How slam poetry created safe place in the suburbs
Youths find power and confidence pouring out emotions on stage
Jackson Neal’s hands shook as he stepped onto the stage at the George R. Brown Convention Center.
It was the final round of the Space City Grand Slam poetry competition, and he was about to perform one of his most intimate, personal pieces.
It’s about being Catholic and queer.
And he was about to perform not only in front of a panel of judges, not just in front of a crowd of strangers, but also — even more intimidating — his father.
The 17-year-old from Sugar Land swallowed hard and began to chant: “Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison.”
The church phrase echoed solemnly in the convention center. “Translation: Christ have mercy.”
A medal pendant evoking St. Jude — the patron saint of impossible causes — hung over his heart.
He continued: “Loving men was the trespass I didn’t want to be delivered from.”
The crowd, which had been responsive throughout the competition, sat in silence.
“Make this chest an emptiness,” Neal recited, “like the cave in which Jesus was buried.”
The words tumbled out, emotions crescendoing with each verse. “I am not a temple. I’m an unchosen people at Passover. Am I so diseased I am not your child, Jesus?”
He searched for his father’s eyes in the crowd.
‘Chess with words’
Neal discovered slam — a kind of spoken-word poetry performed in competition — on YouTube. His first slam was at a local competition organized by his school district a year ago.
In April, he was named champion of the Space City Grand Slam — Houston’s premier youth-slam competition. And later this month, he will represent Houston at the Brave New Voices festival in San Francisco.
He’s one of six teens who make up Meta-Four Houston, a group run by the nonprofit Writers in the Schools. During the summer, the teens, who hail from everywhere from the Heights to Humble, meet in a small bungalow near the Menil Collection six days a week to write, edit, choreograph and practice their poems together.
Though slam’s popularity is growing, it’s far from mainstream, said MetaFour’s coach, Emanuelee “Outspoken” Bean — Bean to his students.
“When we still mimic it with scenes from the 1970s—,” Bean said, trailing off with a shrug and a laugh. “But it’s picking up.”
Bean said competitions such as Brave New Voices, features on HBO and youth-slam programs producing famous artists including Chance the Rapper are helping bring more attention to the craft.
“You’re kind of playing chess with words,” Bean said.
That’s why he pushes the poets to challenge themselves. Some poems go through more than a dozen edits before they’re ready to be performed. They are choreographed and rehearsed the way a dance or play is.
“It’s giving them the opportunity to tell their story in a powerful way,” said Robin Reagler, Writers in the Schools’ executive director. “They’re telling our story. They come from all walks of life — different races, religions, neighborhoods.”
Not a suburban thing
Slam hasn’t caught on as much in the suburbs, Neal said. When the Fort Bend ISD Digital Learning Department started an annual slam competition a couple of years ago — where Jackson performed for the first time — only a handful of students from each school would participate.
The department now no longer exists, and Neal is concerned that the district slam competition might not continue this coming year.
“I doubt it’s high on the district’s list of priorities,” he said.
He plans to do what he can to make sure it continues during his senior year and beyond.
“The city is such a wonderful hub for the performing arts, but not everyone has the ability to go into town in order to experience that,” he said. “I want my peers to be able to have access to the opportunities in poetry that I’ve had in their own backyard.”
He also hopes that Writers in the Schools eventually will expand its creative writing programs into the suburbs to stir up interest in slam poetry and to encourage students who are afraid to put themselves out there.
It’s by embracing that fear that Neal and the other young poets in MetaFour have found their voices. “You’re definitely going to fail, and that’s OK,” he said. “I think experience is falling on your face — a lot.”
Though slam performances are judged, the ideas — and the poet — aren’t.
“Slam is a very affirming and welcoming place,” Neal explained. “Some things only exist on stage. Once I’m done, I don’t want to have a conversation about it.”
Hands up
Back at the practice house in Montrose, Neal gathered with two other Meta-Four members to rehearse.
“I had no choice but to love you,” recited Donald Val, 18.
“I read Stockholm Syndrome was common among the captured. I just didn’t know it lasts for centuries.
“I run back to you, black and blue. Hands up, don’t shoot.”
Neal, Val and Sebastian Avila-Katine, 14, were giving feedback on each other’s choreography for their newer poems. “What if you put your hands up like this,” Neal interjected, holding his hands up by his ears in a gesture of submission.
“That’s what I was thinking!” Val said, highfiving Neal. “I like that! That’s hot!”
When it was Neal’s turn, he produced a staccato version of a poem urging his 12-year-old sister, Selah, to excel at martial arts so she could defend herself against the threat of human trafficking. Sebastian took Jackson’s phone, where the poem glowed on the screen, to give him cues.
“The Houston Ship Channel exports more daughters than oil,” Neal recited.
“Remember who you are,” he said, gesturing sharply with half-memorized words the words. “Fighter! Tiger! No, wait. Tiger! Fighter! My baby sister.”
For Neal, slam provides an opportunity to express his thoughts on personal struggles, political opinions, social injustice — anything and everything he cares about.
“The stage is a safe place. This is your time,” he said. “It’s very cathartic – almost a spiritual experience.”
‘Not a sin’
Neal released the final verse of his grand-slam performance. “I have only loved my neighbor. That is not a sin.”
His hands flew to his face to cover his emotion as he walked off stage.
Once off, he broke down. He thought of the turbulent relationship he and his father weathered recently as he wrestled with his identity and what masculinity means to him.
Then he met his father’s eyes. They were full — not of sadness or anger, but of love.
Finally, Jackson felt that his dad had heard him.