Q&A With New York Based Poet/ Spoken Word artist - Jon Sands

I met Jon Sands in New York at a poetry night called ‘Food For Thought’ in Bed Stuy (Brooklyn).

Blown away by his set, I bought his CD and on listening, I was as impressed with his writing as I was with his performance.

A regular argument with writers is 'Spoken Word artists aren’t actually “poets” per se. They write unstructured prose for an audience. They shouldn’t be credited as “poets” as poets are supposed to be as passionate about form as much as language.'


I don’t agree, but I would agree that most good Spoken Word artists are stronger performers than they are writers.

Jon Sands to me is among the rare breed to package par-excellence in performance and writing and actively call himself a Spoken Word artist – not a stand up comedian, storyteller, entertainer. NO! – He’s a Spoken Word artist, YES! - He's been published.

Mr Sands – introduce yourself.


My name is Jon Sands. I’m a native of Cincinnati, but I’ve lived in New York City since 2006. I’ve been a full-time teaching and performing artist since 2007. When I’m in New York I ride my bicycle to all five boroughs (except Staten Island). I will change plans if the sun is out, and winter is most definitely not my shit, but my roommate told me there’s nothing more poetic than seasons. I fall in love at least six times/day, and Andre 3000 has to be the artist that most consistently blows my mind. I’m scared of dying, but I think I’m coming to grips with that.


Q. What is your personal mission as a Spoken Word artist?

My interaction with this art has felt much like climbing a pyramid, and only being able to see the next step. I want to make sure I don’t get stuck on one step for too long. I think I used to feel a larger responsibility to write a good poem, which sounds like a quality goal, but I’m finding that consistently checking in with myself to write “today’s” poem has been more rewarding. I’m less concerned with recreating poems I’ve already written. We wake up different people than when we went to sleep. There’s something in an artist that has to be ok with that. I’d like to be brave enough to let my art reflect the ways I’m changing, which means that when following a creative thought, you’re consistently mapping uncharted territory. The artists to whom I traditionally gravitate are ones I can look to each year or two and say, “So that’s where you’re at now.” There’s something constantly changing that makes them trustworthy for their audience. If you check five years later – they’re making the same art, and you’re a different person it’s harder to feel like you live on the same planet. So, I guess my mission is to consistently figure out my mission – and then be okay with it changing. And, to not be lazy. Across the board – I can’t help but feel laziness is our enemy.



Q. How do you think Spoken Word artists and poets can push Spoken Word poetry as a genre and could poetry/Spoken Word generate mainstream appeal?

More than anything, I think growth comes from a genuine interest in pursuing knowledge. Granted, the amount of poetry out there can be absolutely overwhelming (but I think that’s a good thing). I’m always happy to meet and interact with poets who READ poems. So much of creativity is carving out the space in a world that only your voice can occupy. I think that task becomes infinitely more difficult if you’re unaware of what came before you, and what else is happening right now. There’s an incredible amount of fun to be had in reading poetry, fiction, short stories, non-fiction, the encyclopedia, and you find that your ability to better tell your own story grows ten-fold without you knowing it.

Having said that, our art form has such a magnificent backbone in the open-mic/open-slam scene that we can lose sight of the idea that the poetry can be its own appeal. Not every audience is made on the agreement that they too will be able to bless the microphone that night. I’m continually inspired by the spoken word artists that put a large effort into organizing amazing shows in which they maintain artistic control throughout the night. I love the feeling as an audience member of riding shotgun, completely trusting the driver to deliver me wherever they want. For me, that trust is nearly impossible in an open-mic/poetry slam (meaning that kind of trust with an entire night). There seem to be more people each day pursuing that route, and thus opening unbelievable doors for our school of artist to walk through.

Q. You are also a workshop facilitator, would you say the educational route is the best way to stabilize yourself as a poet?

Stabilize like money? Certainly, I think the best way to stabilize yourself is to not have just one thing you do. There are amazing poets that don’t feel comfortable at the head of a classroom, but can sing their ass off, or can sell a project to get it off the ground. Facilitating workshops has been a wonderful gift for me. I think there’s a journey in writing quality curriculum that is not unlike making art, and if you leave a group of people who are happy with the experience they’ve had that day, that only opens up the door for you to do something more often. I think the goal is always to be a 360-degree person (I think Quincy Jones might have coined that phrase). The artists I find myself gravitating toward and supporting are the ones that can do a lot of things well. The ones that can take a room full of people on a journey in their set, then again when the people in that room go home with their merchandise, again the next day in a classroom, and again at the after party.



