On Gazebos, Go-Go Dancers, and OMG! the CW!

Gazebo: (noun) \gə-ˈzē-(ˌ)bō

Etymology: perhaps from gaze + Latin -ebo (as in videbo I shall see)

Billeh Nickerson I was late for Gazebo, though not so late as to miss the underwear dancers, (let me repeat that for emphasis: UNDERWEAR DANCERS) because I got stuck at the Rocksalt launch down at AGRO Cafe. I did get to see Maxine Gadd at the launch, a true living poetry legend, and meet actor Misha Collins, who plays Castiel on my favourite guilty pleasure, the CW's Supernatural. (Photos of both under the jump.) Mr. Collins was very gracious and clever. He's also a published poet.

To my eternal disappointment, the promised nipple-piercing giveaway at Gazebo did not occur. I wanted to win. I really thought it was time to re-open that particular wound. Alas.

(left: Gazebo Go-Go dancer with host Billeh Nickerson)

I shall see

Gazebo has been the Thursday-Night-Anything-Goes evening, hosted by Billeh Nickerson, for the past 5 years at the Festival. I'll admit that most of it was not my particular cup of literary tea. For example, when (male) poet Sean Horlor reads a poem about the sex appeal of tube socks, and his (male) friend poses seductively on stage in tube socks and underwear, is this any less a problematic representation of blazon than if the subjects in question were male poet and female model? Thoughts?

The kids, however, seem to like it.

The highlights of the night for me were Jordan Scott and Craig Boyko. Jordan Scott's poetics of stutter is compelling on the page, but the aural/oral nature of this poetics requires it to be heard. This poetics asks, "What is the utterance?" Scott's use of his stutter in his poetry forces the listener to slow down in time with the jerks and stutters and strange rhythms of his speech. It's akin to being pulled into his mouth as he says the words, and I do mean every slippery suggestive sibilance evoked by that statement. Scott pulls us back to the level of syllable. "Pukapuka chunder, gut bugs obese buzz: Chachalaca zizz, chocoholic zest, chinchilla zong, chillastic zouk, chainsaw zing, Chechen zilch, chug zit, chirp zap ... The chichara has to sing inside the mouth." Check out blert for more.

Craig Boyko looks almost anachronistic on stage, with his button-down shirt and suit jacket, glasses and short haircut. He's the kind of storywriter I like to imagine existed in 1950's New York. Though he's boyish in appearance, something about his comportment suggests someone far older. His writing is precise, neat and delicious. He read an excerpt from Blackouts that brought the audience into the head of the thirteen-year-old female narrator, despite Boyko's complaint that he can only read with "my own voice and face."