In reading the most recent edition of Tenebrae (which I’ll try to write about later: if it hasn’t sold out get yourself a copy of it now, while you can), I came across Datableed in many of the bios of the poets. On the Datableed website are lots of recordings of their launch nights. Seems like a great idea, to capture both elements of the poetry that you publish: https://www.datableedzine.com/sound-recordings. If you’re interested, they are open for submissions, too. Small magazines, journals, periodicals… they are the lifeblood of poetry. Fast-moving and frequently short-lived, these provide often what is the only nexus of support for the writers they give space to: all clustered around the publication for safe-keeping. An ‘open mic’ night on its own tends to be an end point – it is very rarely a conduit to other things. How curious, also, that established poets are not known for their frequenting of open mic nights.
In an equal and opposite direction, I’ve also been reading Frank McEachron’s Book of Spells (see his wikipedia entry here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_McEachran); he’s not in any way a poet and it needs to be said that he was a Man Of His Time (with all that it is wrong with that – including the belief that no interesting poetry was ever created by women), but he created the Books of Spells as an anthology of poetry that he felt made delightful sounds. He loved T.S.Eliot and W.H.Auden, but you can’t imagine him delighting in Datableed, which is a shame. I found myself even more increasingly reading poetry aloud, or mouthing it. And the more ‘experimental’ it is, the more I do this. I did it all the way through Tenebrae; it’s apparently what the monks and nuns who were the first broadly literate groups did. Mouth it out. Read it slowly. Sound, then.