When you’re talking about Danez Smith, the old page-poet/stage-poet dichotomy simply dissolves. Their stage poems contain all the precision of the most well-crafted lyrics, and their page poems burn with the fire of any performance poet.

Smith's versatility (plus their tireless hustle and talent) had made them one of the most successful poets working in any form of contemporary poetry in the United States—be it slam, academic, “experimental,” or whatever. Smith's latest book, Don’t Call Us Dead, was a finalist for the National Book Award this year. (Justin Phillip Reed's book, Indecency, ended up winning, but that book ruled, too. As did Jenny Xie's Eye Level. But who's asking me? Literally no one is asking me.) The book is a compassionate contemplation of black bodies beset by HIV and bad cops and grace. [insert] boy, their previous effort from YesYesBooks, covered similar ground and sold widely, busting way out of the indie small-press poetry world from which it sprang.

Smith is also fucking funny. "As you know, you buy one tub of Vaseline and it lasts you the rest of your life," Smith says as they introduce a crowd-pleaser poem, "a note on Vaseline," to a Chicago audience last year. In the poem, which was published in IDK Magazine, Smith gilds the humble tub of grease with plenty of assonance and consonance, elevating the product to an object worthy of worship. It's also a celebration of the pleasures of primping and anal and desire, which is all very important to consider, too. Enjoy, and buy your tickets now!!

(The Vaseline poem begins at 5:11, but they start off this reading with the poem "Ooooo you look like," which also cracks me up.)