By: Megan DiBello
Poetry Teachers NYC is honored to have Amber, a former student, perform for 3 Po3try NYC.
Every movement she makes on stage is a new word. Her voice summons an experience to grow around you.
You are taken into rooms of her writing with doors that we are told not to open.
Each stanza carves a new key, and yet still a locked door.
By the final last stanza you are left with one skeleton key dangling from your wrist.
From this journey ‘On The Road’ with Amber’s work, she makes you realize that every key said: ‘Home’.
BIO: Amber is an award-winning performer who has worked professionally across Canada and in New York. She has written a short one-woman solo show entitled “DipKid” about her experiences as a Diplomat’s daughter traveling the world. Currently she is exploring ways to expand the format and content of the piece. Theatre credits include: Fires in the Mirror (dir. Jesse Freedman), Mr. Kolpert (Preview of the Arts) , RICH (MTYP), Smokescreen (MTYP); And By the Way, Miss...(Theatre Direct – Dora Award), A Streetcar Named Desire (ATF), The Miracle Worker (ATF), The Hobbit (ATF), The Heidi Chronicles (ATC) and The Other Side of the Closet (Montreal Youtheatre). Amber holds a BA in Theatre from Acadia University and is a member of Actors’ Equity.
Purchase Tickets to see more from AMBER and other 3 Po3try Poets on July 31st at Organic Modernism Here!
How intense is the HEAT in your poetry?
I tend to bubble at a slow simmer. My words turn up the heat to a rolling boil and sometimes spill over the sides leaving stains on the stovetop.
What does your poetry build around the reader/listener?
A safe space. A container. A room full of mirrors to reflect the way a moment is felt and seen.
What do you fill the room with when you perform?
Pain and light. Sly smiles and furrowed brows. Poise.
If your poetry was a body of water, what/where would it be? Why?
The point where the ocean meets the horizon: a clean natural line made up of clear moving molecules.
Because the possibilities are endless and because I know I won’t fall off the edge of the world but it still looks and feels that way.
If your poetry was a meal, what is it and how is it prepared?
A bowl of spaghetti. Long thin noodles intertwining and drowning in thick savory sauce. Wrapped around sturdy silver forks.
If you could tattoo a word to your body, what would it be and why?
I used to think I wanted “Breathe” somewhere on my wrist. But I don’t need the reminder. I find my scars, marks and moles read as stories on my skin.
What leads you to the presentation of your words?
An incontrollable urge to share. The desire to stand and be before you. The silence before and after a piece.
How does space play a part in how you write/read?
I could write in the tiniest of spaces or in an endless meadow. The place where my eyes go when I look up and to the left as my fingers dance on the keys can be found in any setting. That being said, I need to be alone to bring true honesty to my words.
What are some memorable words a mentor/teacher ever told you?
“Welcome to your 20s” when I was in them and full of angst and doubt. It just opened up my world to think of a tribe of folk going through periods of uncertainty and made me want to capture my thoughts and revelations to remember them later. Granted, I’m still battling the same demons in my 30s, but even that is like a kind of comfort.
If you could retitle any book, what would it be and why?
“On the Road” à “Home”. I am grounded in movement; at ease with the whizz of pavement rolling by. My home is a state of perpetual motion and constant introduction (or re-introduction) of myself and those around me.