It started out practically as a party, a way for friends to show each other their work. But six years later, the National Poetry Video Festival has grown beyond anyone’s wildest imagination and snared an international star for its annual festivities: Andrei Codrescu, novelist, poet, and National Public Radio commentator, will be participating along with dozens of other video-word artists.
What’s a poetry video, you ask? Visual narratives that feature poems. Some are purely illustrative, such as this year’s take on Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven.” Some are not unlike music videos, playful pieces
with music and rhythm, such as “Cafe Me.” Some are staggeringly beautiful combinations of the visual and the aural, such as the sign-language and dance piece “Duties of the Heart.”
Since starting Wednesday at the the Chopin Theater, this year’s festival has featured work by fest founders Jean Howard and Kurt Heintz, as well as Kenn Kashima, Quraysh Ali, Street Level Media, Video Machete and winners from San Francisco’s Cin(E)-Poetry Festival. (Next year, this 21-year-old festival will merge with Chicago’s festival, making the Chicago event the biggest of its type in the world). The fest goes through Saturday.
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Saturday night, Lawrence Avenue outside the Aragon. The Allright Parking lot — where they charge an arm and a leg and refuse to give receipts — is jammed with cars spilling out onto the sidewalk.
You cruise down Lawrence, eyeing the side streets where even the illegal spots are taken by bloated older-model American cars.
Then, suddenly, a young man waves at you in front of the strip mall at the bright and shiny Bangkok Grocery.
“Going to the Aragon?” he asks, leaning into your window. You nod. “Ten dollars,” he says, waving you in to the lot.
Hours later, you stumble from the Aragon, cigarette smoke trailing. The Bangkok lot is empty but for one car, its passenger door open. You notice two kids making out inside. You also notice the suddenly obvious sign saying the lot falls under the domain of Lincoln Towing.
You have exactly $45 dollars in your pocket, so you call, find out it’s $105 to liberate your vehicle.
You walk over to the 24-hour convenience store at Sheridan only to discover the ATM has stopped spilling cash. Ditto at the Uptown National Bank up on Broadway.
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You walk over to the Green Mill to use the pay phone, look inside and spy a friend who’s willing to spot you the money.
You walk up Lawrence, then Clark and find a line of stoned-out, pierced kids in front of Lincoln Towing. A guy in a business suit taps his foot and twitches behind them in line as they count their money over and over.
“We’re still short,” says a lanky boy. “Just a coupla bucks, though.” A young woman sighs, empties her pockets. They need another 35 cents. You reach into your pockets, pull out a handful of coins and contribute to their cause. The guy in the business suit groans, disgusted.
Eventually, the kids get their car out — a sputtering jalopy. The guy in the suit enters the small vestibule where Lincoln Towing offers its cash window like a confessional. It barely fits one person and sports bulletproof glass. A sign says quite clearly that credit cards will be processed only once. You wait outside, watching the traffic go freely by.
In a few minutes, you hear yelling from inside. The guy in the business suit is insisting his card be tried again. He uses several profanities.
“Get out,” says the Lincoln Towing guy, adding his own profanity in a flat and unemotional voice. The guy in the business suit trashes about, then surrenders, kicking the door on the way out.
You go in, slowly. You immediately show the money, drop your license on the counter and, while avoiding eye contact, recite your license plate number as if it were a matter of life and death. The Lincoln Towing guy does not look at your license, does not even touch it, just flips through a sheath of papers, pushes a form at you to sign, and gingerly counts the bills you’ve handed him.
“Go ahead,” he says, without looking at you either.
“Thank you,” you say, relieved.
“Come again, sucker,” he adds with a snicker.
It’s nearly 3 in the morning, the line outside is growing and you, wisely, decide it’s just not worth the aggravation to respond. In minutes, you’re on Clark heading north, looking for legal parking, and home.
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The facts
Friday and Saturday, National Poetry Video Festival, Chopin Theater, 1543 W. Division St. Call 773-907-2189 for specific programming information.