The Significance of Breathing in Poetry Performances

by KILA VAN DER STARRE, Utrecht University

What is the function of breath in poetry performances?

In this contribution, I investigate the significance of breathing in the recitation of poems. As a theoretical starting point, I use the typology introduced by modern literary scholar Yra van Dijk in her dissertation Leegte, leegte die ademt. Het typografisch wit in de moderne poëzie (2006) (Emptiness, Emptiness That Breathes. The Typographical Blanks in Modern Poetry). In her work on the functions of white space in modern poetry, she focuses on the typographic blank spaces on the page that surround a poem, such as at the beginnings and ends of lines and in empty lines. Her research offers tools to explore emptiness and silence in poetry. According to her – and to the poets she studies – these concepts are related to breathing, which the title of her study indicates. In her analyses, she explicitly links blank spaces with breath several times (Van Dijk 231, 245, 255, 258, 365).

In this blog post, I focus on the self-reflexive, rhythmic, theatrical and genre-characteristic role of breathing. This contribution is an abridged version of a Dutch article I wrote on this topic for the journal Spiegel der letteren.[1] I aim to foreground the diverse functions of breath in live poetry performance – specifically self-reflexive, rhythmic, theatrical, and genre-characteristic breath – to demonstrate how these forms of breathing are not only integral to the expressiveness and interpretation of poetry, but also central to understanding the material and performative dimensions of contemporary poetic practice. My analysis positions these categories at the heart of performance poetry studies, arguing that breath itself becomes a primary vehicle for meaning-making on stage.

Poetry Performances and Breath

The corpus of this exploratory research consists of the poetry readings which took place during the past five editions[2] of the well-known De Nacht van de Poëzie (The Night of Poetry), an annual event in TivoliVredenburg in Utrecht, the Netherlands. For my research, I investigated almost a hundred poetry readings in total, a total of over fourteen hours of video material. This corpus offers a collection of poetry readings that are diverse in terms of poetry subgenres, performance styles, themes, and form. It includes more traditional performances (paper-oriented recitals by poets who stand behind a lectern), light verse and children’s poetry performances (including more outspoken and theatrical forms of performance), and spoken word or poetry slam performances. The collection of poets in the corpus also shows diversity in terms of gender, age, cultural identity, nationality, variant of spoken Dutch (Dutch, Belgian and Surinamese Dutch), and other languages (including Arabic, English, French, Spanish and Sranantongo). This diversity in performers is likely to produce a wide range of practices of and engagements with breath. For example, I have found that one specific type of breathing –frequently inhaling at surprising moments in the syntax – is related to genre, gender, and cultural identity. In this corpus, this is only performed by female spoken word artists of colour (see the category ‘Genre-Characteristic Breath’ below).

Close Listening to Audiotexts

This research adopts the method of “close listening,” first proposed by Charles Bernstein and further refined by Julia Novak, to analyse poetry performances. Close listening means attending to every element of a live poetry reading: not only verbal features such as rhyme or meter, but also intonation, rhythm, and vocal timbre. Importantly, this approach considers nonverbal vocalisations like gasps, coughs, hesitations, and, most notably, breath – sounds that do not form words, yet contribute meaning to the performance (Bernstein 13-14).

Bernstein argues that such “extralexical” elements, i.e. sounds outside the lexical content of the poem, are nonetheless “not extrasemantic,” as they open new possibilities for interpretation (Bernstein 5). Expanding on this, Novak distinguishes between verbal and nonverbal elements, drawing on Fernando Poyatos’s theory of “paralanguage.” Paralanguage includes features like silence and hesitation, phenomena in which breath plays a vital role and which shape listeners’ experiences (Novak 75–76).

In my project, close listening is applied to video recordings from De Nacht van de Poëzie Festival (Utrecht, 2019-2024), accessible via the YouTube channel of VPRO Poëzie (editions 37, 38 and 39) and the YouTube channel of the International Literature Festival Utrecht (ILFU) (editions 40 and 41). These “audiotexts” form my primary corpus, allowing for an investigation of how breath operates as a significant paralinguistic feature in live poetry performance (Bernstein 13).[3]

Due to the high quality of the video recordings, the poets’ breathing is perceptible both auditorily and visually. I was also physically present at all the mentioned editions of De Nacht van de Poëzie in TivoliVredenburg and can thus also use my personal experiences and memories of the live performances for my interpretation.

