Poetry in motion: Travis House will write you a poem while you wait

Travis House's vendor table at the St. John's Farmers' Market gives something of a steampunk vibe: the black manual typewriter, his smart vest and dark-rimmed glasses.

There is a challenge in his service: pick a topic, get a poem. And he's fast: "When I'm hot, it's about five minutes. It could easily go to ten if I'm having a hard time with it."

He wastes no paper on outlines or drafts. For each request, he uses a single sheet of 5"x 7" with space for 24 lines, max. He doesn't keep copies, and he rarely remembers what he has written, "even some of my favourite ones."

When asked how many such poems he has produced, he does the math.

"It's 100 sheets in a packet, which all gets turned into 400 after I've cut them." In terms of individual poems, "it's well over a thousand for sure," he says.

What do folks do with their finished product? Typically, they frame them, he says with people often telling him they want it for their cabin or for a grandparent's house, sometimes even placing them next to their pet's ashes.

"Some people, you can just tell when they're about to drop something on you," he says.

While some of his assignments are to write about something as simple as a word, like "determination" or "fire truck," he has also been asked to write tributes to loved ones who have just died, or messages of love from men with fertility problems to their wives.

"A day after a market when you get those, it takes it out of you. But it's a good tired to be."

He says it's an honour to be entrusted with their stories. "I love when they don't hold back because they trust me with that. I try to say that too; 'Thank you for your trust.'"

Performance art

"It's always been like a busking thing for me," says House. He used to play mandolin on the streets for money while travelling, and now writes poems on a pay-what-you-can basis.

"It's still the best baseline for me because for every little kid in Bannerman Park who gives me 10 cents, there's so many more people who have gone above and beyond to support me."

And his business model is paying off.

"This is more than I've ever made at any other gig I've done. Apparently, I'm really good at it. People are really hyped with what I'm giving back to them."

He acknowledges there's a performance element to producing poems in public, in real time, with an old typewriter — but tries not to.

"It totally is performative [but] if I thought of it like that, I'd probably muck it all up."

Hitchhiking poems

While he doesn't save any of his busking poetry, House has preserved poetry from his experiences hitchhiking across Canada. He has self-published two books and now has a third manuscript. This latest, entitled Arriving Empty: A Hitchhiking Poem, is a long-form narrative poem with one section per day of his time on the road.

It becomes clear when you talk to him that his hitchhiking experiences have prepared him for his work as a real-time poet. In his many rides with strangers, he's gained the ability to understand a person in a short period of time.

"Sometimes they'll play it cool, but the last five minutes is when you get the real stuff, because they know they'll never see you again."

When asked about his scariest encounter, he remembers a drunk driver who seemed hurt when he asked to be let out of the car. "I'm a short dude, soft-spoken, get along with everyone. I don't necessarily get into situations I can't talk my way out of."

Maintaining that neutral attitude serves him both in hitchhiking and in writing poems.

"I have to be some sort of empathetic listener who didn't give away anything through my face and make them feel awkward."

He thinks of the risk of hitchhiking as a form of surrender.

"There's a lot of freedom in that, just surrendering to the moment, whatever may come, just trusting yourself to deal with it."

It is this same mix of risk and adventure that brought him to his poetry work —  "I didn't really know I could do it, I suppose, until I needed to do it," he says — but, more than the danger, House is moved by people's generosity, in hitchhiking and in sharing their stories.

"They trust me, this is beautiful. And maybe it makes us think even more highly of ourselves, hopefully in turn."

Putting down roots

House made his entire living for well over a year by writing poems for other people. "It doesn't take much to make me comfortable, mind you, but I'm comfortable enough right now."

Now, at 30, he likes the idea of staying closer to home, maybe even buying a house.

"The older I get, the more I can see how I can make a conventional life with this unconventional attitude. There's a balance there."

Read more from CBC Newfoundland and Labrador