Every Tuesday night, the EarthPeace room at Rooted Space 一 a fitness studio by day 一 transforms into a makeshift auditorium. The lights are dimmed and rows of chairs face the small wooden stage. Around 7 p.m., local writers filter in and can begin signing up for the Page 3 Poetry open mic, jotting down their names in what regulars call “the tome,” a hefty, worn-out journal held together by string and tape. When the show begins at 7:30 p.m., there are just three rules: no hate speech, respect the equipment and don’t exceed the eight-minute time slot allotted to each writer. Within these guidelines, performers are free to share any type of poetry, song or prose.
Page 3 Poetry is a close-knit community, carried on through tradition and word of mouth. “We’re a whole hidden underworld,” said James Otter, who hosts the open mics. As he prepared for last Tuesday’s show, he was dressed in all black and a red tie. “This interview here is the first time I’ve gotten to really bring it out. But we’ve been underground for a while.”
The weekly open mic was started by Otter’s mentor, Kit Chell, around five years ago. It was initially held at Cush Cafe. When Chell announced his plans to discontinue the event, Otter “refused to let that happen” and took over as host, claiming the title of “Poet Overload.” Cush Cafe closed about four months ago, halting poetry nights until members migrated to Rooted Space, their “new home.”
Otter has been writing since he first caught the poetry bug at age 9. For him, poetry provides a place to belong and a strength that lets him stand out. “I want other people to feel that way 一 not arrogant but confident,” he said. “Like this is my work and it doesn’t matter if anyone else gets it cause I love it.”
At the open mic last Tuesday, an audience of about 20 listened attentively to 11 performers. Writers sang original songs while playing guitar, read poetry out of notebooks or off of phones, recited memorized works and even freestyled, speaking whatever was on their minds. Styles ranged from carefully crafted verses depicting natural beauty to conversational venting about financial and personal struggles.
Otter performed “The Backroom,” a poem about Cush Cafe, the home away from home he is sad to be leaving behind. With a booming voice, he described “our dark dingy cave, with two hanging lights, our solid wood floor, our organ by the stange.” As he read, Otter paced through the audience and gestured theatrically. The poem expressed the difficulty of walking away from a place that holds so many memories: “I’ve moved on in body but never in mind. I’m still in that darkness, holding onto my mic.”
“The Backroom” revealed the community attachments Page 3 Poetry has created. While the event is open to all, many familiar faces show up every week. According to Otter, people keep coming back because “they feel safe and they feel connected to each other. It’s very therapeutic for a lot of people because we don’t really censor here.”
In keeping with tradition, Otter is now training his own mentee, the younger writer and musician Nic Coe, to host open mics. These bonds between members are part of what’s allowed the group to persist over the years. “We’re durable,” Otter said. “I’ve seen a lot of open mics come and go over the years but this one is very durable.” In their corner of Eugene Page 3 Poetry, an eccentric community of writers and musicians, continues sharing their work and creating a safe space for their peers.
