Australian Poetry Slam 2009
Information about the Australian Poetry Slam 09 will be posted in June.
Dramatic win for hip-hop poet in 2008 national ‘slam off’
In a dramatic 'slam off' Canberra’s
Omar Musa has won the Australian Poetry Slam 2008, taking home $5,000 plus a gig at the Ubud Readers and Writers Festival in August 2009.
Presented by the State Library of NSW, this historic National Grand Final was performed before a sell out crowd at the Sydney Opera House Studio on Thursday 4 December.
After calculating the scores of the competing 18 state and territory finalists, a ‘slam off’ was needed to separate ACT’s Omar Musa from Perth’s Mark Lloyd.
The 23-year-old hip-hop artist, Omar Musa, emerged as the winner after performing a powerful slam poem about an imaginary conversation with his first born child (see below).
About his win Omar said: “I’m over the moon, events like this contemporary poetry competition revitalises a love for the English language and literacy, making poetry more accessible, especially for younger people, by mixing the slam approach and hip-hop.”
The national finalists had just two minutes to impress the judges (selected at random from the audience) with their original spoken word, poetry, hip-hop, monologues and stories.
The Australian Poetry Slam 08, an initiative of the State Library of NSW and Word Travels, saw more than 600 emerging poets and spoken word artists compete via 40 heats held in regional areas and city centres in every state and territory.
The competition was coordinated by state and public libraries, with state-based professional spoken-word artists hosting the heats and running workshops in schools, libraries, pubs and theatre spaces.
For the first time ABC Local Radio, the Slam’s official radio partner, broadcast and streamed all state finals from a dedicated website www.abc.net.au/poetryslam enabling more people to participate than ever before.
The website includes highlights of Slam events held around the country between September and December, as well as online slam performances and poet profiles on all the finalists.
The extensive ABC coverage culminated with a webcast and national live broadcast of the National Final on 4 December.
Sunshine by Omar Musa
He's in intensive care, there stretched out on the bed.
Blood rivers form lakes and cake scarlet red.
Fed blood from another man's veins, damn,
the pain so much, gritted teeth and his hands
crease the sheets, he grips with his fingertips,
sips orange juice a little bit, spilling it.
The nurse hustles and bustles and says "Keep breathing."
They try to stem the flow, but no, he keeps bleeding.
Keep breathing, dad, you can't leave me.
A standard procedure gone wrong, now I'm feeding him.
So many unsaid words if you left now.
So many unfinished scribbles if you left now.
I would never speak, never make peace with him
Talk religion, social vision, get deep with him.
Curry beef, fill a glass, laugh or eat with him.
I know it's last minute God, but let me be with him
As a child, my father was a giant-
a voice like Barry White, mane like a lion.
But as a teenager, I soon began to lose it.
His knuckles were rough, when he left me with bruises.
When I chose to pursue my future in music,
we lost contact, I wandered lost and useless.
You seem so serene there, under the lamp beams,
green t-shirt, dreaming morphine dreams.
Suddenly he coughs, begins to shiver.
Dad, I'm here, I gotta tell you I forgive ya.
And forgive me, your greatest disappointment.
Your son got caught up in all of life's poisons.
What happened to that child with charm, Qurán in my palm,
playing soccer in the garden?
We got the same skin, same humour, same temper.
So when we gonna reconcile our different agendas?
You'll be alright, see, if only you hold on.
The nurse is coming soon, man, it's not gonna take long.
Because sunshine always comes after the storms.
And after the darkness, is always the dawn.
Visions by Omar Musa, performed to clinch the 2008 Slam title
I'm sitting here envisioning my firstborn child,
waiting for the first time my first born smiles.
Poised in position, I point the camcorder.
My boys in the kitchen with gift transformers.
I stand tall, baby's got my eyes and skin,
but stress and questions in my mind that spin.
How can I tell my baby boy to learn Malay,
but when I call up my grandma, I have nothing to say?
I stumble and swerve with a gumbo of words.
How can I tell him, that in this world, too many males fail to be men,
take what they want and sail to the wind?
Treat them like scum, beat them like a drum.
How the hell could you do that to your own son's mum?
How can I tell him that it's a world of dark ghettoes and slums?
Instead of food for mouths it's metal for guns.
People settle for funds less than minimum wage,
rose petals on graves, violence, venom and rage.
I remember my dad showed me snow when I was two years old,
Mum's golden glow. When I was twelve years old
I'd flow my poems. When I was twenty two and I sold my soul.
But I keep seeing dreams of being redeemed,
pushing prams, picture perfect summer sunbeams.
But it all melts away, I'm at home again,
With my face to the stars, alone with my pen.
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