As part of an active community of poets, I read and hear all sorts of poetry at open mics and public readings, where poets read their work with varying results. Some read from a book, a reassuring thing, as a published book suggests that the work that has been vetted, edited, worked on diligently. Sometimes the reader’s voice enhances work that I might read on my own. I recall having read a book of poems that did not impress me, but when I subsequently heard the poet read, aha! There was plenty there after all. Not all readers have that skill. Some mumble, some shout, some stumble, some drone on far too long. Please, don’t commit any of these venial sins.

Some read from an electronic device, often a phone. That makes me uneasy. Phones are small, poems not so much. And wonderful as technology is, things do freeze on the screen, the connection goes wonky, the evil thing runs out of juice midway through a poem. So, I don’t trust that method. I’ve yet to have a poem disappear from a printed page. (Yes, I’ve lost pages but that’s an issue for another time.)

Occasionally, a poet recites fully fed, sumptuous work. Right out of the mouth, no papers or screens or books with said poet’s work on them. My reaction? Queasy, what if he/she forgets an important line or word? And I’ve seen a speaker pause to retrieve the memorized work. Said speaker is, according to a successful reciter, reading from an invisible teleprompter. The giveaway is the loss of eye contact with the audience and a brief glance to one side. And there’s the rub. Losing even a nanosecond of connection with the audience breaks the contract, the one where the poet promises to deliver work that flows effortlessly. The effort should be behind us, left on the  desktop, or it should be.

So, there’s no one right way, except one that works–delivers the poem seamlessly, with verve and clear diction. Think about it, practice, prepare. Ours is not a profession that earns much money, but it should earn us the respect of those who choose to listen.