Written by Larissa Straßer
A few days ago, I organized a poetry open mic in Berlin. I don’t live there anymore but for months I had a strong feeling that I owed it to the city, to the people. I had taken so much – energy, love, warmth and strength – from this cold, cold place, this grey castle that always makes my limbs shake and my heart throb – from fulfillment.
I don’t know why I got fixated on poetry – I don’t read or write a lot of poetry, it’s not my favorite format. Maybe it was the thought of pure performance, of a pulsating mirror, reflecting a person in the corner, the opening of minds with a microphone in shaking hands. Maybe it was also knowing that it is possible to hide in poems, to encrypt your thoughts and prayers in words that only you can understand. Maybe it was also the performative advantage of telling people: “I’m hosting a poetry open mic” and watching them think that I’m a cool creative person.
I invited a lot of people. I went through all of my Instagram followers and wrote to everyone that lives in Berlin that might enjoy this kind of event, that might need this and cherish it. I mean, obviously the question occurs, who really needs a poetry open mic? Don’t we rather need more therapy, protests and free workshops about taxes? Anyways, that’s another debate, this is a story about a girl and her poetry open mic. While inviting people, anxious thoughts came up: what if they think this is cringe? What if they think I can’t let go of Berlin and my life is miserable in Milan, that’s why I’m creating these opportunities to spend as much time as possible in the city? Whatever, I still asked around. It was nice having this positive reason to catch up with people, to stay relevant and flex about my event, even if I knew beforehand that some of the people weren’t going to come.
When it came to deciding what to read – as a host, you kind of feel pressure to perform, like, what do you mean, you’re hosting an open mic and you can’t write – I spent a whole afternoon going through my old texts and notes. When I finally found something, I had to annoyingly dismiss it, after I realized one of the guests would recognize who the poem was about. This is another interesting aspect of having a poetry reading with your friends and friends of friends: they actually know you. In the end, I chose a rather cryptic essay to perform, a story trying to navigate personal truths and feelings but not too revealing about the actual tea behind it. I cringed a lot when I said: “This is a poem about being a woman”. Phew.
The reading was held in a cozy little storefront that art students redesigned for events and exhibitions. I knew one of the girls from before, we had a mutual friend we’re both not close with anymore. To meet her in this context, planning together and negotiating rent and revenues, was interesting. Is this what it feels like to be an adult and in my 30s with a network that is mixed between personal and professional? One of the art girls was also kind of cute, and crafting together, rearranging the lights, designing the space for the evening, made me have a micro work crush. In general, hot people arrived one after the other, and my own pressure to be hot and have a cute event grew steadily. In the morning I had decided on a business chic outfit with a button-up shirt and dress pants – after all, I was a fierce, feminist organizer and came directly from Milan to share my sophisticated mindset, right?
When I started my introduction, sitting on a little chair in the corner, sixty big beautiful eyes staring at me full of curious questions, I felt the power of the tiny room. What an affirming sensation to have so many people join this initiative, my initiative, to spend a few hours nurturing our spontaneous little community. A group of people united by the shared passion for spoken word, maybe also related through a common guilt – I know it well – not to be creative enough and pushing themselves to visit events that spark up those engines again, or just the amicable solidarity to support a shy friend who wants to read.
An open mic is indeed a special situation as you can’t predict any of the texts, vibes, topics that are going to be shared. I had decided on the overall theme of “Belonging”, knowing that it was broad and universal, offering opportunities for intimate poems but also sociocultural essay-style writing. And what happened was beautiful: a mixture of emotions, of styles, of interpretations, a mixture of languages, German, English, Italian, Finnish. Even though I wasn’t able to understand the three Finnish ladies, we all gave them space to reflect on themselves in their own language, a unique experience to listen to poetry, in such a personal format, without knowing what the poem was even about. I sat next to the stage, as I navigated the readers and moderated in between, watching the women scrolling on their phones, through websites they published on, notes apps or pictures of their handwritten poetry. People shared about everything that could be interpreted as belonging, belonging to a community, to a place, to a language. Sitting on the floor, breathing the same air as the audience, was special, it was a commitment and I was proud to have found this treasure of community. You could feel that the texts had slept through ages of dust in boxes, put away for reasons of shame and embarrassment, frozen in time. But they were resurrected for this occasion, interpreted by a handful of appreciative listeners, what an honor. One friend came up to me and told me that the open mic felt like a deadline, so she sat down and wrote a text only for that evening. She was one of the last readers, as she had fought with her anxiety about reading in front of crowds, but when she opened up, her personality lit up the room. Every stumble in her voice, which got less and less, was evidence of a fear overcome, a lesson learnt. The crowd cheered after her short poem. It was amazing.
I could have gone on for hours, the whole night, but suddenly it was over, everyone clapped and the room emptied quickly. I was thanked a lot for organising, even applauded in the end. Working towards the event, I was looking forward to being praised for my achievement, for creating a room full of inspiration and affection. When it was actually happening, my own agenda for recognition wasn’t so strong anymore, I was just happy to be there, to take part. I hadn’t done the biggest part for this evening to be a success, it was a group effort. A feeling of warmth lingered for hours, leaving me wanting to host the next gathering soon. I’m already thinking of new themes and Instagram announcements.