This past weekend marked my second visit to the scintillating sui generis artistic space of the Poetry Brothel. The brothel’s premise, to reiterate, is that it features poets performing in a kind of theatrical cabaret. Each instalment is organized around a theme and comes complete with colourful costumes and set dressing to match: Something Wicked made for an appropriately witchy October episode, while Myths & Legends kicks things off in 2026.
To refresh you on the “Brothel” concept, patrons are also invited to solicit a private reading from poets in exchange for a poker chip that can be purchased from the front-of-house. Please repeat this part with me: “Do not solicit the poets for sex.” Got it? OK. Moving on.
There was an additional twist to this iteration of Poetry Brothel inasmuch as it was a two night event spread across Friday and Saturday. A total of ten different poets performed over the course of the weekend, each providing their own particular take on the cabaret’s mythic theme. The poets come costumed and in character, each adopting their own dramatic personas. Thus, for instance, host/producer/madam Brendee Green was nowhere to be seen: in her place fairy queen Titania1 presided over her court of performers.
I’ll be using the poets’ chosen sobriquets throughout. Petty prosaic killjoy though I may be, I have no desire to contribute to the interminable demystification of modern life, nor to do anything to accelerate whimsy’s wasting death. See the footnotes if you’re dying to know their less fanciful “government names.”
Thus, I begin with my gratitude2 to Titania for her role as brothel madam. She served as a helpful and indefatigable guide to re-mystifying our perspectives, if only for the night. She not only acted as mistress of ceremonies but also gave persuasive voice to the evening’s theme in varied verse and, at one point, song. Often funny, sometimes heartfelt, and always an energetic presence on stage, she is a either a terribly compelling performer or else she’s just actually a fairy.3
I should take a moment to mention that this was a genuine variety show, featuring some music, dancing and a bit of burlesque. Both nights featured Dr. Draw’s lively electric violin,4 which added a great deal to the atmosphere on each occasion. Another repeat performance came in the form of an unforgettable burlesque number by Starlotte Satine, whose siren dance really balanced that fine point between scary and sexy: goosebumps either way. Perhaps the most unique episode came with Christel Bartelse, who wore a series of masks through a diverse improvisational routine accompanied by Dr. Draw’s music.5
Dr. Draw and Titania were not the only ones playing music, though. Sympathetic strumming siren Clover6 struck something of a soft spot and set my head spinning like so many Dionysian dancers (to borrow a phrase of Titania’s).7 Perhaps it’s that 40th birthday barreling down to crush me under so many unfulfilled aspirations and unchecked boxes, but her first song about the mythic and mythtaken search for happiness-as-destination certainly resonated, and left me feeling restless. Her second piece was an ode to “Sweet Women” that made for a soothing follow up with copious kudos to her legendary friends. It doesn’t exactly hurt that her singing sounds pretty much like something that you’d hazard drowning to hear more of…so I guess I’m lucky she’s a forest siren and I was drawn to do nothing more dangerous than to seek a private reading.
While the set’s décor made me think of Celtic druids and fairy circles, the Greek pantheon plainly provided a fair amount of inspiration as well. Some of the poets’ offerings gave voice to familiar characters from myth: nymph poet Coeur8 gave a sensuous and sometimes florid recounting of Echo falling in love with Narcissus. A rejected and misunderstood Medusa9 likewise came in for some serpentine sympathy as channeled by Khthonia10 of the underworld, while the celestial Raziel11 included an extended interlude about Dionysus. Considering my appreciation of alliteration, I must also acknowledge the winged poet’s artful application of it during his first poem as he stood conflicted between heaven and earth.
On another Greco-Roman note one of the poets came to us as Silvanus of the Wild.12 It’s telling, and I think rather in keeping with one of the through lines of this cabaret series, that Silvanus is an obscure and forgotten deity: plainly the Poetry Brothel has a special place for misfits and mischief-makers.13 His poems featured neatly structured verse and a variety of smack-talk to settle scores against the Olympian hierarchy: Pan, of course, is dead, and Silvanus would just as soon spit out Poseiden’s name that say it clearly. Coeur’s first poem also dwelled on the idea of things forgotten, featuring an abandoned temple and sanctuary, albeit with less humour and more of a sense of earnest intimacy.
Still, humour was rarely lacking. Court fool Bevo14 led the audience in a recitation of the fool’s creed over the course of his first playful poem on Saturday. His follow up in the second half gave us his extended origin story and a companion piece to Titania’s, which culminated in him punching her consort Oberon in the genitals. Here we have another of my big takeaways from the Poetry Brothel, namely the sense of relief and catharsis we can get from myths and stories. This was poignantly expressed in Khthonia’s first vampiric poem wherein she drank deep from tales and legends that give her life, and left an indelible bloody impression on her audience.
Some of the poets took a somewhat looser approach to myth, less connected to ancient legends. Coming from the perspective of a traveller from the future, Zeta’s15 poetry featured a cozy and ominous Angel AI whose friendly tones brought a certain sardonic humour suffused with a degree of dystopian dread. Her precise and decidedly robotic delivery added a nice touch to the performance. Language alchemist Alatar16 embarked on a eclectic exploration of how words can conjure up new realities, while The Wild One17 took on the guise of a tree for some some soft-spoken and therapeutic arboreal verse before typing a new poem on the spot based on an attendee’s prompt.
Performances aside, I was struck by the sense of community and the collective commitment to theme that the audience brought to bear. We were invited to come in costume, and there was no shortage of folk willing to run with that suggestion. Particularly memorable to my mind was the gentleman who came dressed as Santa Claus in short-pants, though honorable mention goes to Bragi, Norse God of Poetry, and I saw a wide assortment of wings, cloaks, pointy ears, and horns. While rather less fanciful than some I did at least do my best to come correct in a decent suit, and took a stab at the event’s fairy-forward hue with a green tie and sage handkerchief on night one.18
Less than inspiring, I know. I’ll see if I can push myself into donning a cape or something next time. But cape or no I’ll be there, make no mythtake about it.
You may recognize her from her earlier work as a character in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
I am informed that “thanks” is not a wise thing to say to fairies.
This is hardly any time for me to profess disbelief in fairies: I saw what that does to Tinkerbell!
Eugene Draw, and just for the sake of clarity the violin is literally electric, that wasn’t just a comment on his playing.
She has no pseudonym of which I am aware, but who needs one with all those masks?
Maddy Cooper. I just seem to keep running into her considering this is her…wait, fourth appearance in this Substack??
Do you think I fit enough “S” words into that sentence?
Meghan Ashley, if you prefer.
Or should I say “myth-understood”? OK this is my probably last bad “myth” pun.
Kimöra Seidra
Jonathan Bell
Ryan Thompson
Or “myth-fits and myth-chief makers”? Yes, I obviously lied when I said I was done with these puns.
Arsalan Javaid
Claudia Kindrachuk
Paul Edward Costa
Philip Zave, per Instagram, as there was a misprint (mythprint? SOMEONE STOP ME) in the Friday program.
I could claim that my signature boar lapel pin was evocative of the Welsh Twrch Trwyth, or Merlin’s prophecy of the Boar of Cornwall; for that matter there’s the Erymanthian boar to consider… but at a certain point making the case would be a herculean task and I simply can’t be bothered.
Justin - er Boor. Just to say I read this piece immediately upon receiving it, and then again just now. Moving. Your words do indeed reflect the magic of the show - and Brendee ...she really is a fairy!