Published 2 September 20092 September 2009 · Main Posts drunk on street poetry, with saint unmentionable Overland Overloaded Santo Cazzati‘s poems are like music. They lull and peak, they can be relaxed or frantic, they crescendo madly and laze easily. Santo is, without a doubt, one of the most musical poets on the Melbourne spoken word scene. What will he be like, though, as the MC of Overload’s Takin It To The Streets, the official opening night pub crawl of the 2009 Overload Poetry Festival? Come and join Cazzati this coming Friday September 4, as the night grows poetic and unsteady and three well known bars and pubs in Melbourne city come alive with poetry. Jenny Toune, Graham Nunn, Vivienne Glance, Anthony O’Sullivan and many other astounding wordsmiths will grace (and quite possible lurch on) the stage at Southpaw, Dante`s and Blue Velvet as the Overload Poetry Festival truly takes over the town (click here for full details). The Overland Overloaded blogging team recently caught up with the poet who calls himself Saint ‘Unmentionable’: Who are you? “I am Santo”. Santo CAZZATI. That means “saint [untranslatable]”. I am a descendant of the obscure Italian Baroque composer Maurizio Cazzati. You’ll find him in the more thorough histories of music as a violin virtuoso who opened a string school for orphaned girls in northern Italy. No, who are you, really? Legally, I am a tired old former concert pianist who gave up playing piano due to lack of colour and innovation and found that all I had left was my voice and my funky attire of yesteryear. So, would you believe, I became a spoken word artist. I teach in an elite Melbourne private school which must remain anonymous in order to protect those concerned, including my identity. What are you doing at the Overload Poetry Festival? Leading the poetry crawl on the opening night through the highways and byways of Fitzroy, trying to keep punters who are drunk on poetry on the straight and narrow path from one venue to the next. No, what are you really doing at the Overload Poetry Festival? Drunk on poetry. Poetry. Why? Because drink on its own is not purposeful; because poetry on its own is not intoxicating; because the dialectical combination of the two raises the temperature of both. Are you crazy? Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Plug your event. Names are being taken. If you are not seen at Overload Poetry Crawl, you can expect to be persona non grata on the world poetry scene until the next Overload. Plug it some more. You-avin-a-laff??? I would have thought the above threat was pretty damn final. Break it down…(with a poetry teaser for your event): “fifteen floors up funk is gurgling champagne flows for you” …yeah, I think that’s one of them Japanesy thingos that Myron likes… The Overland Overloaded blogging team will catch up with Santo later in the Festival as he prepares to MC the event ‘But is it Poetry?’ on Sunday September 6. Overland Overloaded More by Overland Overloaded › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays First published in Overland Issue 228 10 November 202311 November 2023 · Subscriberthon 2023 On the final day of Subscriberthon, Overland’s most important members get to have their say Editorial Team BORIS A quick guide to another year of Overland, from your trusty feline, Boris. I liked the ginger cat story, though it made my human cry. I liked the talking cat, too, but I’m definitely in the “not wasting my time learning to talk” camp. But reading is good. And writing is fun, though it’s been challenging […] 1 First published in Overland Issue 228 9 November 20239 November 2023 · Subscriberthon 2023 On the second-last day of Subscriberthon, Overland’s co-chief editor Evelyn Araluen speaks truth to power Editorial Team To my friends and comrades, I’m not sure if there’s language to communicate how this last month has utterly changed me. This time a few weeks ago the busyness and chaos of bricolage arts and academic labour had so efficiently distracted me from my anxiety about the upcoming referendum that I forgot to prepare myself for its inevitable conclusion.