Geof Hewitt performs a dramatic poem at his home in Calais. Photo: Photo by Jeb Wallace-Brodeur

By Patrick Mullikin

"The points are not the point: The point is the poetry," says Geof Hewitt (quoting fellow poetry slammer Allan Wolf), as the crowd settles down at the first Vermont Statehouse Poetry Slam.

Emcee Hewitt reminds the 20 slammers to be mindful of their language. The event is, after all, being held in the hallowed House chamber. Plus, there are kids in the audience. As it turns out, one of those kids, 11-year-old Sophia Scoppettone of Montpelier, ends up winning the event with her satirical "God Bless My SUV" and claims the first prize: a copy of the recently published Hewitt's Guide to Slam Poetry and Poetry Slam. (The second and third prizes are also Hewitt's own merchandise: he's a shameless self-promoter.) Ironically, it turns out she already has Hewitt's book and passes it along to another young slammer.

"An 11-year-old girl has Hewitt's Guide to Slam Poetry and Poetry Slam? She's got it already?" says a stunned — and obviously delighted — Hewitt.

Standing before this gathering of beat poets, novice wordsmiths and circuit regulars, Hewitt, 63, with his Don Pardo-like announcer voice and the histrionics of an intentionally bad Shakespearean actor, is in full comedic form. He taunts the judges, heckles his brother, who is the evening's scorekeeper, works the audience and encourages the poets, each of whom has just three minutes to present a scripted or impromptu original poem. How it is delivered can sway the judges, Hewitt says.

He should know.

Hewitt, who's been involved in Vermont's slam-poetry scene since it began in Burlington back in 2000, took the state championship in 2004, winning by a mere one-tenth of a point. In February 2005 he attended the national championship in Worcester, Mass., placing 49th out of 60. In a case of twisted poetic justice, the woman he beat out of the state championship also competed in the national championships, placing in the 20s, he says.

Slam poetry aside, Hewitt is a well-respected and published poet ("Most people would rather write it than read it") who attended Cornell University and studied under the noted poets David Ray and A.R. Ammons.

Sitting before a warm fireplace in the secluded Calais home that he shares with wife, Janet, a subdued Hewitt talks about slam poetry and his own career as a poet (he has been writing since he was 17 and has published three volumes of his poetry), musician and educator.

Slam poetry, he explains, began in Chicago in the early 1980s by construction worker/poet Marc Smith who talked a local bar owner into having a poetry competition on the slow night of the week. "He called it poetry 'slam' as a way of providing some kind of hype behind the activity itself."

Slamming is to a traditional poetry reading ("where people are being so polite that you can't tell whether they are awake or not") as hip-hop is to classical music. Some established poets, says Hewitt, take a dim view of slam poetry.

"I think they feel it's largely buffoonery. I think buffoonery is not necessarily appreciated by poets of great quality. I call them the page poets (those who write for and read from the page), and frankly that's what I am – a page poet. I also happen to be a ham and love to perform. The ones with real reputations in the world of literature are less likely to want to participate than those of us who are desperate for an audience."

Hewitt's search for an audience, he says, dates back to his early Beatnik days ("which really still persists in some ways") when he lived for a while in New York City's lower East Side. He remembers auditioning at a Bleecker Street folk club in the early '60s.

"I had a Guild nylon-string guitar, and I played Molly Malone. And I ended it on a major chord, which I thought was really going to win him (the club owner) over. He said, 'Man, you are a solk finger, not a folk singer,'" he says with a laugh, remembering the owner's sarcastic spoonerism.

Hewitt's musical career took a turn for the better years later in 1989 when he teamed up with Hardwick musician Chuck Meese. Hewitt provided the words and Meese the music. (Meese, Hewitt and newcomer, Dennis Murphy of Plainfield, continue to perform today, although musically Hewitt is relegated to playing the maracas and claves.)

Over the years Hewitt's poetry has been published in some prestigious periodicals, including The Paris Review, Harper's and The Rodale Press. "In my 250 publishing credits, 240 are in places nobody's every heard of," he adds in his self-effacing manner. In the 70s "in the early hippie days" when he was living in Enosburg Falls, he also wrote a non-fiction book, "Working for Yourself: How to be Successfully Self-employed," for Rodale Press. "You can find it on the Internet for $1 apiece. It's a substantial book on self-employment. I drove across country and stopped and interviewed people who were self-employed. As soon as that book was published, I was offered a job at the Vermont Arts Council – and worked for there 10 years," he says, laughing over the irony.

As an educator, Hewitt views slam poetry as great tool to engage students into the world of literacy. Though slam poetry still is considered a barroom activity largely, he says, "We're trying slowly to warp into a classroom activity because I believe it's one of the most powerful ways to involve young people who are resistant to literacy … to draw them into really looking at this as a way to encourage the alienated student."

When he's not busy at the Vermont Department of Education, where he is a writing/secondary English consultant, or teaching at Vermont College, he sometimes convinces a library into hosting a traditional poetry reading, although "I'm less attracted to impressing the academics than I am in impressing the common person." This may account for his attraction to slamming.

Hewitt, the poet, says he's been asked to do a lot of emceeing lately, which, he says he's happy to do. "I love slams."

Back at the Statehouse, as the evening's poetry slam comes to an end, Slammaster Hewitt congratulates the winners, thanks his brother, judges and audience, and, as a post script, adds: "and least, but not last, Geof Hewitt."

Ever the ham.



Patrick Timothy Mullikin writes regularly for The Sunday Magazine.

and is an editor at The Times Argus.