In-Depth Look: Isha Camara – “Loudest Burial”

In-Depth Look: Isha Camara – “Loudest Burial”

Appreciating poetry is often about patience: sitting with a poem, meditating on it, and re-reading it multiple times. With spoken word, we don’t always get a chance to do that. This series is about taking that chance, and diving a little deeper into some of the new poems going up on Button.

“Eye for an eye? More like tooth for whole skull.”

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Write-up by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre


Get Guante’s Book Here
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The stereotype about spoken word is that it’s all “big,” capital-P Political Poems, and there is some truth in that. When the stage is one of the only public forums we have to discuss the things that we care about, it’s only natural that it becomes a platform for work that engages with the world. That stereotype, however, often seems to be framed negatively, as though “political poems” were inherently hollow, just “ranting and raving” without any craft or heart.

This poem is a great counterpoint to that, showing how a poem can be both explicitly political and very much grounded, concrete, and human. From “the hands of your loved ones,” to a mother’s voice, to a clear-eyed view of Obama’s legacy, this isn’t a poem about “those people over there,” a stumble that some attempts at political poetry make; the poem finds a way to comment on world events through the lens of personal experience.

In “Why Authoritarians Attack the Arts,” scholar and poet Eve Ewing writes: “Art creates pathways for subversion, for political understanding and solidarity among coalition builders. Art teaches us that lives other than our own have value.” I’m hearing this poem in that context; the work that this poem is doing is important, and is work that we (especially those of us who are poets) can and should contribute to as well.

Hear another one of Isha Camara’s poems here!

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While you’re here, head over to the Button store to check out our books and merch, including books by Neil Hilborn, Olivia Gatwood, Hanif Abdurraqib, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, William Evans, Guante, Rachel Wiley, & our newest release from Neil Hilborn!

In-Depth Look: Hieu Minh Nguyen – “The Translation of Grief”

In-Depth Look: Hieu Minh Nguyen – “The Translation of Grief”

Appreciating poetry is often about patience: sitting with a poem, meditating on it, and re-reading it multiple times. With spoken word, we don’t always get a chance to do that. This series is about taking that chance, and diving a little deeper into some of the new poems going up on Button.

“I throw a fistful of sand in the air and pretend to weep.”

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Write-up by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre


Get Guante’s Book Here
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I started writing down lines from this poem that could be used as a jumping-off point to begin to explore its central idea, but I ended up writing down just about the entire poem. And maybe that’s the lesson for aspiring poets– know what work the poem is trying to do, and make sure every line– every word– contributes in a meaningful way to that work.

A room has four walls (if that); it doesn’t need five or six or seven. That can take a lifetime to figure out, if it can be “figured out” at all, but this poem from Hieu Minh Nguyen is a brilliant example of what that kind of efficiency can look like. Note how every line is a complete thought, but how every thought also functions as a transition to the next thought. Take a closer look at the third quarter (or so) of the poem:

I anticipate this grief by exhausting it with music. I open the casket; I make her dance in the center. It is the habit of the artist to see a hole and fill it with imagination. It is the habit of the living to see everyone you love and imagine them dead. I can lick the dirt off of all of your faces. I can sing any dirge, in any key, but the translation of grief will always be flat. There will always be the contrasting light between what is expected, and what would change your bones.

The sound, the light, the taste, the movement in these lines– the sensory/concrete language is so full without being overwhelming. Each one of those lines could work on their own, as a shareable Instagram quote, or as a tattoo. But together, they flow elegantly into one another, a series of images building momentum and intensity, leading up to the poem’s final image of the single black strand of hair.

That’s all shop talk, poetry stuff. But this poem also pushes boundaries with regards to substance, exploring something profound, unsettling, and important about grief, about mortality, and about translation– both in terms of the “translating her life into English” line, and the deeper process of how we translate other people’s lives/deaths into our own grief– selfishly, imperfectly, inescapably.

Find more from Hieu Minh Nguyen (including info on his NEW book) here!

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While you’re here, head over to the Button store to check out our books and merch, including books by Neil Hilborn, Olivia Gatwood, Hanif Abdurraqib, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, William Evans, Guante, Rachel Wiley, & our newest release from Neil Hilborn!

Guante – “The Family Business”

Performing at Icehouse in Minneapolis.

“I think the reason pawns can’t move backwards is because if they could, they’d kill their own kings in a heartbeat.”

