Renowned poet, novelist, and performance artist Maggie Estep passed away in Albany, N.Y., Wednesday, at the early age of 50 having suffered a heart attack two days prior at her Hudson, N.Y., home, according to friend, John Rachenberger.
Known primarily for aiding in the rise of slam poetry in the 90s performing on networks such as MTV, PBS, and HBO, Estep was also an East Village regular at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, arguably one of the key venues that nurtured the rise of “perf po” (performance, or “slam” poetry) — competitive poetry meant for performance before a live audience.
Estep was characterized as “gritty” — a fine sand in the gears of poetry — often focusing on wry, sardonic humor that dripped with honesty and sarcasm. Her lines were tough and true as her delivery, a swath of black eyeliner where once reigned turtlenecks and berets, her crowd more likely to open a mosh pit than snap fingers. She was quickly swept up in the post-punk, feminist scene, and flirted with the rock and roll world as poets do from time to time, performing for MTV’s “Unplugged”, Lollapalooza, and Woodstock ’94, sharing stages with the likes of Henry Rollins, John S. Hall and Jim Carroll. Estep’s style can be glimpsed in her performance of “Happy“, which she performed on “Russell Simmon’s Def Poetry Jam” on HBO:
To hell with sticking my head in the oven
I’m happy
I’m ridiculously, vengefully happy
I’m ripped apart by sunshine
I’m ecstatic
I’m leaping
I’m cutting off all my limbs
I’m doing circus tricks with forks
Estep recorded two spoken-word/rock and roll albums — “No More Mr. Nice Girl” (NuYo/Imago, 1994) and “Love Is a Dog From Hell” (Mouth Almighty/Mercury, 1997.) Strangely, her success rose even higher after her recording “Hey Baby” was spoofed on “Beavis and Butt-Head.” She told the Los Angeles Times in 1994:
It was a fluke. I was writing and someone dragged me to an open-mike situation. I read and did really well. I seemed to have an immediate affinity to do it. That’s sort of how my performance style developed. I was so scared. I was very introverted, very shy. I got so nervous, I’d just rush through things and just pace. It evolved into my signature.
Estep was born Margaret Ann Estep March 20, 1963 in Summit, N.J. Her parents trained racehorses. Consequently, Estep grew up largely on the road, traveling between Canada, France, Georgia and Colorado. In her late teens she dropped out of high school and added Manhattan, New York City to the list.
Estep wrote of New York in an essay that centered on leaving the city — “Think of This as a Window“:
I fell in love with New York City one day in 1971, when I saw dozens of people blithely stepping over a dead body on a sidewalk.
Living the typical bohemian Lower-East-Side life, Estep worked briefly as a go-go dancer and became addicted to heroin through her connections to the thriving punk scene. She didn’t take up fiction writing until attending rehab in the mid-80s.
Eventually, she landed in Boulder, Colo., taking classes with such famed writers as William S. Burroughs at the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at (then) Naropa Institute (now Naropa University) in 1986. She studied for two years at the Kerouac School, eventually earning a bachelor’s degree in literature from the State University of New York (SUNY.)
In addition to her two recorded albums, Estep is the author of seven books of poetry and prose, including “Diary of an Emotional Idiot” (1997,) “Hex” (2003,) “Gargantuan” (2004) and “Flamethrower” (2010). She also kept a blog, the last entry of which was posted Feb. 7 and focused on stripping and friendship. Estep has been widely anthologized in such collections as “The Best American Erotica,” “Brooklyn Noir 2,” “Hard Boiled Brooklyn” and “Goodbye to All That.”
Whether the literary world will view Estep’s legacy as primarily a writer or a performer is inconsequential (she was both,) but Estep thought of herself first and foremost as a writer.
I was a writer long before I performed, and my work is very much for the page as well as the stage.
She added:
I sent my stuff out to the quarterlies and it came back with arrogant notes. Now they come to me.
She is survived by her mother, brothers, sister, and many adoring fans.
“I’m an Emotional Idiot So Get Away from Me” by Maggie Estep
