Typing Explosion: poetry, theater and dance at 60 words per minute
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It is practically an antique now: the humble, once-ubiquitous typewriter.
Replaced by computer keyboards and monitors, those old Royals, Smith-Coronas and Olivettis don't get much respect (or use) anymore. But they are essential tools of The Typing Explosion, an ingenious three-woman cadre of Seattle poet-performers.
The Typing Explosion's underground success as guerrilla word-tappers has propelled three fast-fingered gals in their mid-20s (equipped with quaint office machines) into their first theatrical run. Their first play, "Dear Diane," premieres at On the Boards next week.
Previously, Typing Explosion members Sarah Paul Ocampo, Sierra Nelson and Rachel Kessler took their unique literary act mainly to galleries, private parties and the streets.
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Garbed in prim '50s-style office gear (straight skirts, nylon stockings, high heels), they would spend three hours at a stretch seated at their keyboards, pounding out poems - based on titles the group wrote on file cards, which patrons were invited to select from. They also charged a modest fee per poem: $1.
During a recent chat, Kessler and Nelson described how the troupe writes assembly-line style, passing pages hand-to-hand so each typist devises part of every poem. They tend not to speak during this lickety-split process, but employ plenty of sound effects - bells, whistles and alarm clocks that punctuate their labors.
During "Dear Diane," The Typing Explosion will zip off a few fresh poems. But they'll also broaden their creative margins.
All three characters in the piece are secretaries named Diane. And, explains Kessler, the show doesn't "have anything like a formal, regular narrative." The script is actually made up mostly of poems culled from the 3,000 verses The Typing Explosion has collectively concocted in its three-year history.
What's also new about the 45-minute piece, which Jamie Hook is directing, is that the trio is speaking aloud, dancing and singing. Some of their verses have been made into songs, with Ocampo's hard-rock band, Muy Triste, playing live backup.
"I have some stage fright," admits Kessler, with a grin. "I'm a writer who is accidentally a performer. It's interesting to have to confront acting, and explore and explode that idea."
Nelson, a graduate student in creative writing at the University of Washington, hopes the more theatrical format will help the troupe get touring gigs. But she also wants to retain "the excitement and energy of our guerrilla writing. We want poetry to be really playful, and a public, communal event."
But why the old-fashioned secretary get-ups and typewriter fetishism? Kessler says one of her chief inspirations is her mother, who toiled in Seattle offices.
"I'd visit her at work and be fascinated by the adding machine and typewriter she was using, the inkiness and physicality of it all. A lot of kids play house. I'd play, like, office. Or bank."
Though they'd rather have it be "under the radar" than overtly stated, Typing Explosion members also see their act as a way to "subvert and satirize" the routineness of most mundane clerical jobs - especially those held by women. And they like the idea of juxtaposing that with the free-flying spirit of poetry.
"In the play, we're showing a parallel universe - a day in the inner life of an office worker, who maybe is doing boring things at work, but she's really a poet, not a drone," explains Kessler.
"It's kind of close to what was happening in the Dada movement and with the Surrealists," inserts Nelson, "where you look below the surface of everyday reality and find something very different."
Misha Berson can be reached at mberson@seattletimes.com.