Don’t miss this brilliant poem by Guante, performing at Sabrina Benaim‘s book release at Icehouse in Minneapolis.

Congratulations on the release of your book, Guante! A LOVE SONG, A DEATH RATTLE, A BATTLE CRY, is now available!

While you’re here, head over to the Button store to check out all our books and merch, including books by Neil Hilborn, Danez Smith, Olivia Gatwood, Hanif Abdurraqib, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, William Evans, Rudy Francisco, & our newest releases from Stevie Edwards and Claire Schwartz!

In-Depth Look: Billy Tuggle – “Marvin’s Last Verses”

In-Depth Look: Billy Tuggle – “Marvin’s Last Verses”

Appreciating poetry is often about patience: sitting with a poem, meditating on it, and re-reading it multiple times. With spoken word, we don’t always get a chance to do that. This series is about taking that chance, and diving a little deeper into some of the new poems going up on Button.

“I could sing with this last breath.”

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Write-up by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre


Get Guante’s Book Here
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I’m struck by the structure of this piece– it feels like it all takes place in a single moment, the “life flashing before your eyes” experience. Because of that, every line becomes vital– every memory, or regret, or passing thought has to both stand on its own as a human experience and be a metaphor for something that experience alone maybe doesn’t quite capture.

For example, connecting a mother’s scream, to screaming fans, to lovers– these are three moments, but they also highlight that balance between pleasure and pain that drives so much art. From talking about Berry Gordy’s Motown “assembly line,” to Gaye’s father’s jealousy, to Gaye’s own fears and struggles– this poem unearths the tragedy behind the art that is so life-giving to so many. And that tragedy isn’t held up as a good or generative thing (which is a trap I think a lot of artists fall into); it’s simply held up as something we all need to face.

Find more from Billy Tuggle (who, incidentally, was always one of the kindest, most supportive members of the larger spoken word community when I was coming up, and to whom I am very grateful) here.

Finally, this poem is dedicated to David Blair, one of those poets I wish every up-and-coming or aspiring spoken word artist knew about. Blair’s work was transcendent– a word I think a lot of us use for a lot of poetry, but one that truly fits in this case. If that’s a new name for you, a few links:
– Video: “Detroit (While I Was Away)” by David Blair
– Video: “My Time at Chrysler” by David Blair
– Video: “Freedom Calling” by Blair and The Boyfriends
– Blair’s obituary in Solidarity
– An interview in the Detroit Metro Times, featuring this quote:
“The authentic self is a way more subversive creature than we care to put out there most of the time, and that’s fine. But you really got to face yourself and not be afraid to tell your story, ’cause somebody may need to hear it.”

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While you’re here on our site, make sure to check out our books and merchandise in the Button Store, including Guante’s own book, as well as titles by Danez Smith, Neil Hilborn, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, William Evans, Rudy Francisco, and our newest releases from Claire Schwartz and Stevie Edwards!

In-Depth Look: William Evans – “Bathroom Etiquette”

In-Depth Look: William Evans – “Bathroom Etiquette”

Appreciating poetry is often about patience: sitting with a poem, meditating on it, and re-reading it multiple times. With spoken word, we don’t always get a chance to do that. This series is about taking that chance, and diving a little deeper into some of the new poems going up on Button.

“I know the song even if my pitch needs work.”

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Write-up by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre


Get Guante’s Book Here
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Aspiring poets ask about writer’s block a lot. They tend to also ask questions like “where do you get your inspiration?” a lot. Of course, these are good and natural questions, but I also remember when I was just getting started, asking the same questions; I remember asking them less out of curiosity and more out of fear– the fear that every poem has to be some monumental, earth-moving feat, the fear that if I’m not constantly producing I’ll fall behind (whatever that means), the fear that I don’t have anything to add to the larger conversation.

My favorite answer to that question is brought to life by this poem. William Evans has a gift for presenting “small,” slice-of-life moments, and then really digging into them to explore how history, and policy, and experience, and culture, and more all add up to create a moment. When you can cultivate that kind of critical lens, when you can challenge yourself to really see what’s going on inside– or behind– a scene or situation, you become able to see poems everywhere. This piece takes the most seemingly throwaway social interaction (two coworkers joking about an email memo about urinal splashguards) and excavates something profound about history, bodies, memory, lineage, and even white supremacy.

