January 17th 2025 - 12:40am Written by Brody Campbell

I’m going to try to retell what happened last night as concisely as possible.

It started with Nea asking me to be a judge for the Hamilton Youth Poets Wildcard Championship Slam. Actually, I don’t even know if that’s important to the story. Start over.

Four or five poets had performed and were receiving fairly high scores—8s, 7.5s, and 9s. After each score, the crowd gathered in the AGH (Art Gallery of Hamilton) would yell, “HIGHER!” The intensity varied depending on the score, but the goal was to express their excitement and their own judgment of the poet they had just heard. When the next girl went up—let’s call her “11-year-old Lisa Shen” (I don’t know her actual age; I’m just guessing)—it was clear that her delivery was a little less polished. Maybe she was nervous, but she spoke about the city, describing how the Steel City (Hamilton) was cold. She reflected on an immigrant experience based on what she had seen in the downtown core. This was the first poem to receive lower scores. 5.5, among others that hovered below 7. I couldn’t see her face, but as the scores were read, Nea commented, “Some of you judges are going to have poems written about you.”

Fast forward to the end of the intermission. When Lisa came back into the room, you could tell she had been crying. A couple of people spoke to her, likely reassuring her that she did great. But the poems continued. This time, Lisa was third. As she began to read, her voice was still shaky, and you could tell she was holding back tears. But she pushed through, seemingly without missing a beat. Her subject matter this time was more personal. Describing a day and how she liked her eggs sunny side up. And when she walks home alone from the therapists she constantly checks her phone to calm the anxiety of being alone. No messages are there. I can’t remember exactly how she worded it, but the essence of the poem was sadness—wondering if the sun ever had days when it felt down. As she sniffled between lines, you’d think the near-tears were part of the performance - if you didn’t know better. If my memory were better, I’d explain the lines and how they connected. But one that stuck out to me was when she said, “We’re all fried,” or maybe, “We’re all a little fried.” I’m not sure now.That was the first poem I scored with a 10. 

It resonated with me, and I couldn’t help but think about how brave she was to get back up there, still upset, and perform again.

A few poems later, another girl with the same name took the mic. Let’s call her “20-year-old Lisa Shen.” She began by saying, “I know I’m supposed to do a slam poem this round, but another poet tonight inspired me.” She explained that she had a poem she had written years ago but had never finished. She said 11-year-old Lisa Shen’s poem about the city inspired her, and she finished the poem during the intermission.

The parallels between the two poems were uncanny. It was the same story about an immigrant’s journey and the reflection of it in a big city. It was almost hard to believe they hadn’t planned it. Same name, telling a similar story, set in the same place, even both wearing red.

Nea followed up the judges’ scores by applauding 20-year-old Lisa Shen for using the mic to show love to another poet. She reiterated what she had been saying all night: “Applaud the poet not the points.” She emphasized that these poetry events aren’t about the scores but about engaging the audience. She pointed out how poetry in the past didn’t often get this kind of loud, excited reaction.

She thanked everyone for being there, adding that events like these are important because, no matter what, poets are going to write.