After getting unexpectedly drunk in the middle of the day on Sunday, I decided to head down to the Sustainable Living Festival, an annual blockbuster of very interesting stalls and speakers that make me wonder why I’m not at home getting on with the business of being more sustainable, rather than just milling about with my copy of the age under my arm and thinking of all the sustainable things I could do.
This, of course, is an aside, because I went to see the poetry at the “first ever” sustainability themed poetry slam.
The sun was shining and Emilie Zoey Baker took the stage, with her distinctive warm voice and sexy/blustery style. Eventually, five audience members were selected as judges according to their ability to catch a melted chocolate bar and though I believe that some of them were either psychotic or stoned, the whole thing seemed to progess along just fine.
If I had to be a wee bit negative, I would say that sadly, I couldn’t really hear all of the poets and was reminded again that I don’t I love the slam format. I’m still waiting to be pleasantly surprised, to find a (an Australian) slam that is an amazing collection of diverse poets who spur each other on to greater and greater heights. Not simply an interesting mixed-bag of lollies. Like many previous occasions, by the fourth handful, I’m thinking all this sugar will rot my teeth. But this is not really a review and it’s just as easy to stay silent on what you don’t like in favour of passing on a genuine compliment about what you do like.
But for those who missed it, what happened? Well, Anthony O’Sullivan, came out of slam retirement and delivered a stop-the-world rhythmic beat extravaganza, before Randall Stephens rolled out what I hope was an ode to his bicycle. Felix Nobis, whose work I normally love, was not audible to me, except for the pleasurable modulations of his voice. Following this were odes to grandchildren unborn, something about midwifery – also regrettably unheard by me who was sitting in a terribly silly place. Eddie Burger did impressions of dying trees and smart-arse lyrebirds. The judges persisted in being strangely moronic and partially funny. Tariro Mavondo and Ezra Bix demonstrated that there is no harm in being entertaining to watch, while Sean M Whelan rubbed Peter Garrett’s bald head for luck. Zoey Emilie Baker persisted with the mathematically challenged judges and Steve Smart came up smelling like “roses” to take home the generously supplied reading material (presumably all of the publications come on 100% recycled post consumer waste stock with soy based inks and bundles of love?).
So, depending on whether or not you believe hot air contributes to climate change, the whole thing was rather good fun. Not utterly splendid, but batches of sparkle and shine with some presumable profundity lost on the wind.
eleanor j jackson 