A&E

Acevedo takes over Barn with unforgettable slam poetry

By Kyandreia Jones ’19

The audience stills. Idle chatter trickles down into silence. Slam poet Elizabeth Acevedo walks up to the mic. The stage lights encompass her face. She opens up her mouth and she roars.

Acevedo (“Liz” as she called herself) did not introduce herself until after she performed a spoken word piece. Without knowing who she was or where she was coming from, she was able to validate her presence immediately. From the first word that worked its way from her lips, it was apparent that she had a right to be before an audience.

When she introduced herself, Acevedo called the connection between her and the audience a “relationship.” She also joked, “Don’t worry people with commitment issues, it’s a short one.”  The forty-five minutes that followed didn’t even feel like time. The manner in which she expressed her thoughts, feelings and experiences was so gripping that the audience could do nothing more than lend themselves to her stories and observations.

With personal accounts of social injustices paired with what it means to be a woman of color in today’s society, what it means to be in an interracial relationship and moreover what it means to be a human attempting to define their identity, Acevedo gave the audience an unforgettable performance. At the end of her first poem, the artist stated, “Every wound needs a witness to heal.”  In this way, the audience was witness to the trials and tribulations of the poet, which strengthened the bond between crowd and performer. We were not only witnesses to her catharsis but rather participants in her healing experience.

In the Q & A that followed the poetry slam, Acevedo said, “I think that hurt matters.” After watching her live and realizing that I was allowed to be a part of her artistry (which was derived from a place of both humor and pain) I appreciated the individual within the poet. The notion that a person could go up on stage and lay their soul bare for all to see was awe-inspiring. That each member of the audience was so fortunate as to be able to take her words, an extension of who she is, with them upon departure was as astonishing as it was impressive.

“No one ever like this is going to change the world,” said the poet about her work. “I think you say this might change the world and believe in that might.”

I cannot speak for the world but, judging by the reception she gained from the audience, nearly everyone in the Events Barn was changed by Acevedo’s work. I’m confident that few people suspected they would emerge from the performance as a different person. I didn’t, and yet I was affected just the same. There’s something beautiful in the spontaneity with which words or stories awaken a new truth in each given individual.

If Elizabeth Acevedo’s performance taught us anything, it is that if we want to affect others we must be genuine, we must be warm and above all, we must be unapologetically ourselves.

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