Q. Who is your favorite Spoken Word artist right now and why?

If that isn’t the most difficult question of the bunch... I’m pulling incredible amounts of inspiration from both the large and small communities of which I’m a part. The spoken worders that currently have my creative goose cooking at warp speed are Jeanann Verlee, Adam Falkner, and Eboni Hogan (all based out of the big apple – and my community bias is unmistakable). They create whole worlds with their poems and stamp my passport for entry. Such care is given to the small details in each poem with unbelievable trust that the reader/audience will know why we’re there and why we’re important. All three of them make me laugh/cry/think out loud within the course of two minutes. I love poems that feel multi-dimensional and carved out of the complicated world we live in (where joy and sorrow appear to consistently live inside the same moment). But, come on, who can possibly choose three (let alone one)? On any given day you can hear me calling Roger Bonair-Agard/ Patricia Smith/ Rachel Mckibbens/ Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz/ Shira Erlichman the best to ever fall under the Spoken Word umbrella. I could go for days.



Q. Describe the worst performance of poetry you ever had to sit through?

Ooooooh, I don’t know. I’ve definitely sat through a few hard-to-sit-through evenings of poetry, but I don’t think I could call anything out by name. I find it hardest to stay seated when a performer seems to buy into the caricature image our art form makes in the heads of people that haven’t seen it. Though, I’ve seen audiences absolutely lose their shit over poems I felt in my heart of hearts were whackety-whack-sauce, so I try to just love and appreciate the stuff that vibrates with me, and not worry so much about the stuff that doesn’t. I think Common said it best – “Some of ya’ll pop to it, I ain’t relatin’. If I don’t like it, I don’t like it, that don’t mean that I’m hatin’.”


Q. What are the biggest nuisances about the Spoken Word Poetry scene?

Honestly, I try not to put too much energy into the nuisances. If I had to choose though it would be the resistance to growth that can be caused by the poetry slam (which I believe is also an amazing catalyst for the ways our bodies experience this art). It seems far too often, poets experience success (or perhaps slam victory is a better word?) in a certain type of poem or writing, then neglect to acknowledge in their newer art (if they have newer art) that they are a changing person. It’s disheartening to see talented people attempt to recreate poems around a template that has assisted them to the comfort of consistent slam victory (a lovely competition that has never been a quality judge of the breadth of someone’s work). It can be scary to write today’s poem when even you are expecting some of yesterday’s magic. But, that is an incredibly temporary problem (at least on an individual scale). Your creativity comes from your body, and the house always wins, so most people who chain themselves to one type of thing end up shifting their approach, or stopping writing poems altogether.



Q. As a Spoken Word artist that competes in slams, what’s most important – The writing or the performance?

I have a friend who consistently asks the question, “Would you rather see a mediocre poem performed incredibly, or a magnificent poem with a performance lacking any of the poem’s magic?” I tend to side with the idea that a poem has many lives, all of which are interconnected. The artists to whom I gravitate are ones that take advantage of each opportunity for discovery. I write to discover, and perform for the same reason. Whenever you have an “aha” moment reading or listening to a poem, it’s only because the artist has also had that same moment. You enjoy it together, and when it happens through performance, sometimes it’s simultaneous. That said, a poem can have such an amazing life on the page. It can team with your imagination and dance through your entire body. As an audience member, it’s difficult to reach the highest highs with an artist who appears to not have excavated the possible discoveries in the writing process. I absolutely lose it for a poem that’s always trying to find something, and reading a poem aloud is the best way I’ve been able to help find that trail. Though, it was Shira Erlichman who said something along the lines of, “I want to feel like I’m in a picture, constantly chasing something only slightly out of the frame.”


Q. Finally, I want to be as good as you. How can it be done?

Never. :-) That’s very sweet of you to say.

But the good news is you can be as good as you! And, that definition is constantly changing. It’s also the only path you got, so you better buckle up and enjoy it.

For more on Jon Sands - www.myspace.com/jonsandsmusic

PiP Poets In New York pt 3

Me and Maria got to the bar that supposedly put on poetry events, it was a dark Brooklyn night and no one knew what we were talking about when we said “we’re here for the poetry” in fact, the bouncer outside looked at us like we offended him, “POETRY!? nah man!” he scoffed. We decided to go in and have a drink anyway. We got a lot of curious looks from the people in the bar, we certainly stuck out, my bronzy mustard skin and Maria’s Pilipino features were carried loudly among the dominant black crowd. Most women had angels, flowers and names like “Daze-E” or “Shawty” tattooed on their arms or chest. They also had weave in their hair, wide gold looped earrings and bellies that hung down too much to be a pregnancy, we could have been in Seven Sisters or Wood Green back in London. It was someone’s birthday, me and Maria sat at the bar as a cake came out and everyone sang Stevie Wonder’s funky ‘Happy Birthday’ genius, the vibe was contagious and even me and Maria stood up, clapped our hands and sang Happy Birthday to the strangers at the table, we got a few head nods and took our seats with the complete feeling of acceptance.