Note the subtle emphasis placed on the “my” in “But my grandfather…” at 1:26. The whole poem turns on that point. The whole “seemingly throwaway situation” turns into something else. When people ask me about writer’s block today, that’s my answer: it isn’t always about trying to access some brilliant truth outside of yourself; it’s about taking the time to find the “something else” in a scene, moment, or memory to which you already have access.

Find more from William Evans here, and get his new book here!

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While you’re here on our site, make sure to check out our books and merchandise in the Button Store, including Guante’s own book, as well as titles by Danez Smith, Neil Hilborn, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, William Evans, Rudy Francisco, and our newest releases from Claire Schwartz and Stevie Edwards!

Guante – “Handshakes”


Performing at Sabrina Benaim’s book release in Minneapolis.

“As a young man, I was taught that one’s masculinity is tied directly to one’s handshake, that when meeting another man for the first time, no sin was more unforgivable than placing a limp fish in his hand, the dead husk of a greeting”

Don’t miss this magnificent poem from Guante, performing at Icehouse in Minneapolis.

Check out Guante’s book, A LOVE SONG, A DEATH RATTLE, A BATTLE CRY, now available for preorder. Get your signed copy before they run out!



While you’re here, head over to the Button store to check out our books and merch, including books by Neil Hilborn, Olivia Gatwood, Hanif Abdurraqib, Jacqui Germain, Aaron Coleman, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, William Evans, our newest release from Rudy Francisco, & more.

In-Depth Look: Alysia Harris – “Joy”

In-Depth Look: Alysia Harris – “Joy”

Appreciating poetry is often about patience: sitting with a poem, meditating on it, and re-reading it multiple times. With spoken word, we don’t always get a chance to do that. This series is about taking that chance, and diving a little deeper into some of the new poems going up on Button.

“Sometimes joy means you have to be an archaeologist and an astronomer rolled into one. Sometimes you gotta dig deeper. Sometimes you have to see farther.”

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Write-up by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre


Get Guante’s Book Here
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Near the end of 2017, I found myself thinking a lot about anthemic poems— big, inspiring, powerful pieces that go beyond just “being right” about an issue, or just being well-crafted, or just getting high slam scores. For me, anthemic poems are poems that do a specific kind of work– if they’re political, for example, they preach to the choir in a way that is both validating and challenging; they’re not hyper-specific critiques (which can also be good and valuable) as much as they are rallying cries or calls to action. These are poems that don’t just get snaps in spoken word spaces; they could be performed at a march, or a campaign kickoff, or in other spaces where energy and vision are needed.

“Joy” is an anthem. It may not be “political” in the sense described above, but it challenges us to understand the term “political” in a deeper, fuller way. By zooming in on a relatable, human situation, the poem finds an entry point for an exploration of a concept that is too often flattened into greeting-card platitudes. Joy isn’t just falling in love and living happily ever after– it is also “finding yourself warm enough for these lonely winter nights,” and “being beautiful, and not having to have a man tell you so.”

Poems don’t have to have happy endings. They don’t have to teach us things, or have specific thesis statements. But there is power in intentionality, in challenging ourselves to ask “what do I want people to walk away with after they’ve read/heard this poem?” That question gets to the core of how I think about anthems, as well as why I think Harris’ poem works so well.

Find more from Alysia Harris here.

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While you’re here on our site, make sure to check out our books and merchandise in the Button Store, including Guante’s own book, as well as titles by Danez Smith, Neil Hilborn, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, William Evans, and our newest release from Rudy Francisco!

In-Depth Look: Hanif Abdurraqib – “At My First Punk Rock Show Ever, 1998”

In-Depth Look: Hanif Abdurraqib – “At My First Punk Rock Show Ever, 1998”

Appreciating poetry is often about patience: sitting with a poem, meditating on it, and re-reading it multiple times. With spoken word, we don’t always get a chance to do that. This series is about taking that chance, and diving a little deeper into some of the new poems going up on Button.

“We come here to see blood, like all boys who sneak past their sleeping fathers in ripped jeans.”
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Write-up by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre

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There are a lot of things to comment on in this poem– the power of its opening and closing line, how efficiently it’s constructed, how an entire relationship is illuminated by just a few scenes and lines. I’m particularly struck by how Abdurraqib uses place; right away, the title is evocative, but the first few lines go even deeper into what this place is– and what this place means. It’s one thing to understand “punk show” on an intellectual level; it’s something else to feel it– both in terms of its sights/smells/sounds, and the emotional energy that crackles through the relationships present in the poem.

