MN Women's Press - Slam poet packs a feminist punch

photo by Lisa Mabley

Onstage, Alix Olson works the mike like a weapon, launching scathing epithets against injustice, ignorance and intolerance. A New York-based spoken word artist, Olson is always political and often intimately personal in her work. She tackles brashly feminist subject matter, from sexual politics to the media to corporate fat cats to body hair. Her voice rises fast and furious and then falls to a whisper, keeping the audience engaged even with silence. Sprinkled with emphatic obscenities, her poetry inspires audiences and challenges them to think, leaving many dizzy and breathless. Her honest humor makes people laugh before they realize they're learning something.

Olson is a champion of the poetry slam, literally. And she is one of the most recognized artists at the forefront of spoken word, a decade-long revolution in the world of poetry. She is also the co-editor of the anthology "Vagina Verses" from Zero Panik Press and an upcoming queer slam poetry anthology, "Bullets and Butterflies."

Earlier this month, Olson was in Minneapolis for a pair of performances at the Bryant-Lake Bowl. MWP's intrepid designer, Lisa Mabley, took the opportunity to interview Olson about life, art and feminism.

The art form of spoken word began in the late '80s in Chicago with competitive poetry slams. Unlike the rarefied poetry reading, the slam quickly emerged as a democratic medium, rooted in the assumption that anyone can judge a poem. Fourteen years later, slams have stayed decidedly proletarian. Even at national championships, the judges are randomly selected audience members. Slam poetry isn't judged on a rigid and arbitrary set of standards, but on how it affects people.

"It's feminist," Olson asserted, "the valuing of each experience."

Critics claim spoken word dilutes the essence of poetry by making performance such a vital aspect of the work. Olson insisted that isn't the case. Performance, Olson said, allows her to connect with audiences more directly and with more impact.

"Performance poetry's been around forever. We're taking it back. [Poetry] started out as an oral tradition, as a way of connecting face-to-face with other humans. It was really the printing press and capitalism that put it on the page, started to sell it, and made it cold."

Because of her fiery delivery and her fearless attacks on the status quo, Olson is often described as being "in-your-face," a label she rejects. "I prefer saying proactive instead of saying in-your-face," she corrected. "This society is very proactive about creating consumers, and about creating people who are racist and sexist and homophobic. People don't say 'Shoprite is really in-your-face about trying to sell you food,' but it is. It's necessary to be equally in-your-face to combat that."

Feminism plays a big role in Olson's work and she has always considered herself a feminist. "My mom was a big feminist, my parents were radicals, and I went to a college that was deeply entrenched in radical thought," she confided.

Inspired by the foremothers of the feminist movement, Olson says that both her ideas and the freedoms she has today build upon the work of those who came before her. Ideologically, she considers herself one of them, a thought that gives her comfort. "As soon as you feel like you're a part of something bigger than yourself, you develop a sense of optimism and courage, and you are much braver and safer," she said.

That attitude has helped Olson work to bridge the gap between generations of feminists. Olson said she and Amy Neevel, her partner in life and in poetry, make a conscious effort to bring feminists together. Fans report that in some communities their performances create the atmosphere for groundbreaking, intergenerational discussion groups.

"I think a lot of times older feminists are accused of not having done their work in terms of including women of color and being class conscious," Olson said. "In some ways I think that's a fair accusation because there were separations, but I also think that older feminists did a really good job and they aren't lauded [enough] for their accomplishments. We live on their backs, and the next generation will live on our backs."

Every generation has its unique struggles, Olson said, even her own. "The current movement of transfolk is something that [our generation is] struggling with, that we're not doing a great job of figuring out," she admitted. Some women's communities have been divided by controversy over the place of transgendered persons in the community.

While it would be easier not to address such a complicated issue, Olson and Neevel say they feel accountable to their community's needs. Instead of avoiding the issue, they faced it head-on. The poem "Gender Game,"written jointly by Olson and Neevel, describes their rebellion against rigid gender classifications and their wish to define gender as a broad spectrum rather than an absolute. The poem addresses gender in a way that most audiences can identify with, because nearly everyone deviates from the exaggerated stereotypical expectations of male or female.

Audience responses indicate they are succeeding in reaching out across gender boundaries. From heterosexual men who say, "I've been oppressed all my life for having long hairI get called 'ma'am' all the time," to the transgendered community, their message has resonated with audiences. One young transgendered person wrote them a letter explaining how "Gender Game" encouraged him to save his own life. He had been suicidal, sitting in his car with a gun to his head, when a tape of "Gender Game" began to play. He listened to the song 10 times, then decided not to kill himself.

"This is not just about getting to the gig on time and having your photo in some magazine," Neevel stated. "This is about human survival."

That survival depends on opening up dialogue where those outside mainstream culture can see themselves and be themselves, each telling his or her own truth. Olson believes this feeling of empowerment is especially important for disenfranchised youth.

Feed the Fire productions, a joint effort between Olson and Neevel, sends spoken word artists into high schools within New York City's prison system and into queer youth centers. Spoken word is an especially powerful and accessible medium of creative expression for these young people, Olson said, because, unlike many art forms, it doesn't require expensive supplies or classes. And in many cases, they can immediately see the impact of their efforts.

"I'll get there and they're all watching MTV20 queer kids watching heterosexual videosand then we start working and they're so animated," Olson recalled. "It's amazing to watch the transformation: five seconds from consumer of culture to culture creator."

Slam poet packs a feminist punch

© 2001 Minnesota Women's Press, Inc. 771 Raymond Ave. St. Paul, MN 55114 USA Phone: 651-646-3968 • FAX: 651-646-2186 Minnesota Women's Press, Inc., is an independent, woman-owned and operated business.

© 2001 Minnesota Women's Press, Inc.
771 Raymond Ave. St. Paul, MN 55114 USA
Phone: 651-646-3968 • FAX: 651-646-2186
Minnesota Women's Press, Inc., is an independent,
woman-owned and operated business.