“Wow New York, your poetry is as big as your buildings”

The crowd whooped and clapped, I had just been called to the stage, I was on Marcus Garvey Boulevard. The venue had a chess chequered floor and dimmed lights generating intimacy. The audience seating was scatted but filled to capacity (about 60-75) I was dazzled by the poets that got up before me and changed my mind about which poem to perform four times, throughout this trip Joshua tells me my best two poems are “my dad poem and my ‘hit me’ poem” but the ‘Hit Me’ poem seemed too delicate considering I’ve been asked to “never perform that poem in public again” so I played it safe with my dad poem (Not For The Dead) and it went down alright, Josh gets up and kills it as usual.

Afterwards, a poet called “Jon Sands” is announced, he walks onto the stage with the cheeky smirk of a precious infant with secret knowledge, the crowd transfixed before his jaw even flinched, a smooth and genius crowd engaging technique… “DAD HAS A PENIS TOO!” he yells “HIS PENIS IS MUCH LARGER THAN MY PENIS, HIS BODY IS LARGER THAN MY BODY, HIS PENIS WOULD LOOK RIDICLIOUS ON MY BODY!” the audience laughed and cringed at the same time as Josh poked my ribs, and muttered “and you were scared of doing your piece” I laughed and shook my head, in fact I probably continued these motions through Jon Sand’s entire set, I was witnessing one of the best all round performers/ writers I’d ever seen, the guy was electric and gave a performance that managed to stay with me. He had balls, passion and his poetry was sharp and filled with the sly kick of sudden heart attacks.

A poet called Chris Slaughter got up and did a terrifying poem called ‘Blood Line’ about two guys in a street fight – “every time (a fist or a kick) landed the crowd howled as if they were looking at two moons” woah! I must also give an honorable mention to a poet who had me spell bound with a story about the future self when your present self is plunged to despair and how the future self that got through your present hardship comes to you to comfort you through the process of pain, and how you’d feel in that moment, to have that connection as if you were your own God” … ugh, I cannot do it justice, just trust me, it was amazing… unfortunately I can’t remember his name.


My initial expectation of New York or even American Spoken Word performances was that they were going to be great performers with weaker writing, I was wrong, very wrong, New York’s Spoken Word artist carry a standard alien to the UK. Poetry in general holds greater appreciation, which is shameful considering the UK produced Shakespeare, Keats, Blake, Wilde, Byron and even Chaucer.

Spoken Word artists make it onto daytime and prime time TV (HBO, Comedy Central etc) as well as having Def Poetry Jam to aspire to as well as the National Slams, poetry is referenced on the walls of most subway stations, the pavements leading towards NY State Library have poems and quotations by Emily Dickinson among others graven into them on bronze plates, there is a strong community of poets and many weekly poetry and performance workshops are held, Spoken Word/poetry is the hustle of many, all the poets in the higher ranks sell merchandise rather well at their shows, venues such as the NYrican poets café and The Bowery are huge theatre venues dedicated to Spoken Word poetry.

I spoke to poet legend ‘Tshaka Campbell’ about this and he helped me put it into perspective “the poetry in NY is different and intense, the UK for the most part is still only interested in the entertainment side of poetry and there is much much more” I agreed.

Something I found interesting was not only was there similarities between the areas of London and New York, there was also similar characters, I went to a poetry venue which resembled The Poetry Café in Covent Garden, just bigger, I noted how professional the lighting was, a small, slightly elevated stage with a mic in a spot light is simple but very effective, it was called the ‘Cornelia Street Café’

This venue was indeed just like Tuesday night at London’s Poetry Café’, I think there was a London equivalent of every poet that got up and read, I mean in terms of form, style, voice etc it was quite surprising, I think I’ll sway from judgments and name dropping but if you haven’t been to the Poetry Café’ in Covent Garden you typically listen to about 40 poets with 5 minutes each and an average 35 of them will think their audience is either a shrink with a caring ear or a lump of meaningless matter that doesn’t matter more than their delightful poetry.

Anyway, Joshua had his video recorder out and captured possibly the most contrived, pretentious performance poetry I’ve ever seen in my life! I refer to this poet as “the awful one”. I will get him to upload that video as my description will not do it justice. There was a poet who was up before “the awful one” who was telling an amusing story about a car crash that changed his life and almost crippled him and his father.

“as our lungs shrieked and impact threw me and my father through the window screen, we lay bloodily…”

A bell rang and the female host walked to the stage and said “I’m sorry we have to move on” it was so abrupt; the poor guy was approaching a climax in a painful story of his life. He smiled awkwardly, “ok thank you” he said and hobbled off stage probably in the same manner he hobbled from the car crash… bless him.

I got good feedback from a few audience members after the show, I tell you, I can’t stress that enough, if you go to a poetry night and you like a poet, please tell them, "most poets die without compliments." - Niall O'Sullivan.

