Not interested in fame, spoken word was their game:
The Junkyard Ghost Revival came and went like phantoms of the imagination. There wasn't a bang or bright light, but there should have been. Three poets appeared at Redhouse on one lonely Monday, Oct. 6, for one show only. The sparse audience lucky, riveted, satisfied.
A poet they met in their travels is now working toward his masters of fine arts at Syracuse University's writing program. Edward Darby was his name. He stood up and opened the night, storytelling about the chase with "her hips like a pulpit." He more than figuratively held his own amongst these wordsmiths.
Young men pouring their hearts and minds out on the floor before us. They told us about their longing for women, their longing for sex, their longing for world order, their longing for disorder. Their words were personal, universal, amusing at times, as well as tragic. Their stories were important and fresh and felt very real and at the same time ancient.
Their writing strong like good Irish whisky or a cup of Syracuse's Kubal coffee - handled with honor and dignity, perhaps a bit of sadness and hope.
The first ghost up was Anis Mojgani, Iranian from New Orleans, with a voice like a choir angel from Brooklyn. He was so sweet, so smart, one just wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be all right because he was in the world.
Props? Oh yeah, there was a tiny white grand piano, a bag of corn (corn is everywhere you want to be) and just the right music, at just the right times, creating just the right vibe on Redhouse's red stage.
Next up was Derek Brown. Wow. He sang, he rhymed, he read to us from his many books of poetry, storytelling along the way. Picking his head up and making it better.