Submit
Slamming Poetry and Sipping Beers in the East Village, NYC
Whoever said poetry was dead forgot to tell the crowd at the Bowery Poetry Club. Or maybe they just refused to listen. Whatever the case may be, the cave-like room echoes with the sounds of poets baring their souls seven nights a week. Each night hosts a different event, with open mics and poetry slams scattered throughout. Step from the warm lights of a small café filling in for a lobby and past a stained velvet curtain. On the scuffed stage a poet speaks ever so urgently, sending words bouncing off the brick walls. Her voice quivers with honesty, her body tenses then falls slack. When something particularly potent is said, some of the regulars snap their fingers—as if to say: “Yes, I feel your thunder.” In between poems you order a beer from the bar and take a seat. It may not be right away, but before long you’ll hear something that makes your pulse quicken. And you’ll know, as they know, that poetry is still alive and kicking.
Add a Comment