Such analytical challenges are well recognised in performance studies. Novak explicitly mentions that analysing paralingual aspects of poetry performances is challenging, because “there is no dictionary of non-verbal sounds: their meaning is often strongly context-dependent […] No tangible ‘grammar’ exists to regulate paralanguage” (76). In the case of breath, it is also essential to realise that performances by human beings without breathing do not exist. Breathing is, of course, essential for life in general and speaking in particular. This means that breaths in poetry performances vary in degree of meaningfulness and that this degree depends more on the listener’s interpretation than on the performer’s intention. According to Novak, the listener can draw conclusions in relation to emotions, attitudes and styles through paralingual elements of the performance that are not always consciously communicated by the speaker and that do not necessarily correspond with the speaker’s intended meaning (77). The non-verbal aspects of the audiotext therefore have a potential meaning that only takes shape in the context and can differ from listener to listener.

Research into Breath

The research presented here is part of a growing academic interest in breath within the humanities and beyond. Over the past ten years, four impactful global developments related to breathing have boosted this increase. The first is the global spread of COVID-19, a virus that is not only transmitted by breath but also impairs breathing, which some of the 65 million long COVID patients worldwide still suffer from (Davis et al.). The second development is the impact of the words “I can’t breathe” that George Floyd uttered in 2020 and which more than seventy other citizens in the US, more than half of them people of colour, had uttered over the past ten years just before being suffocated to death by police officers (Baker et al.). The third development is the increase of people drowning in the Mediterranean Sea (IOM) and the way in which the non-breathing of migrants who die in the sea has come to symbolise the global refugee crisis (Noeth et al.). The fourth development is the deterioration of air quality due to climate change, with social class and economic status having a major impact on the quality of the air a person breathes (Rentschler & Leonova).

There is also growing academic interest in the relations between these four medical, political, social, and ecological developments. The fact that all people on earth breathe, even though the capacity to breathe can vary enormously, has put humans on the map as “respiratory beings” and humanity as a group of “co-respirators”, as gender scholar Magdalena Górska aptly puts it in her book Breathing Matters (2016). Breathing connects these major developments in a globalised world: “‘I can’t breathe’ will become the condition of the world [if we] ignore the deadly warnings of climate catastrophe,” poet Ben Okri stated in The Guardian.

Academic interest in breath has also increased in literary studies over the past decade. The relationship between breath and poetry in particular has been investigated, yet often on a much more abstract level than the concrete role that breath plays in the global developments described above. It is typical of existing research into the relationship between breath and poetry to focus on breath as a theme, metaphor and symbol in poetry, especially in written form. This contribution also features a list of relevant resources on this topic.

Breathing is examined here not as a theme, metaphor, or symbol but as a tangible physical element that actively shapes meaning in poetry performances. Through close listening, this study explores breath as a paralinguistic feature functioning beyond the words yet still contributing significantly to the overall interpretation of the performance.

The Self-Reflexive Breath

The self-reflexive function of breath refers to moments when breathing draws attention to the poem’s own form and meaning-making processes. This occurs when the act of breathing is explicitly addressed or highlighted within the recited poem. This function comes into play when breathing is thematized verbally. In the multilingual Dutch, Arabic, and Spanish poem “Tong” (tongue), Nisrine Mbarki[4] draws attention to the many words that have to do with breathing and speaking, such as “trachea”, “larynx”, “vocal cords”, “chest”, “oral cavity”, “pronouncing”, “tongue”, “lips” and “language” (0:08-2:57).[5] Her recitation draws attention to the meanings of the words. Within this isotope of “bodiliness”, foregrounding takes place in both the area of the visual physicality of the performer – reinforced by gestures, for instance Mbarki pointing to the described body parts with her fingers and hand – and her auditory physicality: Mbarki’s breathing is particularly noticeable just after pronouncing the word “trachea”, just before “in my vocal cords” and just before “through my chest”. In these moments, the function of breathing is both thematic and iconic and it is relevant that the poem is heard and seen instead of read. This also makes breathing self-reflexive in this case, because they reveal something about the way in which the poem signifies (Van Dijk 14). The poem thematizes its own poeticity and expresses that both in form and content (29).

The Rhythmic Breath

In the editions of De Nacht van de Poëzie studied, many poets vary the rhythm of their performances with the help of breath. Sometimes, poets combine rhythmic breathing with other rhythmic physicalities. While pronouncing the words “the [inhalation] desolate [inhalation] homeless thousand dead again [inhalation] a thousand deaths more [inhalation] than a thousand deaths”[6] (1:29-1:34), Lisette Ma Neza[7] strikes her flat right hand on her chest with every strongly stressed syllable, accelerating slightly in her delivery and thus creating a rhythm.

