Coffee House Poetry Reading | Diary of a Mad Editor

Sometimes You Can Go Home Again

Written by John Erianne on July 15, 2008 – 3:07 pm -

Over the weekend, I gave what may well be the last poetry reading ever to happen on a Saturday night at Brenner’s Brew. No, the Brew is not going out of business — just the poetry business. At least for the foreseeable future. And I suppose, if this past Saturday’s festivities have to be the final round, it was only fitting that it go out with a bang and that I be the featured poet. Afterall, I was the first poet to read there when the whole thing started.

I recall that it was right around the time I started Asterius Press. I was in the local book store trying to find some shelf space for the first issue of Devil Blossoms and maybe find a place to do a poetry reading. The owner said, “Yes” to Devil Blossoms, but “No” to the reading because her shop was too small. She suggested I talk to Barbara Brenner at the new coffee house that had just opened up. She had started an open mic and was looking for musicians and poets to perform. I met Barbara and introduced myself and that Friday, I read some poetry. That first night there were three acts: Me, a Native-American storyteller and a folk duo called My Louise. Over the next couple of years, the Friday nights evolved into more of a showcase for indy bands than an open mic. Other poets would occasionally read, but I basically became the house poet/emcee and most Fridays it was just me and the bands.

As the focus became more about the bands, those of us who did read poetry felt increasingly marginalized as the audience was largely made up of fans and friends of the bands. Much of the time these people would leave right after the band they supported finished their set. By the time the poets got to the mic, they were reading to an empty room. One of these poets was Linda DiFeterici who organized and promoted poetry reading through her organization, Cavalcade of Poetry and wanted to move the poetry to another night and start a poetry slam. Barbara agreed, so Saturdays became the new night for poetry. The new format consisted of an open mic, a featured performer and the poetry slam. I emceed the open mic and Linda emceed the rest of the evening. The turn-out for these nights was pretty decent at first, especially on nights when we had a feature from out-of-town. Things went well for awhile. Fridays were all about the bands and the teenie-weenies, but Saturdays were all about poetry for the adults. There were some successes during this time. Barbara, Linda and I organized 2 poetry festivals and Linda organized a lot of readings for charity, including an annual event at the Walt Whitman Center. And, one of our poets went to the National Poetry Slam with the New Jersey team one year and as an individual performer another year. But, for lots of reasons, this particular incarnation didn’t last. Both Linda and I moved on to other things. Barbara, who had started a writer’s group by this time, decided to continue the Saturday poetry readings under new management as an extention of the writer’s group and turned it over to Renee Rasinger (yeah, that Renee). There was a tentative agreement for me to return as host in 2003, but Renee didn’t follow through on her end and the deal fell through. I would still pop-in on rare occasions when I wasn’t otherwise engaged, but I was no longer involved in any official capacity and, until recently, hadn’t read poetry down there in years.

Eventually, Renee left and another member of Barbara’s group took over. Other poetry venues started to open their doors and Brenner’s was no longer the only game in town. By that time it was too little too late, I suppose. Interest declined.

And it’s ashame. And it’s something all of us involved in the South Jersey poetry scene should feel sorry for — myself included. See, whether we had a good reason or not, we all abandoned Brenner’s Brew. Barbara Brenner never abandoned us. How many poets, artists and musicians have benefited from her patronage over the years? I’m thinking many. Many who’ve never properly thanked her. For her support. For opening her doors. For providing us with a second home.

Yes, damn it, I said, “home.” Because, with apologies to Thomas Wolfe, that’s exactly what it felt like Saturday night — it felt like coming home. Hell, it felt like I never left.

So, thanks Barbara. For everything.

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