As a young man, growing up on the city’s Southwest Side, Marc Kelly Smith aspired, for a very short time, to a career in architecture. That didn’t quite work out but Smith would eventually find not only a career but one that has allowed him to build things, to construct poems but more profoundly, to build communities.
He was once so shy, he says, “that I had to have my wife call and order the pizza.” But he would become the creator of the Uptown Poetry Slam, indeed the creator of the entire concept of “poetry slam,” which he once described to me as a “grab-bag variety show which mixes together an open stage, special guests, musical and dramatic acts.” Its centerpiece — the slam itself — is a competition among poets scored by three judges chosen at random from the crowd. Audience members are encouraged to voice their feelings toward the poetry by finger snapping, foot stomping, groaning, hissing or grunting. The winning poet gets $10.
This hook, this gimmick — the slam — has made Smith’s creation an international cultural phenomenon. The first was held in 1984 at Bucktown’s Get Me High Lounge, it moved to the Uptown’s Green Mill two years later and slams are now in hundreds of U.S. cities and dozens across the globe. Smith often travels to foreign slams, invited by organizers and poets eager to hear his stories and poems.
“For many years now I have been hearing from the young people in other countries, telling me, ‘Mr. Smith, we can’t find very much information about the early days of the slams or about you,’” Smith says. “Seeing what these young people are doing with their slams is so encouraging, so fresh.”
And now he has created, with the help of longtime friend, collaborator, teacher and writer Mark Eleveld, a podcast. “Thru the Mill with Marc Kelly Smith,” available on most platforms, is an honest and revelatory journey through Smith’s life and career as well as the roots of the slam. There are seven episodes and counting.
It is compelling and entertaining, taking us through every step in a fascinating life. Episode 4 is particularly moving (and chilling), focusing on Smith’s struggles with alcohol and how he found sobriety. The names of bygone giants of the local art scene, such poet David Hernandez and cultural affairs powerhouse Lois Weisberg, spark welcome memories. Poets read poems. Eleveld knows what questions to ask and director Hugh Schulze keeps the conversations flowing.
It has had and will in the future have guests, so far such female poets as Jean Howard and, from Sicily, Eleonora Fisco. Coming up, another episode with local writer and teacher Billy Lombardo and writer and artist Tony Fitzpatrick. “We have a lot of material to discuss and explore,” says Eleveld, the author of a fine book, “The Spoken Word Revolution.”
He and Smith say they will not shy away from some of the controversies that have been roiling the performance poetry scene, will not ignore some of those who have criticized Smith for his disapproval of the commercialism that he feels has damaged parts of the slam world.
He has felt this way for a long time, telling me as long ago as 1999, “I’m increasingly frustrated by the battle between the idealism and cooperative forces of the slam and the competitive and self-serving appetites of its ambitious nature.”
“The stakes are higher now,” he said. “A lot of people think this is an avenue for commercial success. I’m not happy with a lot of the personalities in the slam world. Now that there’s an audience, poets are sloppy. A lot of what I hear is not poetry, not true. I hear work that has no depth. In a way, I think I may have created a Frankenstein’s monster.”
But on many of his foreign travels — next up is Belgium in November — Smith has been able to recapture some of the initial energy and spirit of the slams, to experience all over again what characterized those early years.
Once a weekly Sunday night staple at the Green Mill, the Uptown Poetry Slam now takes place the third Sunday of every month there but at the more civilized late afternoon hours of 3 p.m. to 5 p.m. “Some former poets come back and there are a lot of young people showing up,” Smith says. “They are finding the stage not to be a launching pad to stardom but a place where their voices can be heard.”
And that was always the idea. As I was told long ago by performance poet Sheila Donohue, “In most bars people don’t have anything really to say to one another. But the slam mixes people together, lets them get to know each other. The experience of going on stage is at once intimidating and liberating. You see people being vulnerable and there is reward in that. There is a sense of self-discovery, a sense of community.”
And poet Cin Salach had this to say about Smith: “No one can move a crowd like Marc. But humility makes it work. The slam isn’t about being famous, being a star. Marc’s humility keeps it about poetry.”
Smith has published a number of poetry collections and he has been performing for a few years with four old friends who comprise the Last Word Quintet, which, he’ll happily tell you, “is a union of song, jazz, and poetry.” Of course, it is, just another community he’s helping build.
rkogan@chicagotribune.com