In her encore,[8] Ma Neza also actively involves the audience in her creation of rhythm. “I don’t have a band with me,” she says at the beginning of her second performance, “so you’re my band, you’re going to snap your fingers [pause] but to a rhythm [laughs]”[9] (0:28-0:36). She then indicates a rhythm that the audience copies; throughout her performance, she sings and talks over that rhythm, with audible inhalations and exhalations that sound both on the beat and against the beat. When the content of the poem becomes more personal, direct, and painful – she discusses sexual violence among other topics – the collaboration with the audience ends. The room falls silent and Ma Neza’s sharp inhalations are audible in a way which is both emotionally charged and characteristic of spoken word recitations. The use of rhythmic breathing gives Ma Neza the opportunity to make connections between rhythm, interaction, affect, and genre. Her invitation to the audience to become a co-performer, a feature of many spoken word performances, creates space for the emergence of affect between her and the audience.

The Theatrical Breath

When breath is used theatrically, poetic recitation moves towards the genre of dramatic monologues. Often, there is emotion in the breaths, and the performance evokes associations with acting. For example, Mahat Arab[10] uses breath to create a theatrical effect that captures the disinterest, nonchalance, and denigrating attitudes of the French, Italian, and British colonists who redrew national borders in the homeland of Arab’s lyrical “I” (3:23-3:32). Arab does this by inserting pauses in his speech and emulating the body language and intonation of a theatre actor.

Babs Gons[11] uses theatrical breath in the following excerpt to emphasize the erotic charge of the poem:

[inhalation] and I lie behind you and I kiss paths over your back paths over which I want to [inhalation] wander for days and [inhalation] get lost because [pause] isn’t love nothing more than finding the way [inhalation] back home [pause] arriving home [inhalation] and when you place your lips on my skin then [inhalation] a hole grows underneath in which I disappear [exhalation][12] (1:47-2:05)

In this example, breath indicates the difference in tempo in both the actions described and the breathing associated with those actions. Breathing additionally reflects the time that passes in which emotions and physical feelings grow. The final exhalation also reinforces the meaning of “disappear” theatrically. Gons’ hand gestures, facial expressions and emotional intonations, in their deliberate deployments, are akin to those actors use on stage.

The Genre-Characteristic Breath

The moments at which speakers breathe can say something about the genre of poetry they are performing. Regarding the genre-characteristic function of breath, spoken word stands out in the corpus studied. Close listening shows that some spoken word artists use breath in a way that can be described as characteristic of the genre: inhalations are fast and loud, thus clearly audible, there is emotion in the inhalation in that it evokes associations with, for instance, agitation, exhaustion, or frustration – and inhalations regularly happen in syntactically surprising places.

Outside the Dutch-speaking area, spoken word artists also use breathing in this way.[13] Hannah Silva calls this specific phenomenon in spoken word performances “phrasing that disrupts syntax” (Silva 314). They explain that “[i]t can be identified when the poet inserts a pause (and usually a breath) after rather than before words that mark a break in the syntax, such as conjunctions, pronouns and prepositions. The breath tends to come after a word that on the page would usually have a comma before it.” (Silva 314, original emphasis)

Lisette Ma Neza’s[14] breathing is an example of this genre-characteristic type of breathing, for example in the following performance:

[inhalation] the little sister [inhalation] who wanted to [pause] comfort her mama [inhalation] but didn’t know that she [inhalation] couldn’t comfort Rwandan mothers it started [inhalation] between Congo Burundi [inhalation] Tanzania and Uganda [inhalation] mama mia [pause] we are going [inhalation] into Rwanda [inhalation] the [inhalation] desolate [inhalation] homeless thousand deaths again [inhalation] a thousand deaths more [inhalation] than a thousand deaths German African East and I [inhalation] am the daughter of the refugee [inhalation, pause] I was born in the Netherlands [inhalation] yet made in [inhalation] Africa just too late I am an Afro-[inhalation]European [inhalation][15] (1:03-1:47)

This fragment features inhalations in syntactically surprising places, such as in “the [inhalation] desolate [inhalation] homeless thousand deaths again [inhalation]” and in ‘yet made in [inhalation] Africa,” while in other places, that is, positions that split syntactic units rather than mark their boundaries, the poet does not breathe where listeners would expect a breath to mark a full stop or other syntactic boundary, such as between “mothers” and “it”, and between “late” and “I”.

These inhalations in syntactically surprising places sometimes seem to stem from a desire to express emotion and to indicate time jumps, as in the example of Gons[16] (1:47-2:05), or to build tension and/or anticipation, as in “[pause] we are going [inhalation] into Rwanda [inhalation]” in Ma Neza’s performance. At other times, they seem to stem from the desire to have enough breath for a long stream of words that follows, like when spoken word artist Daniëlle Zawadi[17] breathes before and after “because” in the following fragment and then does not breathe for a long time, even when the syntax would suggest punctuation (e.g. between “tomorrow” and “pressure”): “[inhalation] because [inhalation] streets don’t meet each other but people do so I’ll meet you tomorrow pressure in the hand quickly being in each other’s arms [inhalation] strange eyes make us better [inhalation]”[18] (2:29-2:40).

