With the relics of print media converting to their intangible forms, poetry too has been expanding its parameters outside of the standard page. University at Buffalo is home to noted e-poetry experimentation, and Buffalo is beginning to feel the effects of a blossoming interest in poetry’s oral tradition—namely, that of spoken word performances, or poetry slams. Earlier this month, I had the pleasure of testing my luck in the Toronto International Poetry Slam, where I shared the mic with national slam celebrities and artists who smile and toast next to Spike Lee and Jessica Alba in their Myspace photos.

A slam, as I have been privileged to learn over a number of years, is a sort of spoken word Olympics, usually consisting of three rounds and a monetary prize. Each performer has about three minutes to spit their shit, after which they are graded by five randomly selected judges from the audience on a scale of 0-10. Highest and lowest scores are dropped, and the scores are added to get a poet into the second round. Audiences are encouraged to be responsive and very vocal in support, or in abhorrence, of a piece. I have yet to hear a poet get booed, though I have seen one flip off the entire audience and storm out of a venue.

Given these ramifications, there exists a set of unspoken rules and practices to the game, tricks of the trade utilized by many a winner and striving hopeful. If anyone has seen Russell Simmons’ Def Poetry Jam on HBO, certain themes and stereotypes resurface. One begins to notice a pattern. Below is a short list of things I’ve learned along the way, for those of you interested in trying your hand in this popular underground phenomenon.

1. Winning subject matter includes, but is not limited to: freedom, slavery, genocide, the streets, the game, sexual/erotic scenarios, Bush, white people, black people, mixed people, family history, racial orientation, gender orientation, lesbianism, the underserved, the discriminated against, heroes of the underserved, writers, the act of writing, universal love and peace, getting fucked up, getting fucked, fuck the police, pop culture, hip-hop, bitches and hoes, divorce, marriage, and suicides.

2. Conveying the message requires certain affects of speech. E-nun-ci-ate key syllablea, stretch your voooooowels to indicate importance, and add dramatic... pauses for effect.

3. Common devices include: puns, political incorrectness, pauses, the p-sound, alliteration, analogy, anachronism, lists, jokes, jingles, chanting, singing, facial expressions, miming, eye contact, winking.

4. The uniform of a slam poet is a delicate thing. The conventional Che t-shirt and dreads for whoever may have them, jeans and scarves, bandannas, the occasional goth gear and indie-like earrings are key. Nothing too fancy for fear of being dubbed an oppressor. Something to ally oneself with a champion of justice, a member of the aspiring class, maybe even a starving artist. And never, for god’s sake never, polished shoes.

5. The intensity of a performance usually depends on personal style. It is a good thing to be aware of conniptions, but stay pretty calm and collected and they won’t take you seriously. Often, the sheer speed with which poets push out their pieces requires a superman sense of hearing, just to catch the sentences and humor. Conversational rants will knock out the average listener within 2 minutes, and works of gravity and solemn subject matter should weigh heavily on the speaker’s face, making it contort enough to prove he cares.

6. Know your crowd. The Albright-Knox is of a lighter shade. I’ve been told that Toronto has essentially two slam circles, catering to two kinds of tonal options, two different venues to test out appropriate material. It is wise to reconsider a poem in praise of hippie culture to an audience that favors Black Nationalism. Likewise, an ode to Mos Def might be lost in a sea of Abercrombie. Everybody becomes a politician in a poetry slam.

7. Inhibitions always hold you back. A slam professional once told me to practice your poem in front of a mirror, naked, not necessarily alone. Though I have yet to try it, I have heard this technique rids you of that old Original Sin shame, so that you can focus on your words and not your breasts. This way, on stage, it won’t matter how your hair looks or if you think you’re fat in those shorts. (Nudity is not yet permitted during a performance, at least not in the States.)

8. Neither are props permitted. I’m willing to bet this technicality prevents a lot of circus folk or open mic dudes with guitars performing their “art, man.”

9. Step away from the page. Poets are generally allowed to read their poems from paper, but this of course means they can’t make that precious winking connection with a crowd. Judges don’t go to a slam expecting a reading. Everything is done to avoid the academic poetry reading atmosphere of olden days. Readers tend to score lower than good actors. This is among the flaws of slams—your usual listener prefers a good skit over great writing.

10. Finally, a poet once told me: believe in your words. There is no better venue than a poetry slam to test your devotion to a particular idea, or your loyalty to a cause, or your faith in yourself. The stage has always been a space to strip your soul open and let your fears and desires crawl out. Sometimes it’s devastating, and not for nervous public speakers. More often than not, it crystallizes your sense of self and poetry. And this prize, though not always lucrative, is worth the stress of memorization.

Marina Blitshteyn is a senior English major and Literary Editor for Generation.