In the beginning was the word

The throng at the Conga Room on L.A.’s Miracle Mile is just a dozen or so shy of a level that brings a frown to fire marshals. Elegantly dressed women occupy most of the seats, and the men jammed into the area near the bar have left the baggy club gear at home in favor of more fashionable garb.

But despite the singles-night-out vibe, this evening is not about the hook-up. A few women sip Cosmopolitans, but the bar is doing only moderate business. Cellphones have been holstered and silenced. Most of all, there is quiet. The only rap going down is on the stage, where a poet who identifies herself as Simply Kat is getting her word on, speaking, eyes closed, of her lover.

“We are love, so I take the bitter with the sweet,” she says, swaying as her arms seem to take on a life of their own, her phrasing a rhythmic machine gun as she describes her emotional roller coaster in “the middle ground between a ‘ho and a housewife ... I love you so much that [it] hurts, my teardrops burst.” Her sentences are laced with X-rated language and original words like “crackulatin.”

As her words flow, a man nearby on stage wearing a “No War” T-shirt and jeans, his face bearing more wear and tear than anyone in the large audience, plays with watercolor images on a large plastic covered canvas, illustrating the poet’s thoughts with large swirls and images.

The performance kicks off another session of the Flypoet Spoken Word and Music Showcase, and the enthusiastic audience response to Simply Kat is another demonstration of how the talk of the town is becoming more about the talk around town.

With a major boost from the “Def Poetry” franchise, which has brought a rock concert-like ambience to the performance of poetry, the urban spoken word scene is breaking out, moving from its traditional stomping grounds of street corners, coffeehouses and living rooms to clubs and other venues usually filled with throbbing music.

Pioneers of the scene say that although the number of informal settings could probably be counted on two hands back in the 1970s, dozens of showcases have popped up from Leimert Park to Miracle Mile to the San Fernando Valley. In these spots, it’s not about getting down to the tunes of Snoop, Jay-Z or Nelly. It’s all about taking in the words of Poetri, Shihan, Scorpio Blues and Poet Roni Girl.

Near-overflow audiences have been flocking to the monthly Flypoet showcase at the Conga Room, which usually hosts musical acts such as Latin percussionist Poncho Sanchez. B.B. King’s Blues Club at CityWalk in Universal City recently featured an evening of urban wordsmiths. Performances at the weekly Da’ Poetry Lounge at the Greenway Court Theatre in the Fairfax district are so packed that several patrons sit on the stage.

More informal open-mike showcases, in which aspiring poets can perform, are prospering all over town, from the patio of the Magic Johnson Starbucks in a Ladera Heights shopping center to the dining area of a Studio City bakery.

“Spoken word is at its very peak, the biggest I’ve ever seen,” says Roni Walter, a pioneer of the local scene who has been performing poetry for more than 10 years.

“You can find something almost any night of the week. There are so many venues now that are really taking it seriously. Poets are the new rappers.”

Much of the buzz in today’s poetry arena revolves around “spoken word,” which is defined as having the energy of rap and hip-hop, but minus the infectious beats that characterize popular music.

“As rap becomes more commercial, spoken word has stayed in the grass-roots,” says Cheryl Keyes, associate professor of ethnomusicology at UCLA. “It offers an alternative voice that is more political and less about the bling bling.”

Adds Poetri, a regular on “Def Poetry” who has been performing for more than 12 years: “The difference between old-fashioned poetry readings and spoken word is huge. Spoken word brings entertainment value to poetry.”

Poetri has sponsored a poetry workshop for the last three years where he teaches a four-week, $200 course on the writing and performance of spoken word. “Three years ago, I was begging people to take it. But in its third year, it’s completely sold out,” and he’s preparing to kick off another session.

The current renaissance of spoken word comes more than four decades after beat poets and beatniks filled coffeehouses with their artful protests against war and establishment politics. Rod McKuen and Jimmy Webb brought poetry into the popular music sphere during the ‘60s and ‘70s. Early spoken-word groups such as the Last Poets and the Watts Prophets and artists such as Gil Scott Heron emerged in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s as voices of black consciousness responding to the civil rights movement. Those artists faded into the background for several years, but rappers such as N.W.A and Ice Cube point to those earlier works as influences.

Today’s scene has not only provided veteran poets with more places to express their art, but it has also inspired increasing numbers of novices to find their voices. Performers include high schoolers and frustrated comedians who appreciate the more receptive fans of spoken word -- in this arena, a joke that bombs is not unfunny, it’s “self-expression.” And if it happens to be funny, all the better.

Lee Mallory, an English professor at Santa Ana College, cites several factors why spoken word, as well as the more traditional poetry performances in coffeehouses and bookstores, have blossomed in popularity:

“People are disillusioned with politics, TV is a wasteland, people have gotten all caught up with e-mail and text messaging,” says Mallory, who has written several poetry books. “Poetry provides a lot of opportunity to bring us together with supercharged language. It doesn’t fit the stereotype any more of the rhyme-y stuff in bookstores, the greeting card kind of stuff. It’s visceral, the most intense communication you can have.”