According to Silva, the “phrasing that disrupts syntax” echoes “the rhetorical trope of the speech giver, the preacher, and the politician” (Silva 315). Although an influence of these roles can indeed be recognised in the aforementioned case studies from my corpus, I would like to emphasise that Silva also points out that when certain performance patterns are consistently used by a poet or a group of poets, these aspects do not always “communicate meaning alongside the content […] It has simply become the way that this mode of poetry is performed” (317).

The Meaning of Breath

Just like blank spaces in written poetry, breath in recited poetry “rarely [turns out to be] a mere emptiness or a silence”[19] (Van Dijk 383). If we take a step back and look at the aforementioned collection of categories, we see a structure emerge that divides the typology into subcategories based on the factors of form (such as the rhythmic role of breathing), content (such as focus on themes and topics through breath), audience (such as the theatrical role of breathing) and the relationship between all three, thus form-content-audience (such as the self-reflexive role of breathing). I reflect more extensively on this typology in my article in Spiegel der letteren.

Especially the category “Genre-Characteristic Breath” calls for follow-up research, specifically on the meaningful relationship between genre, breath, gender and cultural identity. The examples of that category in this corpus – in performances by Lisette Ma Neza, Daniëlle Zawadi and Babs Gons – show women of colour who use a similarly striking way of breathing in a spoken word tradition, occasionally inhaling in syntactically surprising places and not inhaling in syntactically expected places. According to Silva, this “phrasing that disrupts syntax” is one of three most prominent characteristics of “British spoken word voice” (Silva 308).[20] The similarities between these case studies and Silva’s description suggest that perhaps specifically Dutch-speaking women of colour are influenced and inspired by British spoken word artists and their “Poet Voice”. More research is needed to understand these relationships in more detail.

More generally, research on the meaningful role of bodiliness in poetry performances, with an emphasis on paralingual aspects of audiotexts, can provide more profound insights into the process of meaning-making in poetry off the page. This would form an extension of my previous research on poetry off the page like street poetry and Instagram poetry (Van der Starre 2021). The conclusion that breath contains many different types of meanings is promising for such follow-up research. The method of close listening has the potential to help researchers understand such meanings. Similar research could be carried out, for example, on tempo, volume, intonation, facial expressions, gestures and more paralingual aspects of poetry performances that, according to the analyses presented here, are sometimes related to breathing. This field of research is still largely open.

Works Cited

Baker, Mike, et al. “Three Words. 70 Cases. The Tragic History of ‘I Can’t Breathe’”. The New York Times, 29 June 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/06/28/us/i-cant-breathe-police-arrest.html

Bernstein, Charles, editor. Close Listening. Poetry and the Performed Word. Oxford University Press, 1998.

Davis, Hannah E., et al. “Long COVID: Major Findings, Mechanisms and Recommendations”. Nature Reviews Microbiology, no. 21, 2023, pp. 133-146.

Górska, Magdalena. Breathing Matters. Feminist Intersectional Politics of Vulnerability. Linköping University Press, 2018.

IOM. “Dodelijkste jaar ooit voor migranten: Bijna 8.600 sterfgevallen in 2023”. IOM Nederland, 6 March 2024, https://iom-nederland.nl/nieuws/dodelijkste-jaar-ooit-voor-migranten-bijna-8-600-sterfgevallen-in-2023

Noeth, Sandra, et al. “Freedom of Breath”. Breathe. Critical Research into the Inequalities of Life, edited by Sandrah Noeth and Janez Janša. Transcript, 2023, pp, 54-83.

Novak, Julia. Live Poetry. An Integrated Approach to Poetry in Performance. Rodopi, 2011.

Okri, Ben. “‘I Can’t Breathe’: Why George Floyd’s Words Reverberate around the World”. The Guardian, 8 June 2020, https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/jun/08/i-cant-breathe-george-floyds-words-reverberate-oppression

Rentschler, Jun and Nadezda Leonova. “Global Air Pollution Exposure and Poverty”. Nature Communications, volume 14, 22 July 2023, https://doi.org/10.1038/s41467-023-39797-4

Silva, Hannah. “British Spoken Word Voice”. Spoken Word in the UK, edited by Lucy English and Jack McGowan. Routledge, 2021.

