Sam "Fish" Vargas has a very ambitious goal for his poetry: to represent both his own life and that of an entire borough.

"The Bronx represents overcoming adversity," said Vargas, a 33-year-old Puerto Rican slam poet who lives in Norwood. "At one point in the 1970s, it was the epitome of urban decay. We literally rose from the ashes."

At 240 pounds with tattooed arms, Vargas looks more like the semi-professional football player that he once was until three years ago, when he gave up sports and devoted himself to writing and slam poetry, or competitive performance poetry.

The laser focus on his passion paid off this summer when he went to St. Louis for the National Poetry Slam 2004. He competed in the Slam Masters Slam, a contest where he and 31 National Slam organizers and prominent slam poets fought for the unofficial title of national slam champion. The Bronx poet came home with the bragging rights.

Vargas’ odyssey is an authentic Bronx tale. He grew up in Soundview in the 1970s and 1980s. "There was a lot of drugs and decay," he said. "I saw people being shot." 

Growing up, Vargas and his friends were hardly immune to the neighborhood’s problems. "It was typical school troubles, and also getting harassed by police officers," he said. "The chips were stacked against me."

"But I was passionate about poetry," he added, "and with it I could turn my experience into something positive."

One of Vargas’ poems, Perdido en La Calle Nene, or "Child Lost in the Street," describes scenes of life, violence, and death on the streets of his childhood and early adulthood. Its characters include hallucinating drug addicts and a man who had his best friend’s face tattooed onto his arm after seeing him die from a stab wound. 

In 1995 on Manor Avenue, Fish saw a boy falling from a fire 
escape to his death. In Perdido, this incident shows how violence pervaded everyday life:

"A six year old life ends, face down on concrete.
Clear 
white fluid glistening on the blood pouring out of his mouth, ears, and nose 

brings exclamations from the knowledgeable street thug
‘Once that liquid 
comes out like that, he’s not coming back dawgs.’" 

"I like to give it to you straightforward," said Fish about his blunt realism.Vargas values his difficult childhood. "Reflecting on my past makes me appreciate where I am and where I’m going," he said. 

Perdido ends with "Man, let me borrow your dreams. Mine . . .don’t take me far enough." But Vargas feels that both he and the Bronx no longer need to borrow anyone else’s dreams. He said the Bronx now also represents "pride in culture and heritage."

"Unlike the ’70s and ’80s, the Bronx is now a place for community values, family, love, and everything positive," he said.

Vargas also cited the "cultural resurgence" in the south Bronx. "It’s no longer the South Bronx of Fort Apache times," he said. "It is becoming a beautiful art district, a safe place for poetry, painting, and other arts." 

Contributing to this resurgence is Acentos, an open mike event at the Blue Ox Bar in Mott Haven, which Vargas and other poets founded in March 2003. Bronx poets were not well represented at poetry readings in lower Manhattan and the borough lacked a literary scene. "Acentos gives them somewhere they can have a voice," Vargas said. "We accept all races, ethnicities, and poets. We will treat you like family."

The open mike is also attracting prominent poets. During its first 

anniversary in March 2004, it featured Miguel Algarin, a founder of the 

Nuyorican Café, New York’s famous poetry venue. Algarin gave Acentos’ 

founders some high praise, Fish said. "He said to us, ‘You are the founders of the second poetry revolution,’" the first being the Nuyorican 30 years ago.

Vargas and Acentos participate in LouderArt, a non-profit arts 

collective. Fish hosts LouderMondays, an open mic, at Bar 13 in Manhattan.

Fish plans to continue writing and performing, and would like to publish a book of his poetry. He has taught creative writing and poetry to inmates at Rikers Island and he would like to teach in the public schools.

Fellow poets and slam competitors alike admire him. "I haven’t been to the Bronx that many times, but that poem Perdido makes me want to go see it," said Taylor Mali, the president of Poetry Slam Incorporated and National Slam organizer who lost to Fish at Slam Masters Slam. "He’s filled with passion, and he speaks with fire. If you listen closely, your ears will get burnt."

For Vargas, the power of any art form is that it is a common language that everyone understands. "Using art, the artist speaks to people philosophically, spiritually, emotionally," he said. "It reaches them even when they thought they couldn’t be reached because it touched their heart."