That Poetry Night
by Drew Haller
Every day, an ever-expanding array of stresses, concerns and fears leaves us feeling uncertain and unstable. They tell us that our ambitions are unattainable, that our circumstances are unconducive, and that our talents are limited. These obstacles prevent us from striding confidently towards our goals, and rather implore us to remain in our safe, cushioned comfort zones. This aversion to vulnerability is what keeps us from exploring the depths of our most pervasive questions. The meaning of life, our fates; the list of outcomes, goals and destinations whose solution and finality we seek out so fiercely drifts precariously and impatiently, looking for conclusion. The smallest of tasks beg for our postulated agendas. We are asked each day if we are happy, what we want from our lives, and how we will achieve it. But as our absurd contexts continue to transform, it is easy to respond cynically and sarcastically. We discourage ourselves, mock our own demotivation and make excuses. We daydream and hope for a momentous, Tarrentino-type moment to deliver the impact. We search for movement, for change and for progression; because perhaps these excursions will deliver our answers, or at least provide an escapism until then. We mould tunnels in our vision, suited to see only that which might launch us towards our gratification. We spend so much time in action, that many of us neglect to process and reflect on our strife. As a result, we lose ourselves to the fast-paced charm of a contemporary existence that is crowded with overworked, overtired people.
The creators and collaborators of That Eclectic recognized those exhausted people who, after months of confinement, needed a source of hope. Thus, they adapted and diversified the outlets which relieve us from our regimented, appointment-only lives. There are many ways to express oneself: to dance, to sing, to create, to write, to give. While the status-quo has generally been to get lost in crowds of carless drunkards, That Eclectic has been challenging these detrimental norms with an unfamiliar extreme. It attempts to provide an outlet for every form of declaration, demonstration and illustration of our personal truths. From a rave-culture, outdoor festival at That Party, to a non-alcoholic and cannabis infused hangout at That High Tea, this growing collective of do-ers, thinkers, philosophers, artists and leaders is reminding us of the unbounding potential of community. The human spirit, when encouraged gently, can exist plentifully and authentically, both blemished and beautiful. And this is exactly what That Eclectic fostered in their events. They seek to uphold consciousness, awareness, and social upliftment. By encouraging people to recognize a shared humanity at the core of all we do, they combat the pressures which coerce us to place our individual productivity and profit above all else.
That Eclectic hosted That Poetry Evening at Ground Zero Coffee in Observatory, in collaboration with North North Social club on a temperate night in September. Stephanie Fichardt, the brave and inquisitive mind who put the event together within days, posted an ambiguous statement on her Instagram calling for poets. Impulsively, I gathered my journal filled with illegible and romantic narratives. Before I could second-guess myself, we were walking through the venue’s small and unassuming front doors. I was initially suspicious of the cosy space’s capacity to host an event. The front of house hardly looked as though it could hold 10 people. But we were swiftly signalled to duck through the side entrance, to venture down the meandering corridor, and to finally rest in the skylit courtyard. The space opened up just as the evening did, echoing with a melody of nervous chatter, amiable affirmations, and burning bud. The wind travelled through the growing crowd, elevating everyone’s spirits until the anxiousness had dissipated, and the gravity of our expectations had settled.
The friendly MC reminded us of the security we were creating simply by offering the performers our attention. We sat huddled around the versatile stage space, wide-eyed and damp-handed, with red eyes and earnest intentions. When the first performer, whose name was picked out of a top hat, began to sing in isiXhosa of their experience with domestic violence, my senses reverberated. From there, the evening transcended. From every corner of the South African experience, there emerged a voice. Each voice uncovered a separate history, memoir, or trauma. Love, lust, guilt, anger, rebellion and resistance was expressed with a firm sense of self. For many of the poets and myself included, it was the first time sharing such intimate words with strangers. The authenticity of the exposed space provided a small vacuum where you could speak uninhibited, knowing that although not everyone knew your context, they heard you and they respected your courage.
I was picked near the end, and while I should have been anxious to follow up a magnetic group of talented characters, the same calm I had seen pass everybody visited me too. After all the revolutionary work that had been recited, the occasion to share my own experience was simply a rite of passage, a rebirthing into the divine and healing world of art. It was exhilarating to verbalize my emotions, to uncover tender wounds in front of so many people. But the strangers who snapped their thumbs and forefingers in support became familiar, and their smiles softened my tense shoulders. When I descended from the platform in a daze, I could feel my heart singing to the gentle insects that had filled my stomach. It was one of the best risks I had ever taken, as well as the most rewarding. After everything had been said, we returned to polite greetings and warm embraces. I was in awe of the poets who had been so fiercely passionate on stage, yet so warm and humble in conversation. Each guest seemed entirely energized by the promise of a new platform to profess themselves from, and so eager to generate connections with like-minded people. We drove home in a near silence, so saturated by my revelations that I could barely talk. In the car ride home when Steph asked if we were still as nihilistic as before, a contented ‘no’ spilt over the charged air. She responded, ‘And therein lies the purpose’.
The gathering had indeed fulfilled its purpose; it had enlightened and liberated. I returned home feeling lucid, knowing that I had attended a rare kind of event which had successfully advocated and facilitated compassion. There are few events that will venture beyond entertainment, the quick and unsatisfying bemusement which most of us are subject to during the weekends. That Eclectic did something rare: they shared the experience. There was no exclusivity, no excessive entrance fee, or theme to abide by. It was simply a collaboration between artists and owners, working to manifest some ‘good vibes’ for all to revel in. I payed R10 to get in, which I received again in exchange for my spoken word, and which I later returned to the tip jar at the front of house.
The event effortlessly mediated a rhythmic dance of give and take, adding a newfound sense of abundance and empathy within me. It reminded me of the universality of suffering, and the comfort that can be found in creativity and community. It relieved the repressed and invoked an inspiration to continue the crucial work of sharing and listening. The evening welcomed everyone with open arms, simply to say ‘ I see you’. Since then, That Poetry Night has been successfully hosted yet again in the same space. The group of poets and listeners has grown, revealing a profound variety of youths who wish to mend their fractured lives with unconventional, subversive experiences. Through problem-posing, communal remedies, and multi-faceted explorations into self-expression, they are allowing us to engage with an influential movement that is fuelled by potential and practice.
