Spoken word helps youth find voice

There are only two rules in this class, spoken-word artist Shawn Whitsell told the group of ninth-grade English students at Lead Academy.

“First we show love,” he said, snapping his fingers in a demonstration of how, in the language of spoken word — free-form poetry spoken out loud — the snap is the ultimate form of praise and appreciation. “And we show respect,” allowing students to speak freely even about deeply personal matters without judgment.

“Now write down the answer to this question: ‘What’s something we wouldn’t know about you just by looking at you?’”

The two dozen teens in the Tuesday-morning class acted like typical freshmen.

A few were animated and talkative. Some appeared completely bored. A teenage boy in a blue polo shirt was scooting in his seat and goofing off before being told to quiet down.

It was a typical first day of a six-week in-school spoken word workshop led by Southern Word, a non-profit association that teaches spoken word in classrooms across Middle Tennessee as a tool to promote literacy, self-expression, public speaking and leadership.

“This is not about turning you into a poet,” Rashad Rayford, a co-leader of the class, told the kids. “This is about how to turn you into an effective communicator in life. If you don’t speak up for yourself, someone else will speak for you.”

A girl with a serious expression and short, brown hair was taking notes. At the back of the room, a boy sat in a chair pushed as far against the wall as it could go, long brown hair falling to hide his face as he stared down at his desk.

Their answers provided a window into the modern-day struggles many Nashville teens face, struggles not visible by watching them squirm in their seats or act disrespectfully or sit silently in a classroom.

The serious girl: “I am the darkest one in my family.”

A tall, lanky boy: “My dad passed two weeks before I was born.”

Three more boys in succession:

“My aunty died in front of me.” Then: “I saw my cousin shot in the street.” And: “I used to live with my grandma when my dad was in jail.”

“I am bipolar.”

“I am raising my little sister.”

From the silent boy staring down at his desk at the back of the room, there was just a tiny shake of the head.

“You got nothing?” asked Whitsell. “I promise you, you got something.” The boy just shook his head again, not looking up or saying a word.

Opportunities for culture

The spoken word workshop is also intended to open the door for young people to a wider culture of books, writing and performing that they may not otherwise have had access to — a community where poetry is just as available to them as football or soccer.

There is a growing group of poets in and around Nashville, Spoken Word executive director Benjamin Smith said. And there are opportunities for kids to shine using spoken word, attend after-school workshops and open mics, post videos on YouTube, learn from peers and adult mentors.

“So many kids grow up playing basketball because that’s part of the culture,” said Smith. “You’re not taught. You just pick it up because everyone around you is doing it. You can learn how to write in the same way. When you grow up and you’re around people who write, who speak confidently and write richly, there are opportunities.”

This year, for example, and for the first time, Nashville will select its first Youth Poet Laureate to be named Dec. 6 at Vanderbilt University Blair School of Music.

But the first step begins in schools like Lead Academy, one of dozens of schools where Southern Word mentors come in to teach during short-term residencies.

Near the end of the first class, Whitsell asked students to take that one thing no one could see by looking at them and turn it into the poem. After a few groans, and protests, the students quietly wrote. And then Gracey Patterson, the quiet, serious one, stood up to read her poem, which she titled “What it’s like to be the darkest one in my family.”

“What it’s like to be the darkest one in my family. It’s hard. It’s like being a leaf in a pail full of petals from bright flowers.”

A few kids started snapping.

“It’s like being in a sea of gold and you’re the only copper. Being the darkest one in my family is confusing and sometimes you feel like you don’t belong.

“It’s like you not knowing the words to everyone’s favorite song. It’s unexplainable. It’s something that can’t be defined.

“Its something that always catches someone’s eye. It’s like being in a candy shop full of caramel and milk chocolate, and you’re the only dark piece in your own display and your own placement for everyone to see.”

Most of the kids in the room were snapping.

“As time goes by you start asking the question why. Why not? Why is it me? It’s hard to see. It’s not easy and it never will. The darkest one in my family, yes, that’s me.”

Reach Anita Wadhwani at 615-259-8092 or on Twitter @AnitaWadhwani.