I wish that that it were possible to share the experience of the Spoken Word Collective through this article, but it’s not. That’s the whole point of Spoken Word, really — it’s spoken. The words alone are lyrical and fluid, harsh and beautiful, but the power of the show is in the pacing, personality and presence. I could quote those beautiful people for 600 words straight, and still, I couldn’t explain why the show was so powerful. What I can do is share how it felt.
The first prevailing impression of the place was of warmth. There was an air of comfort and familiarity upon entering the room; the collective was a family, but the most inclusive family I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting. There were a few members of the group who forgot their next line partway through a poem, but it didn’t result in that awkward frigidity that usually fills the room when an actor forgets a line in a play — the audience snapped and murmured encouragingly, beaming their love at the performer. The result was that the mistake didn’t feel like any sort of problem. If anything, those dropped lines highlighted the entire feel of the show, bringing the collective’s love for each other to the front of the stage.
Raina Sun ’13, our self-professed “awkward MC of the night,” was unbearably charming. She invited us onto the blankets and pillows that they’d spread out for us at the front of the stage, laughing with us as she called the open mic volunteers onto the stage. She taunted our timidity and dared us to shout and cheer and moan our approval of each speaker — “we are sex-positive, you guys!” — and fiercely threatened anyone who would dare leave his or her phone on during the show. She was tiny and Asian and absolutely ferocious, and I think we all fell a little bit in love with her.
What sets Spoken Word apart from the written word is the charisma of the people behind the words. Every speaker was willing to throw their entire selves into their words, cracking open their ribcages and showing an entire audience of people exactly what was going on inside. The concept is absolutely terrifying, and the speakers made it seem effortless. Every one of them is talented beyond belief, but there were a few strong personalities who stuck with me for hours after I walked out of that dimly lit room.
A high point was found in Mercedes Zapata ’11, whose poems were painfully hilarious and yet still poignant. She told the stories of her youth, sharing her most intimate secrets and humiliating stories, weaving them all together to take a hard look at self-esteem and body image. I made the mistake of drinking a soda while listening to her speak and literally sprayed it out my nose as she berated the classic love poets for their idealism (“She’s not gonna believe you, love poet!”).
Other memorable moments: Yaa Gyasi ’11 and Raina’s brilliant collaborative work was wildly relatable and a beautiful intermingling of the silly with the somber. Watching Alok Vaid-Menon ’13’s sinuous movements offset his frenzied pacing was like an aural drug, filling our perception with proud brokenness and defiance. When Lyla Johnston ’11 urged us to “Close your eyes, just feel for once. I’ll take care of it,” and against our deeply ingrained Stanford instincts, we actually did. Seeing Brian Yoo ’11 channel Charlie Sheen in his dismissal of Stanford’s watered-down lifestyle, which filled the audience with adrenaline and fire. Feeling the yearning in Shawn Dye ’14 and Simon Neely ’11, feeling the quiet assurance of Yaa…it was unforgettable.
The Spoken Word Collective, in short, is a beautiful outlet for anyone who has ever felt passion or rage or isolation or longing or for anyone who has ever really felt at all. I would strongly encourage everyone to try and catch its next show, as it is not an experience that anyone should have to hear about secondhand.