Van Dijk, Yra. Leegte, leegte die ademt. Het typografisch wit in de moderne poëzie. Vantilt, 2006.

Van der Starre, Kila. Poëzie buiten het boek. De circulatie en het gebruik van poëzie. 2021. Universiteit Utrecht, PhD dissertation.

Page header by Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash.

[1] In that article, I investigate the thematic, iconic, poetic, self-reflexive, temporal, rhythmic, liminal, grammatical, metaphysical, empty, genre-characteristic, form-technical, theatrical, affective, and ambiguating functions of breathing, the meaningful aspects of non-breathing, and the paratextual function of breath in poetry performances.

[2] By the last five editions, I mean the 37^th in 2019, the 38^th in 2021, the 39^th in 2022, the 40^th in 2023 and the 41^st in 2024. In 2020, De Nacht van de Poëzie did not take place due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

[3] The timespan, mentioned in number of minutes and seconds, can be consulted via the URL in the corresponding footnote.

[4] “Nisrine Mbarki | 39e Nacht van de Poëzie.” YouTube, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zeoDQbxPzRc.

[5] Originally: “luchtpijp”, “strottenhoofd”, “stembanden”, “borstkas”, “mondholte”, “uitspreken”, “tong”, “lippen”, “taal”. These and all following translations are my own.

[6] Originally: “het [inademing] troosteloze [inademing] dakloze duizend doden weer [inademing] duizend doden meer [inademing] dan duizend doden.”

[7] “Lisette Ma Neza | 38ste Nacht van de Poëzie.” YouTube, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DoVQ8DFt_O0.

[8] “Lisette Ma Neza toegift | 38ste Nacht van de Poëzie.” YouTube, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJCSs7hXDQM.

[9] Originally: “dus jullie zijn mijn band, jullie gaan vingerknippen [pauze] maar op een ritme [lacht].”

[10] “Mahat Arab op de 41ste Nacht van de Poëzie.” YouTube, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TAoCwHm3J_0.

[11] “Babs Gons op de Nacht van de Poëzie 2019 – VPRO Poëzie.” YouTube, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2vsCsH-VKc&t=89s.

[12] Originally: ‘[inademing] en ik lig achter je en ik kus paden over jouw rug paden waarover ik dagenlang wil [inademing] dwalen en [inademing] verdwalen want [pauze] is liefde niets meer dan de weg [inademing] terug naar huis vinden [pauze] thuiskomen [inademing] en als jij jouw lippen op mijn huid zet dan [inademing] groeit daaronder een gat waarin ik verdwijn [uitademing]’.

[13] Amanda Gorman applied a similar type of breathing in her world-famous recitation of the poem “The Hill We Climb” during the 2021 inauguration of President Joe Biden and Vice-President Kamala Harris that put spoken word on the map internationally. For example: “[inhalation] the loss we carry a sea we must wade [inhalation] we [inhalation] braved the belly of the beast” (0:17-0:23) “Amanda Gorman recites stunning poem at Biden inauguration.” YouTube, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whZqA0z61jY.

[14] “Lisette Ma Neza | 38ste Nacht van de Poëzie.” YouTube, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DoVQ8DFt_O0.

[15] Originally: “[inademing] het kleine zusje [inademing] dat haar [pauze] mama troosten wou [inademing] maar niet wist dat ze [inademing] Rwandese moeders niet troosten kon het begon [inademing] tussen Congo, Burundi [inademing] Tanzania en Oeganda in [inademing] mama mia [pauze] we gaan [inademing] Rwanda in [inademing] het [inademing] troosteloze [inademing] dakloze duizend doden weer [inademing] duizend doden meer [inademing] dan duizend doden Duits Afrikaans Oosten en ik [inademing] ben de dochter van de vluchteling [inademing, pauze] ik ben in Nederland geboren [inademing] toch in [inademing] Afrika gemaakt net te laat ik ben een Afro-[inademing]Europeaan [inademing].”

[16] “Babs Gons op de Nacht van de Poëzie 2019 – VPRO Poëzie.” YouTube, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2vsCsH-VKc.

[17] “Daniëlle Zawadi | 39e Nacht van de Poëzie.” YouTube, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sn-i_J7oGKs.

[18] Originally: ‘[inademing] want [inademing] straten die ontmoeten elkaar niet maar mensen wel dus ik kom je morgen tegen druk in de hand gauw in elkaars armen begeven [inademing] vreemde ogen maken ons beter [inademing]’.

[19] Originally: ‘zelden louter een leegte of een zwijgen [te zijn]’.

[20] The other two are “consistent use of falling tones at the end of every phrase” and “a narrow range of pitch, clustering around a high tone” (Silva 308).