At the Common event last night, four poets performed. The first poet was in the process of receiving her masters of fine arts in performance art. Her poetry was experimental and far more eccentric than the other three. The last poem she read, really struck me as brutal. She spoke of a man biting off a woman’s nipple and the relationships between battered women and the men they love. During the question and answer session at the end, the poet admitted that the poem was inspired by a story she had heard from a friend. The women had an abusive boyfriend, but did not have the will power to leave him. Although some of the poet’s material was interesting, her delivery was bland. Sitting five rows back in the lecture hall I could barely hear her. In addition, she neither emphasized her words nor added musicality. In comparison to Joseph O’Connor’s reading of his poem, her delivery was not memorable. I felt much more invested in the work of the other three poets. The first poet to perform after her was a professor from William and Mary College. She was an elderly woman, but her work was very poignant.  To preface one of her poems, she told the audience that her mother had died in a fire. Then with a deep bellow, she started to sing. The words flowed from her mouth naturally as if she had performed this poem countless times. My favorite line of her poem in regards to her father’s alcohol problem was, “he tried to marry his vice.” I could only imagine the deep pain this woman must have experienced or still did. The line really startled me and stood out among all the others. The connotations of marriage in combination with her family history and his addiction were powerful. The women also incorporated solfege into her poem. The familiarity of the solfege scale in juxtaposition to her verses made the poem more understandable. On her last scale down she stated in a dramatic speaking voice soul instead of singing sol.  I found this detail to be a very interesting literary choice. Was soul all a person needed for survival? After her performance, a poet by the name of Jamal read his works. He focused primarily on war and people’s reactions to war. Among the other poets, he appeared to be the most familiar with performance poetry or slam poetry. His work, however, did not resonate personally with me. The images he spoke of, such as a gun in a person’s mouth, were too graphic and violent for my taste. The last poet who spoke was truly my favorite. She was a Native American woman who spoke of the problems of assimilation, her brother’s addiction to meth and another brother’s experience in Afghanistan. The most compelling part of her work was its honesty in relating very personal experiences. I almost felt as if I shouldn’t have been listening. In one poem, she spoke of her first Halloween off the reservation, in which she wore a hand me down given to her by a boy on her block. When he made fun of her in front of other children for wearing a, ‘hand-me-down,’ she looked at her hands confused while the other children laughed. The vivid imagery she illustrated in her work was defining of her style.  Although I do not write poetry or read it for enjoyment, I always appreciate the willingness of others to share their personal experiences and opinions in front of others. The courage it takes to let down your guard in front of people you don’t know is commendable.