The Bokeh Lounge is a bar that sits a few blocks outside downtown Evansville, IN. There’s 100 year old houses in the neighborhood just beyond it that feature stop and stare architecture if you’re into that kind of thing.
On first glance, the Bokeh Lounge looks like any other of many midwestern hipster bars. You know the look. The big bulb string lights strung around. Beers served in distressed metal buckets with tastefully exposed brick and metal tubes for the HVAC system hanging out in the open creating an industrialized warehouse feel befitting Midwest hipster drinkers that may or may not ever step into industrialized buildings otherwise.
But as you get closer you’ll notice two things quick that separate Bokeh Lounge from run of the mill average hipster. There’s a little free library outside their bar, and all of the towns plays, musicals, comedy shows and concerts are proudly advertised, their tour posters nearly covering the front window. I can’t confirm this for fact, as I’ve only been there twice, but I’d wager that the Bokeh Lounge is part of helping foster a creative community, and more than just on the third Tuesday of the month when the Poetry Speaks performance series is hosted on their stage.
When you walk in the Bokeh there’s a long bar on your left with some tables, then a large open space on your right with a low stage in front of it. I don’t drink alcohol, but they stock Red Bull and cranberry juice, my favorite NA bar beverage. Their drinks must be good. They were enjoyed liberally by many. They have good bar food, too, most everything you need for a good night out.
Last Tuesday was my second time visiting the Bokeh Lounge. My second time being asked to feature at the Poetry Speaks poetry and open mic. To tell you about Poetry Speaks, I have to tell you about Hoosier Bill.
Hoosier Bill Sovern was a longtime poet, genre bending artist, Vietnam veteran and marijuana advocate. He is a legend in the art scene of Evansville, having mentored dozens of poets and artists and having fought to create space for artists to share their work. He founded Poetry Speaks long ago, and its endurance of being one of the longest running poetry readings in the State of Indiana is a testament to the beautiful, inclusive scene he left behind when he passed away in a auto accident in 2021.
Jonathan S. Baker, Evansville poet and publisher, picked up the reins and carries the spirit of Hoosier Bill quite well. Jonathan hosts Poetry Speaks, and since this is my story and I can tell it how I want to, I’ll tell you that Baker has also done a lot of work he never tells anyone about to continue to build and foster that inclusive environment in the Evansville scene.
Both times I’ve featured at Poetry Speaks there’s been a big crowd. Probably 35-50 people. It’s hard to count heads because they’re always moving around talking to others and dipping outside for smokes and laughter. I love that their crowd is 80% younger than me, and more than half are female or queer. A few drive nearly two hours from Kentucky or Bloomington. Talk about a great group of passionate creative humans. They’re not a snap your fingers in a library crowd, they’re a hoot and holler in the middle of a good poem bar crowd. My favorite kind. Nothing winds me up more as a rowdy blue collar poet than knowing that the crowd is not only hanging in there with me every poem, but that they’re actively digging what I’m laying down.
Last Tuesday night I featured with the writer, songwriter and artist, A.S. Coomer of Owensboro, KY, one of my closest friends, and poet/publisher Chelsea Rector from north Kentucky. Coomer went first, and his poetry is fucking seamless and beautiful despite its dystopian stark truth content. He read one of my favorite poems of his, “A Little Shit Can Cause a Big Stink,” and he kicked off the reading beautifully.
I read my poetry set. It went well. Lots of hoots and yawps and yelps. And lots of hugs later told me I did well. Chelsea kicked ass. Her work is different than traditional coffeehouse poet fare. She was literally hawking a $5 cassette tape of her work. I dug what she was laying down for us.
After the features, the real beauty of Poetry Speaks took over: the open mic. They don’t turn anyone away that wants to perform a poem or two, and the list ran 15 plus deep both times I’ve been. Baker is a good host, improvising introductions in between readers, occasionally taking the liberty to read an original poem, or a favorite poem from other poets that fits in with the vibe of the night. He dutifully reminds others to buy books from and support the traveling features, and to take good care of the bar staff that’s allowing them to have space, and he somehow goes the extra mile to make sure both are taken care of, and if you know him, you know its true.
The open mic last Tuesday featured veteran poets and brand new ones alike, and I tell you no matter how many people grow to acknowledge my own work, I’ll never get tired of watching poets and artists that are just finding their voice and their sea legs in this ocean of art.
If you know me, I dropped into poetry readings intermittently over the years, never having the courage to read my poems in front of shiny faced strangers. In my 20’s I was struggling with homelessness and alcoholism. Mental health and trauma. No one at the coffee shops ever read poems that sounded like mine. Then I got sober, and recovery meetings and halfway houses, and 60 hours a week at two jobs to rebuild a life, and no one read poems about that when I stopped into the coffee houses again. I didn’t start reading poetry in public until I was 34 years old. So inclusive open mics will always be special to me. It’s where I found the community and family I was looking for my whole life. Where I found other people that loved poetry like it was their childhood security blanket, too.
Back to poetry speaks, one artist wore a mask and a business suit. He gave us a heavy metal poetry performance of sorts. Some sat down to read. Some read short stories, some from published books, some from their cell phone’s notes app. I got to see my girlfriend Jess read her poetry in public for the first time, and hopefully, I’m certain, not for the last time. She crushed it like a pro. The open mic was spirited, engaging, fun, lighthearted and deadly serious. Full of laughs, a little rage, and a few tears. What more could you ask from a free event in a cool bar in this leap and election year that features a complete solar eclipse?
After the show, I sold, bartered and gifted books, leaving with some cash in my smiling pockets. The Evansville artists chatted and smoked with us for an hour, then me, Coomer, Jess and a local artist stood around and smoked for another hour of fellowship. It was good weather for February. Warm enough that we made it an hour in our hoodies before our fingertips got frosty.
Poetry Speaks has been around for a long time. They regularly feature the best traveling and local poets and artists, and they’re only a five hour drive from where my camper is parked. I’m going to try to get there in April when PW Covington is there. We’ll see. Either way, they’re worth the drive and effort for a three hour poetry hug that you’ll not forget for a long while. I can’t wait to get back. I’ve got many friends down that way now. I met writer and artist Snow Mathews there. Jonathan Baker of course. Arizona. MB. And I’m gonna leave too many out if I don’t stop, but point is, Evansville is good to me, and I know they can’t wait to share their scene with you, too.
A.S. Coomer reading
Chelsea Rector reading
Me reading
Host Jonathan S. Baker reading
It is very encouraging reading that you were 34 when you started to read. I'm really fucking shy and I'm trying to grow a pair myself, and it's sincerely cool to know someone as amazing as you started later in life. I was at the Bokeh lounge thing, hence creeping so fast back in your blog lol. Love this post so much.