From spoken-word to words that must be spoken

In the early 2000s, Ottawa, Ontario (Canada) boasted a vibrant arts and poetry scene. As part of the spoken-word poetry collective, Step UP Slam!, I was a regular performer among diverse talents and voices, and took the stage across various other venues in Eastern Canada, including the CBC Poetry Face-Off 2005, Talented Tongues at Venus Envy, Toronto’s Ear to the Ground, Durtygurls Reading Series, WESTFEST, Midnight Madness: Desdechado at The Ottawa Fringe Festival, and Punk Poets Night.

It was the time to try out material and shape my collection of comedic tales, and jump them from stage to page with my first self-published book in 2001, Hoxton Square Circles: starfucking tales of sexless one-night stands. That was followed up by the sombre 2015 sequel, Russell Square Station: mine the trash.

Sylvie Hill successfully straddles the zone between the colloquial and the quixotic with her sassy, tell-it-like-it-is spoken word. She is direct and fearless as she bares all in her stripped down, emotional and humorous performances. One this is for sure: this is a performer to watch out for. ~ Alexis O’Hara, Performance Writer

Performance | anxiety

Performance added the comedic factor to confessionals that chronicled the drunk and romantic adventures of a late 20 year-old woman who was busy making a living and building a career, while trying to figure out relationships without intuiting healthy role models. Smokes and alcohol paved the way to connecting with people — yet the impact of this superficial scheming would only be felt decades later. Fun adventures, though!

Rescued by muses

The shadow of low self-worth and the deep yearning to be seen, heard and understood sexually and intellectually as a companion, lover and supportive partner — lurked. Was I too wild for Ottawa guys? Didn’t want kids, marriage seemed sedating. I channelled it all through writing, nights at the pub, and …looked across the pond.

With never ever so electric as could be the male muses I’ve had in the gentle-manly “A Man Called Woo Woo” and mercurial rake “RJH” — whether their respective Mauritian/British or Maori/Kiwi ancestral frequencies, their affinity with Hunter S. Thompson, or that they were young men making it in London, UK in the ways I was desperate to emulate — my creative spirits were ignited… but now the poems flow no more. Thank goddess, because musing is exhausting! ♥

New book projects

Book #1: Kings Cross Plot: sweet dreams of the riser’s crux and fiction (2028) wraps up my be-musing retrospective collection of poems (150+) from the many mornings after Russell Square Station.

Book #2: explores social-emotional dynamics in the workplace: Work Hurts: workplace injuries of the heart and mind (2029-2030)