last blank page, thinking of the loops in cursive ink that fill in white until it make sense to my furious thoughts.

Open Mic Themed Creative Writing, Part One

No Man’s Land

by Marianne Hales Harding

This is a reenactment of what happens when you are introduced in Relief Society as a theater artist: “Oh!  I did theater in high school!  But then I decided I didn’t want to be around those kinds of people.”

Thanks.

It’s somewhat similar to the reaction of many theater folks when they find out you are heavily involved in organized religion: “Oh.  I used to be religious.  But then I decided I didn’t want to be around those kinds of people.”

Thanks.

You could say that I have dual citizenship in two warring countries.

Countries with a somewhat permeable border but a huge problem with friendly fire.

Because even though most of the bombing campaigns aren’t aimed at me, personally, it’s impossible to set up house in No Man’s Land without acquiring some wicked scars from misdirected grenades.

I know what sort of Christian I am (and what sort of Christian I am NOT) but it still gets under my skin when someone rants about Mormonism.

And by “rant” I don’t mean “explore personal experience and come to a different conclusion than I would” or even “angrily denounce something I hold dear.”

And I know what sort of artist I am (and what sort of artist I am NOT) but it still gets under my skin when it is assumed that anything raw, anything that hits hard, anything that’s rough around the edges isn’t worth listening to.

I know which grenades are aimed at me (and which ones are NOT) but that doesn’t mean they don’t knock me off my feet when they explode.

Could this please be 10 square feet of Provo that doesn’t have a land mine?

Where we can be raw and open and personal and vulnerable and SAFE?

Where no perspective is deemed more valid or more truthful than another?

Where you don’t assume that I’ll grow out of my theology and I don’t assume you need to be rescued from yours?

Where we don’t stand here yelling at each other and never see beyond the Propaganda Enemy on the newsreel?

Where we start with the assumption that we are all good, smart people doing our best?

Isn’t this where a lasting peace starts?

Isn’t writing a quest to understand and be understood?

To take something foreign and make it familiar?

To make peace between two warring concepts?

To make us all residents of No Man’s Land?

If only for 7 minutes on a Thursday night.