Seeking redemption through poetry

It's 8:30 a.m. on Saturday at the Monroe Correctional Complex, one of Washington state’s largest prisons. Men in khaki pants and white t-shirts at the front of a large visiting space with white walls and a painted mural wait to begin a performance of their own written work.

More men wearing khaki and white with green name badges take seats on folding chairs for the first of two showings for the day at the Twin River Unit. A handful of visitors, who have passed through tight security, also take their seats.

Soon Daemond Arrindell, one of the facilitators of Freehold Theater’s Engaged Theater Project at the prison, takes center stage. The prisoners line up behind him. Faces, once nervous, anticipating, eyeing their audience, now fall into character.

“It is not a poem, it is not a play…it is what it is,” Arrindell said, introducing “We Walk Upon the Bodies of the Dead,” the culmination of 300 pages of writing, winnowed down to this piece.

The writer, teacher and spoken word poet, who will be performing and leading workshops at the Skagit River Poetry Festival in La Conner this weekend, has paired for the 10th year with Seattle Actor Carter Rodriguez through the Engaged Theater residency program at the Monroe Complex in the program’s mission to bring theater to underserved audiences.

Arrindell and Rodriguez have spent three months fostering the performance about to begin, Arrindell with the writing and Rodriguez with improvisation and acting technique.

The 16 men line up, and soon are interweaving, silently marching in and around each other, arms in choreographed motion. A low hum sets off the piece, beginning a collage of myth, with chorus of repetition and individual words, lines and stories of the writers threaded throughout.

“It all began with the war between the Gods,” one man’s voice booms, setting off a creation story of discord. A slow-motion battle ensues, silent and fraught, setting the tone of parable and conflict that will reveal itself in the stories of the writers whose lives have led them to this place.

“I take all of their writing and cut and paste. It’s poetry as opposed to linear storytelling; it’s never a poem or a play, it’s somewhere in between,” Arrindell said in an interview before Saturday’s production. “The theme comes from whatever seems to be prominent in their lives at the moment.”

After “the Beginning” comes “the Age of Hands,” a metaphor for coming of age, revealing hands “too delicate and tender,” becoming fists, the power of creation turned to destruction. “In the age of hands, we lost….” A tapestry of disappointments unfolds through the players and their stories: A letter from prison that gets no response. Pulling the plug on a grandfather in a coma. A man in the courtroom, shackled, sees his mother for the first time since the crime. She breaks down in sobs when she asks what he’s done — how do you tell your mother you’re a monster?

Through writing prompts and exercises in imagery, metaphor, repetition and improvisation, Arrindell gets the writers to dig beneath the surface, Rodriguez to project it outwards.

“We don’t ever ask them what they’ve done,” says Arrindell. “We don’t want to get into a place of labeling. A lot of their stories come out in their writing, sometimes directly, sometimes metaphorically. I know no matter what it is that they have done, to be able to grow, they have to hold themselves accountable.”

Stories of joy follow “the Age of Fear” — a puppy given by the father sitting under the Christmas tree amidst the debris of unwrapped presents and broken ornaments; the “bomb sauce” of a Dick’s burger; looking into the eyes of the just born daughter; and “I was the homecoming king, and she was my queen” — remnants of lives before prison that burn bright in recollection.

“First, we are not as different as we think we are,” says Arrindell, whose work with various groups along the Puget Sound corridor forms its own interwoven tapestry from rural to urban, in schools, with kids in the juvenile justice system, to prisons; to college and in social justice workshops for teachers. He has taught in schools in Tacoma, Seattle and this past year has worked with students throughout Skagit County, from Burlington to Concrete as well as Bellingham and Oak Harbor.

Despite the difference in the groups he works with, there is a common thread, says Arrindell.

“There are issues of oppression in all areas in all communities regardless of the group, issues that set us apart. But we are all children inside, and we all want to feel special. We all want to feel accepted and important and valued.”

Art, says Arrindell, is one of the few avenues that allows us to express our vulnerability and be seen as unique. “And having that validated, that need is true no matter what community you are in.”

The performance ends with one voice in a bid for validation in song: “Open your heart to see that I’m human. Open your heart to say you’ll forgive me.”

The voices now rise together, strong and clear. Hands in the air, the actors look out over the audience, which rises itself in a standing ovation at the close of the piece, causing a man with a tattoo to wipe a tear from his eye.

“I know a lot of you guys pretty well,” says an audience member when opened to questions after the performance. “What was it like to get out of your comfort zone?”

“It was thrilling,” said one of the performers. Another said the performance had been a life-changing event.

A transgender inmate said the process of the Freehold residency had allowed her to write a letter to her abuser. “A lot of people look at me and judge me. It was a way for me to write about my pain,” she said before turning the question on the facilitators, asking why they had chosen to come work in a place so “misunderstood.”

“I know that I am not any better than anyone who is incarcerated. I know it’s a matter of circumstance,” said Rodriguez, a seasoned Shakespeare actor, teacher and director with Freehold Theater. “Your stories fascinate me always. We teach what we want to learn, and I learn so much from you guys.”

Some inmates in the audience asked how to sign up for the next year. A two-time veteran of the program told the group this was the best show yet. Performers beamed with pride and gratitude, and many mentioned the new role that writing would play in their lives.

Superintendent of the Monroe Correctional Facility, Michael Obenland, says the program and those like it create a safer facility by giving inmates something to look forward to. “The men walk out having experienced an event that they probably never experienced before in their life. It may open their minds into doing something different and setting aside their criminal activity,” he said of the work the Engaged Theater Project residency brings to the prison.

The process is one of growing and moving forward, says Arrindell. “To become something more than you’ve been in the past and that’s what a lot of these guys are doing, they are looking for redemption. There is no group that I work with that is more fulfilling than the men and women who are incarcerated. They know full well what it is we are bringing in for them. They are very kind, they are grateful, they are graceful.”

The performers thanked the facilitators and asked each to perform — Arrindell a spoken word poem, Rodriguez a piece from Henry IV.

Prisoners lined up to thank the attendees, shaking hands at the door, filled with the broken down walls that baring souls and strong performance can bring. Then set up for the next show.