by Emily Ellis

Today being the first of September made me realize that fall has arrived, which means that the weather will steadily grow colder and nastier from here on out, at least for those of us who reside north of the equator. This led me to think way ahead to January and February (it’s a slow day at the office), and I thoroughly depressed myself by imagining the chilly rains and shapeless weather-beaten coats that would soon creep back into my life. And then, idly trawling the internet, I found it—a vibrant, pulsing, blaring escape from the most dismal part of winter: The International Poetry Festival in Granada, Nicaragua.

Despite being a poor country with a high illiteracy rate, for one week every year Nicaragua becomes a Mecca for the art of the spoken word. Generally held in the third week of February, the Poetry Festival is one of the most eagerly anticipated events in Nicaragua—even the small surrounding towns hold little festivals that imitate the big one in Granada. Anyone making a visit to the city that time of year will see poets from all over the world strolling down the cobbled streets and sipping chilled, fruity macuas outside the vibrantly painted colonial buildings. Open mikes are set up outside many bars and restaurants, where amateurs can step up and recite their work for passersby. Perhaps the two most famous living Nicaraguan writers, Ernesto Cardinal and Gioconda Belli, are present every year to read from both their most recent work and their old classics to general roaring approval.

The majority of the events take place in the city’s central park and plaza, where audiences consisting of a wide variety of ages, classes and nationalities crowd together to witness the free concerts, readings, and dance performances that go on throughout the day and into the balmy, rum-scented night. The shows range from school children reciting the poems of Ruben Dario, Nicaragua’s favorite native son and the father of modernist poetry, to deafening, emotive concerts from some of Central America’s most popular musicians. All visiting poets first recite their work in their own language before a translator reads a Spanish version. It is rather moving to witness the locals, many of whom could never afford to travel outside the country, standing rapt with attention as rhythmic strains of Arabic, Dutch and Croat echo down their streets. If I can manage it, I will definitely head down to Granada when February rolls around. I don’t think anything could take the edge off winter better than spending a week immersed in such a powerful outpouring of art, self-expression, and national pride.