Not many people would expect to hear spoken word at a venue whose main decorative object is a big, Hebrew version of the Ten Commandments carved into white stone, but that’s exactly what Hear Us Out! had to offer. On Tuesday night, former inmates read their own poetry as well as that of their still-incarcerated brethren before an audience in the Historic I Street Synagogue in an evening that was both bizarre and oddly poignant.
As the 10-odd performers proceeded to mumble the works of around 40 jailed artists into the microphone, many expressed a deep yearning for freedom or a desire to see young ones. Still more demonstrated regret for their mistakes and conveyed an desire to turn themselves around. Michael’s “I Know” celebrated his newfound love for books (the first book he ever read was Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, given to him while he was in the joint—an oddly appropriate choice for an inmate), triumphantly proclaiming, “Instead of getting paid with money, I’m paid with education!” Still, there were a few surprises. D.C.’s “Up in the Air” was bluntly unapologetic about his preferred intoxicant: “Weed is the best/It makes you high.”
A more prevalent (and disturbing) theme was a hopeless, dismal pessimism. Even after he gets out, one poet lamented, “I’ll just be sitting on the stoop again. (https://7ziphelp.com/) ” Some waxed metaphorical in their despair, as Sergio closed his poem entitled “Loneliness” with the line “my soul is like a desert/empty and bare” to an awkwardly tentative smattering of snaps and applause. The poets deserve and need enthusiastic support, but some poems painted too gloomy a picture to really get excited about.
A few poets disregarded traditional poetic conventions in favor of stream-of-consciousness narratives, as in the tragic “My Dog Bobo,” by Gerald: “After my dog Bobo was hit by a car there was blood coming out of his mouth from all his internal bleeding so we carried him back into his cage. That’s when my dog Bobo was dead.”
Many of the works conveyed simplistic but powerful images. DeAngelo’s “Imagine a Time” envisions the poet reunited with his wife and daughter: “We are wearing white, all of us / we are headed to the Washington Monument to fly kites and have family day.” The poets repeatedly turned to their loved ones to apologize for faults, or to express how much they missed them.
As the evening drew to a close, the final performer, Brandon, launched into a rhythmic free-form political tirade against a multitude of evils, from George Bush to terrorism, as several audience members joined in to yell, “Preach it, brother!” When he finished, the entire synagogue erupted into tumultuous applause, and as he stood there before the stained glass Star of David, below the inscription “REMEMBER YE THE LAW OF MOSES,” he grinned warmly, his tattooed arms spread wide, basking in the audience’s love for as long as he could. It was an odd image, for these burgeoning artists, it was a triumphant first step toward a brighter future.