For aspiring poets (maybe those readying their chapbook submissions), this is a valuable lesson. We sometimes think of “setting” as a fiction term, but poems have settings too, and especially with spoken word, creating a concrete, specific setting can do an enormous amount of work in terms of bringing the audience into the poem. It gives the reader (or listener) some ground to stand on, so they can be more fully present and open to the other elements of the poem.

Find more of Hanif Abdurraqib’s work here, and be sure to check out his new book, “They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us,” here!

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While you’re here on our site, make sure to check out our books and merchandise in the Button Store, including Guante’s own book, as well as titles by Aziza Barnes, Danez Smith, Neil Hilborn, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, and our newest release from William Evans.

In-Depth Look: Blythe Baird – “Yet Another Rape Poem”

In-Depth Look: Blythe Baird – “Yet Another Rape Poem”

Appreciating poetry is often about patience: sitting with a poem, meditating on it, and re-reading it multiple times. With spoken word, we don’t always get a chance to do that. This series is about taking that chance, and diving a little deeper into some of the new poems going up on Button.

“I’ve noticed that people only stopped calling me victim and started calling me survivor when I stop talking about it.”
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Write-up by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre

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This is a poem that does a lot of work. On one level, it’s a stirring, important statement about trauma and healing in the context of rape culture. While the national conversation is driven by flashpoints like Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, and #MeToo, this poem “zooms in” on sexual assault and its aftermath, telling a deeper, fuller story in a very limited amount of time.

In addition to that, I’m struck by how a line like “watch me build an empire from the ashes of every single thing that tried to destroy me” relates to spoken word not just as an “activity” that people do, but as a specific cultural practice. The idea of “this stage” being one of the only platforms that people (whether they be survivors, members of under-or-misrepresented groups, young people, or anyone who does not naturally have access to attention and representation) have to stand up and speak their truth is a profound lesson on the value of this community, as well as the responsibilities that come with being part of that community.

I hear the title of this poem as a direct rebuke to that ever-present contingent of audience members and online commenters who bemoan (often in gendered and racialized terms) how “political” so much spoken word is. As this poem demonstrates: there’s a reason it’s so “political.” There’s a reason so many survivors choose to tell their stories through poetry. Performing can be therapeutic. But it isn’t *only* therapeutic; it isn’t *only* about the performer. The act of telling our stories, of saying the things that we need to say, is also a radical, community-building endeavor, one that both brings people together… and challenges them.

Find more of Blythe Baird’s work here!

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While you’re here on our site, make sure to check out our books and merchandise in the Button Store, including Guante’s own book, as well as titles by Aziza Barnes, Danez Smith, Neil Hilborn, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, Melissa Lozada-Oliva, and our newest release from William Evans.

In-Depth Look: Hanif Abdurraqib – “Watching A Fight At The New Haven Dog Park”

In-Depth Look: Hanif Abdurraqib – “Watching A Fight At The New Haven Dog Park”

Appreciating poetry is often about patience: sitting with a poem, meditating on it, and re-reading it multiple times. With spoken word, we don’t always get a chance to do that. This series is about taking that chance, and diving a little deeper into some of the new poems going up on Button.

“And I too, dress for the hell I want, and not the hell that is most likely coming.”
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Write-up by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre

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In school, I remember learning about metaphor, but it was always tied to learning about simile. Part of the “lesson” was being able to differentiate the two, and I think that because of that, a lot of us still tend to think about metaphor in an overly specific way. “It’s like a simile, but doesn’t use like.” We so often see metaphor as another tool in the toolbox, and not something more fundamental to the craft of poetry; less screwdriver or pliers, more hands.

As this poem demonstrates, metaphor is so much more than a one-line comparison between two images or ideas. It’s about world-building. It’s about how we interface with reality through the telling of stories, or the sharing of images. And because that process is messy, metaphors can be messy too– they’re not always perfectly-balanced equations. The swirling imagery in this poem– from the dogs, to their owners, to the memory of another fight, to the more concrete flashes of blood, teeth, and fists– it all pushes us deeper into the poem’s reality, closer to the nuanced point that Abdurraqib is making.

Find more of Hanif Abdurraqib’s work here!

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While you’re here on our site, make sure to check out our books and merchandise in the Button Store, including Guante’s own book, as well as titles by Aziza Barnes, Danez Smith, Neil Hilborn, Donte Collins, Sabrina Benaim, and our newest release from Melissa Lozada-Oliva.