The artists and audiences cross all cultural spectrums. Though political and social statements are a staple, others want to talk about heartbreak, obsession, true love and why they hated the latest urban film saga. Some of the language can be sexually graphic, but the performers are generally encouraged to stick to material that can be enjoyed by families.

“It’s become a phenomenon because there are people feeding off the energy of those on stage who may be voicing an exact emotion that you are feeling,” Flypoet founder John Hensley says.

What Hensley calls “the Mars and Venus thing” doesn’t hurt, either.

“Most of the audience for spoken word is female,” he says. “Women really respond to the sensitivity that goes along with a lot of the poems. So they come for the poems, and the guys come for the girls. Then the guys start getting into the poetry.”

The venues are as varied as the poets and their sentiments. Flypoet, for instance, is more structured like a professional concert, with more experienced poets. Hensley, who started performing poetry 10 years ago, hosts the showcase and sprinkles musical acts between poets. Norman Winston, who paints during all the performances, is “always looking for wrinkles that will be organic to the show.” After the show, the audience can dance and socialize around the club. The typical cover charge is $12 to $15.

The weekly Da’ Poetry Lounge is more informal. Those who want to perform sign up before the show, and most of the audience is composed of college-age fans. Poetri, one of the hosts, teases and banters with the audience while offering encouraging words to the performers. The back-and-forth between audience and performer make the lounge part freewheeling festival, part therapy.

“People know how difficult it is to get on stage, and they really support who’s ever up there,” says Shihan, a host of the lounge. “It’s about allowing people a venue for free expression, where they will not be judged.”

The feel is even more informal at the Ladera Heights Starbucks, which hosts a Wednesday open-mike spoken word forum. The performers are mostly female and compete with customers and the booming stereos from cars in the parking lot.

Even with its blossoming popularity, much of the local spoken word scene is still grounded in the underground. Showcases are advertised mostly through word-of-mouth, or on crude fliers distributed at bookstores and record stores. Many artists sell their performances on independent CDs and tapes mostly available on websites.

Shihan, another “Def Poetry “ regular and one of the hosts of Da’ Poetry Lounge, says his new CD, “The Poet” on the Groove Gravy label sold 2,400 copies in its first week of release at Tower Records, an impressive figure for a debut poetry release.

“I still don’t think spoken word has gotten to where it’s going to be in the next few years,” says Shihan, who wears hip-hop styled shorts and pulls his hair back into an Afro puff.

Much of the scene, in fact, has the flavor of hip-hop. Some poets provide their own prerecorded beats in the background or use musicians. DJs spin during rhymes or between poets. And many of the poets bring a rap flavor to their performances.

But Hensley says there is a distinct difference between spoken word and rap and that more audiences are leaning toward spoken word as an alternative that allows them to experience the hip without the hip-hop.

“At Flypoet, we really try to shy away from hip-hop for the most part,” he says. “Hip-hop can be very polarizing, as can hard rock. We want to present things that can appeal to more people. It’s definitely not for everybody. It requires a degree of active listening. It should be an emotional experience.”

Adds Shihan: “People hear so much crap during the day on the radio, and spoken word gives you a chance to experience something of genuine importance. You get to hear about human emotion that goes across the spectrum, hearing about what someone else went through and realizing that you went through the same thing.”

Listening for poetic nuggets is one of the most striking aspects of witnessing spoken word. Loud conversations and cellphone rings have long been a bane to film and theater audiences. But those attending spoken word performances are so intent on the words that distractions are frowned upon. Patrons are continually reminded to turn their pagers and phones off. When a cellphone went off recently during the end of a performer’s rant at Da’ Poetry Lounge, several audience members came close to pouncing on the unfortunate recipient of the call.

Says Hensley, “It’s all about respect, respect to the artist. Anyone who goes to spoken word realizes that at any given moment, they may be just around the corner from a ‘oh my God’ comment, an expression that could change their life. And they don’t want to miss those moments.”

Shihan and many others say HBO’s “Russell Simmons’ Def Poetry” was key to the spoken word explosion. The series, which features a group of artists performing in front of a live audience, premiered in 2002, and is still running. A Broadway version of the show premiered in 2003 and won a special Tony award. A national tour followed, and some of the cast members, including Staceyann Chin, have developed their own projects. Chin, for instance, has a one-woman show that has received critical acclaim off-Broadway.

Producer-director Stan Lathan, who is Simmons’ partner in the venture, says he is noticing a growing number of poets auditioning for the series, which tapes in New York: “It’s the most personal form of expression. Even more than performers, we’re finding people who are great writers.”

But with the growth comes concern from some poets that the spoken word scene will lose its grass-roots essence and be compromised by big business.

“I feel that ‘Def Poetry Jam’ has been good and bad for spoken word,” says Shihan. “At times there are some real weak performers and writers, but because it’s on television, it gets validated. We have this medium [Def Poetry] to reach millions of people, but for a lot of poets, it becomes like ‘8 Mile.’ It’s not taken seriously. For me, it’s very serious. I want to do poems that I can be proud of, that my 3-year-old daughter can be proud of.”

Says Poetri: “I really hope the same thing that happened to rap doesn’t happen with spoken word, where corporations compromise it. Then you will lose the flavor of it forever. It’s got to stay the way it is now, real and from the heart.”