PiP Poets In New York pt 2

When you go aboard to a place you’ve never been you tend to walk around it with the naivety of new couples that have not yet met the sinister bones of their partners. On a particular Sunday night Josh and me had our honeymoon bubble popped when we were knifed by the realization that we are more vulnerable as outsiders.

Josh had read about a club in ‘NYC Time Out’ and suggested we check it out; it was a few blocks away from where we stayed so we walked there. When we got to the club they tried to charge us more than the club was advertised for, we showed we were wise and they folded, letting us in for the correct price. We strolled in, walking through the dance floor to stand next to the bar; this was to be the only space we’d occupy for the night.

A tall black guy with muscles as tight as his pouting lips danced in front of us like dust in a whirlwind, he was gay, no straight man points his toes, flicks his wrist and vibrates his hips like Beyonce’ on a power plate. His moves were slick, combining Salsa and Body Popping Street dance with progressive Drum and Bass/house music. The kind of sound you’d hear in Herbal in Shoreditch, just instead of fitness fanatic, toned bellied dancers you find teenage dirt bags in their late twenties zoning out on drug-fuelled cocktails. Josh turned to me and said he preferred watching druggies dance to this kind of music, I laughed.

As the place gathered we then noticed everyone there was some kind of street dancer, lots of annoying dance moves that involve elbows and not drumbeats were flying around the room, busy as epileptic fits. We wanted to dance, but we couldn’t share the floor, not just because we wanted to two-step but because these guys were floor hogs, if we stepped two meters forward we’d been in ‘elbow to face’ impact zone, then we would have had to sport sunglasses like the clowns in the Hip-Hop, R&B night clubs.

So we shifted, I was hungry and Josh was tired, the plan – get money out the ATM, find good pizza, go home.


Josh finds an ATM outside a deli, the card, clamped in his hand moved in slow motion towards the slot when we heard a man shout “STOP!” everything in the world froze, even our hearts. “BEFORE YOU DO THAT! I AM NOT GOING TO ROB YOU!” a black guy, about 5’9 and wearing a bomber jacket that made him look like a turtle in a hard-shell stood before us, holding out a piece of paper “I HAVE JUST COME OUT THE STATE PENETENTARY, THE BUS DROPPED ME OFF AND I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE” our eyes were wide, any tiredness we may have felt vanished as we anticipated any sudden movement “ALL I NEED IS $2.75 TO GET OUTTA HERE! ARE YOU GOING TO HELP ME!?” … silence, the heavy hands of time fought against us, Josh moved the marbles of his eyes without blinking, they swung back and forth like a restless lunatic. We were straight jacketed in 10 seconds of awkward silence, procrastinating… “errrrrrrrrrrr…. Errrrrrrrrr…. Errrrrrrr…. Nooooo …” now I half expected the worse “muthafucka!” he mumbled to himself and quickly walked off, fading into night.

Josh and me looked at each other, relieved. Josh then realized his arm was still extended with his credit card still frozen in his hand. It never made it to the slot of the machine. Josh said “ok. Won’t be getting out any money, you can buy my pizza” and put the card in his pocket, it took me about thirty seconds to laugh at his cheeky comment.

We then saw a pizza place across the street, we jay walked across it and I noticed five hooded up black guys walk in just before us. We took one look at the flat and plastic appearance of the pizza and walked back out, but as we did one of the guys says “what’s good black!?” to Josh, he ignores them “HEY!” he shouts and then we hear another voice this time aimed at me “HEY WHITE BOY, WHITE BOY, COME HERE MAN!” we power walked out the shop and up the road before Joshua says “ohh’ kaay .. This is getting a bit strange.. lets go home!” we found a Pizza joint by a busier road that we were familiar with, we sat hidden at the back, nibbling our pizza in nervous silence like mice under thin floorboards.


On another night Josh and me separated, I went to Brooklyn with Maria, the lovely lady who we stayed with for the first few days. She told us about a poetry night uptown and we went. During that journey we ignited conversation, the type of talks you can only have with a handful of people. It was mainly about love and loss until we got into politics. I should know to sway from any political conversation from any American citizen; it nearly got my head served when I was in Ohio three years ago when I referred to George Bush as “the worlds biggest terrorist”. Maria and me were sitting on the train when 9/11 came up in our conversation. I shared my views about it being a dirty inside job…Maria was appalled, I defended myself until she explained she was there on that day. “No one person could do that, I saw it, you weren’t there, trust me no one would do that to their own country” “Hitler did” I said hastily “but I guess that’s another story”, she got upset with me again, I thought fast, quickly springing our friendship to the rescue … “well I love OBAMA!” a smile then swam to the surface of her face and we shared our favorite Obama facts.

To Be Continued ...