Usually when a poet has super-fans it gets really gushy, emotional and uncomfortable. This will be no different, so put on your awkward-shield panty liners and let’s go. Let’s get weird with it.
KFG is a poet who makes me forget that sometimes I think poetry is nothing but self-serving pages filled with pretentious tone and confusing metaphor. Not that I’ve never been confused by one of the G’s metaphors, because I have. I just trust the talent so much that I assume it’s over my head. Because in all likelihood, it is. And yours. And basically everyone else’s. Because KFG writes and exists on a different plane. It’s a lot freer and more intense than ours. And it has granite countertops.
Coming to us from our Bell’s-swilling neighbor to the south, KFG is a recent Grand Rapids transplant, but has been delighting GR crowds with spoken-word poetry at both The Drunken Retort on Monday nights at Stella’s and Smokin’ Spoken Word on Wednesday nights at The Hookah Lounge in Eastown. But now we’ve got dibs. (Sorry ‘bout it, K-Zoo). Grand Rapids will be the first on the scene when another book of poetry drops, like the quaintly-titled debut chapbook: The Year of the Bee. This chapbook kept me company on many a lunch break and provided many opportunities for me to be that girl who reads poetry on her lunch break.
When I say “poetry”, you’re probably picturing miles of flowery imagery and somebody rushing toward a long-lost-loved-one in a giant field. You’re not wrong. Some of it is like that. And that stuff is insufferable. KFG doesn’t write that stuff. To explain what KFG writes, let’s take it directly from the brain of the poet rather than telephoning it through my much lower-functioning mind:
“…I marvel and am often confused by existence, as I [am a] wee baby alien plopped on this planet with no map. My poetry comes from that place of exploration and intense awareness. I write quite a lot on social justice because it is one of my greatest passions, but my poetry also takes a look at the dynamics of American society, mental illness, existentialism, and sometimes just complete absurdity.”
Every once in a while, someone comes around who instantly intrigues me. For no single reason. Just something about the way they say, “whoa jeez” in a sheepish way and it inexplicably doesn’t make you want to punch their teeth. The way they can pair lace overlaid bodysuits with some sort of suspenders and instead of doing that thing where you mean-girl body check them, you just sit back and enjoy the delightful visage. The way that KFG exists in front of the microphone is basically the meaning of life. And lace-overlaid bodysuits with some sort of suspenders.
Contact KFG Poetry to get yourself a copy of The Year of the Bee. It’s easy, really. Just craft your most poetic love letter and send it out in Facebook-land (in the direction of Kay F. Gee) and maybe send some money as well. I hear that helps. Everybody be cool. It’s just a normal day. KFG is just a normal person who co-hosts Put Up or Shut Up, the biggest open mic night in Kalamazoo on Tuesday Nights. KFG is just a normal person who happens to have a heightened understanding of life and love and the absurdity of it all. KFG is just a normal person who performs at solidarity rallies and marches, like those for the kidnapped Nigerian School Girls in Kalamazoo and the Suicide Prevention March in Muskegon. KFG is just a normal person who pursues poetry as an em-effing career while you angrily stab at the keyboard in your office for the remainder of your lunch break.
So I guess KFG isn’t a normal person at all. KFG is a short-stack bundle of insight. KFG is the Mantis Shrimp to our plankton. And that out-of-nowhere sea life reference is why I am not a poet and KFG is, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t take my word for it. Go listen. Tell tales. Sea for yourself. (Get it? Sea?)
Written by Kaira Williams