Henry Raby | Say Owt

The beginnings of Say Owt

Interviewer: How did Say Owt begin?

Henry: Stu Freestone and I were performing at different open mic nights — poetry nights, music nights — but we didn’t feel there was quite a space for our kind of spoken word. I came at it from a punky perspective, while Stu was more inspired by hip-hop spoken word. So we thought: let’s put on our own night.

We decided to do a poetry slam: a competition where poets perform, are judged, and there’s a winner. That adds an exciting, competitive edge. Our first event was in 2014, at the City Screen basement, and we sold it out. We realised we were on to something. Since then we’ve put on poetry, spoken word, music, hip-hop and storytelling — things that feel raw and live, with people getting up to speak to an audience.

Building a supportive, lively atmosphere

Interviewer: How do you get people to be less polite — to say what they’re feeling?

Henry: I like to think our spaces are polite in the sense that we build community and people support one another. A lot of the gigs are technically competitions, but the point isn’t really the points. The point is the poetry.

Afterwards the poets cheer each other on, chat, share feedback or tips, and show solidarity. Everyone is in the same boat: they’re getting up and giving it a go. But the performance itself can be gobby, raw and raucous. We want people to come on a Friday or Saturday night, get dressed up and enjoy a loud poetry gig. We want them to cheer and be enthusiastic.

That’s why we love places like The Crescent, pubs, back rooms and gig venues. They’re places where audiences are already used to live music or comedy. We try to bring that same energy to poetry.

The first poetry slam

Interviewer: Did the first event attract much support? Starting something new can be difficult.

Henry: It was something different for York. We booked Mark Grist, who at the time had attracted a lot of attention for a battle-rap video. That helped bring people in. We also had about fifteen “slammers” — the poets entering the competition — which was too many, really, but each brought people along.

It was manic and chaotic, and we didn’t quite know what to expect. I hadn’t hosted many gigs before, although I’d done some DIY pop-up events. I remember it very fondly. We’ve since had a big tenth-birthday gig with local poets and the beatboxer Testament. We still get excited about putting on a great night.

Getting involved in spoken word

Interviewer: If somebody has never performed poetry before, how do they get involved?

Henry: First, come and check it out. If you’re curious, go and see a poet or performer. York is chock-a-block with open mic nights, and they’re all different. There’s York Spoken Word at the Exhibition Hotel, Rise at Bluebird Bakery, Ebor Poets, Tidings with Waterstones, an open mic at Portal Bookshop and Howlers. York Writers and Written in York also share information about events. There are plenty of places to start.

The groups support and promote each other. If you feel nervous, come along, see what the atmosphere is like, and take it from there.

We do two Say Owt poetry slams a year. We’d just had one in September, and the next one was planned for April. People ask about the application process, but essentially you email us. We don’t audition poems. We try to vary the line-up rather than have exactly the same performers back-to-back, and to prioritise poets from York and the surrounding area, though we also welcome some from further afield. The point is to help local people build connections.

Neurodivergence, storytelling and access

Interviewer: Do you see many neurodivergent people taking part in spoken-word poetry?

Henry: Cory Rich won our April 2026 slam and performed a poem about neurodivergence. It responded humorously to public claims about paracetamol in pregnancy and autism. It was an example of how poets can speak openly about their own experiences and respond to what’s happening around them.

A lot of poets talk openly about who they are and how they experience the world. I think I’m most likely neurodivergent too. What I love about spoken word is that you can get up and say: here’s something about my life and who I am. It’s a direct form of storytelling.

On access, we can always do better. Say Owt gigs can be loud and raucous, which may be difficult for people with sensory sensitivities. At The Crescent, for example, there’s space to sit towards the back, where the noise can feel less intense.

There’s also a predictable structure to a slam: a number of poets come up, perform, the audience applauds, and there’s a score. That repetition can make it more comfortable than an event full of unexpected changes. But we’re always open to feedback and conversations about people’s access needs.

The written word and live performance

Interviewer: A poem has another dimension when it’s spoken, doesn’t it?

Henry: We’ve published a couple of anthologies, and some of the artists in the company have self-published too. People sell books at our gigs, so the written side is still part of the scene. But I think the audience is really important. Who are you talking to as a poet or writer? There’s nothing like learning that by standing in front of people, delivering your work and sharing it.

Finding the confidence to perform

Interviewer: What would you say to somebody who wants to try spoken word but lacks confidence?

Henry: Come along and watch first. Don’t look at accomplished performers and think, “I could never do that.” We’re all people in a room giving it a go. We also run workshops and “scratch” sessions where people can try something without a microphone or public audience, sharing it with peers and getting feedback.

If you want to take it further, practise at home, try open mics and think about your audience. If somebody asks me how to win a poetry slam, I say: be genuine, be authentic. Sometimes neurodivergent people feel pressure to mask; sometimes that mask comes off and we’re simply ourselves.

Your poems might be funny and gobby, reflective and heartfelt, or political and acerbic. That’s not the important thing. The important thing is that you mean what you’re saying. You don’t have to be a loud, shouty performer: someone calm and reflective can have just as much impact.

Punk influences and independent voices

Interviewer: You describe yourself as a punk artist. How did you get into that?

Henry: One of the first poets to really inspire me was John Cooper Clarke. I saw him at a GCSE Poetry Live event when I was about fifteen. His delivery was fast, surreal, strange and energetic. Later, when I got into punk music, I realised he was part of that world too. At first I imitated his style, then I started finding my own.

For me, punk is DIY: doing it yourself, being independent, making things happen without waiting for permission. It’s also about challenging accepted ways of doing things and inviting artists who challenge them. We’ve featured working-class voices from Bradford, Palestinian artists, neurodivergent voices and LGBTQ voices. Those are perspectives that often don’t get enough space. I want to bring them to York and support them.

That’s the punk spirit to me: championing outsiders, people working at the grassroots, people the mainstream doesn’t always hear — and doing it with a bit of bite.

DIY and professionalism

Interviewer: Is there a tension between being raw and doing things well?

Henry: I do think being professional matters. There’s a difference between being independent, getting up and giving it a go, and not trying to do it well. I programme the poetry stage at Manchester Punk Festival. It’s incredibly DIY, without sponsorship, and it supports good causes and interesting politics. Yet it’s also organised and professional.

There’s room for silliness, craziness and playfulness, but also for careful planning and structure. We can be well organised without being hierarchical. We can be playful, share ideas and build community — and do it really well.