Different but not alone; artists unify at ‘Diverge’ event

by Laurel Fantauzzo

Wednesday October 12, 2005

Diverge sought artistic unity through a variety of performers on Sept. 29, bringing formalist, slam and musical poetry to the Heimbold Theater.

The night began with sophomores Josh Wheadon and Meaghan Cross, singing a 16th century poem in loose falsetto to a melancholy indie guitar chord progression. Senior Corey Walker followed them, beginning with a poem by Amiri Baraka, "Preface to a Twenty-Volume Suicide Note." In it, a man ends the contemplation of his self-destruction when he comes upon his daughter praying in the dark.

Walker’s own poems were fraught with the pain and destruction wrought upon black life in 21st century America, matching the brutal concrete with the gentle abstract: "The couple upstairs fuck like continents colliding," and, "drink my unease like a double-shot of vodka." His poems, too, end with prayer; "Forgive us our trespassers; deliver us from ourselves." First-year Aja Monet rose after Walker.

"I want you to close your eyes," Monet said. "I want you to listen."

She began to sing. Her poem intertwined the banal homicide of prejudice and capitalism: "Maybe if they took small black children off the streets they’d stop showing up on cops’ homicide sheets…I had a girl tell me I was lucky I was poor because I got a scholarship to a school she could afford." The piece was then distilled from the crimes of institutional racism. "Love," she finished, "is beyond the favoritism of the sunshine."

Senior Cammy Middour followed Monet, presenting an emotional openness structured in sonnets. "The person they’re about has changed about five times," she said, laughing. She described a relationship ending on a rooftop, where lovers are seated in the gutter. "And I may hold the burden of the proof, but rain and tears make a conjugate."

Brooklyn poet Anthony McCann, a long-haired, bearded man who channeled Dude from The Big Lebowski, elicited laughter: "Fever plus gin equals fever," or, "I was an unattractive boy. She was an unattractive girl. We did unattractive things." Yet some of McCann’s words made the audience gasp audibly, as if struck: "In the foreground, an irreversible hour," and, "I left your voice inside my body when I drowned."

And then, closing, was 35-year-old indie rock icon, Joan Wasser, who performed solo under the moniker Joan as Police Woman. Like her collaborators—she has toured with Jeff Buckley, Elliott Smith and Rufus Wainwright— Wasser was playful, but showed a deep emotional vulnerability. She moved her face as close to the microphone as she could, pulling from her chest those high notes closest to silence.

"Morning bird, I’ll wait for you. How could I not? How could I not?"

She thanked the audience and wiped her eyes. "I never cry," she said softly, and then, "That was a joke." She smiled and adjusted her microphone. "Does anyone have to pee? You’re welcome to pee."

Event organizer and poetry professor Jeff McDaniels kept his eyes fixed on each poet and performer, moving his head to each word as if listening to a great jazz solo.

"What I loved about tonight was the human voice," he said. "The boundaries are being blurred between people, and I think that’s pretty cool."