Poetic Justice : Young writers share with their pensive peers a dedication to the craft and a maturity that comes of examining issues and expressing feelings.

Manuel Schwab fumbles with a Camel cigarette before tucking it behind his right ear. His waist-long hair is tied into a ponytail, away from a face that resembles those of artists who talk expressively over smokes and espresso.

Manuel, however, is not like those artists. He might share their affection for nicotine and caffeine. He might tell a fellow poet that if this woman from the L.A. Times wants to interview him, she can walk over to him. But Manuel turns out to be one of those few people without an attitude, unpretentious almost to a fault.

Like not mentioning that he spent two weeks touring with Lollapalooza, reading his poetry to concert-goers in six cities. (That was offered up by a poet acquaintance who saw him at the show at Cal State Dominguez Hills.) Or that he took the prize at the poetry slam--a nonstop competitive run of spoken word--held that day.

Even finding out that he was commissioned to write a piece on Los Angeles for a Propaganda Films production directed by David Lynch turns up only in a chance conversation a day after the interview.

Nor did I realize that I was already familiar with Manuel’s work. The latest tango at the Kuwaiti border reminded me of an anthology of regional poets published during the conflict three years ago. In “Journal of the Gulf War: Poetry from Home” (Poets Reading Inc., 1991), one writer penned two lines that caught my attention:

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A dry-cleaned american flag

waves in the exhaust of a porsche.

*

As it turns out, it was this Manuel who wrote these lines. He was 13 at the time.

Now 16, the sophomore at University High in Irvine has collected a number of accolades in his short career as a poet. But to Manuel that is less significant than his devotion to writing, as well as the drive shared by other poets in high school.

These young bards walk the halls or find a quiet spot during lunch armed with worn spiral notebooks filled with tiny writing, maybe doodles in the margins and folded loose sheets of laser-printed material stuck within.

Most of the more dedicated ones tend to speak articulately, revealing their love for words beyond common adolescent favorites such as “like, uh” or “you know.” And they reveal a maturity beyond their age, no doubt from having thought through issues and feelings that most of their peers either don’t face or prefer to blow off.

It’s usually around freshman year that the poetry begins. It’s then that anxieties and frustrations seem to develop overnight and amplify with each semester. Most poets, however, stay in the closet, reluctant to share their notebooks with friends or family.

Not only would it mean exposing their secrets. It would open them up to possible literary criticism that, for some, is secondary to the exercise in expression.

“I think many people write in high school,” observes Manuel, “but they keep it to themselves, which I think is fine if that’s what they want.”

Father turned transparent red with turbid rage because he had just dropped 16 years of impromptu breeding, of introverted runts becoming radiant in his eyes, of bringing up a son.

(from Manuel’s recent “Atheism Was Inherent at My Birth and I Deny the Existence of God with Reckless Passion”)

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Manuel’s experience is unusual among his peers, partly due to parents who have supported his interest by taking him to readings and offering guidance.

His mother is a professor of comparative literature at UCI, and his stepfather teaches English at Loyola Marymount. But Manuel considers the two years he attended the UCI Farm School, a private elementary school on the university campus, as the point he realized poetry. At age 10 he was introduced to Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and the other beats and assigned to write his first poem for a school show.

He followed with his first public reading on his 12th birthday at the Laguna Art Museum. A year later, he published his first work, “Yellow Bliss,” in the anthology. Since then, his works have appeared in poetry magazines such as Caffeine and Dance of the Iguana put out by the Iguana Cafe, a poetry haunt in Los Angeles where he will read on Nov. 27. He also tried his reporting hand with an article on Lollapalooza in Next magazine.

Poetry, says Manuel, “is a much more concise way for me to get something across. It’s a form that I can combine quickly different senses, experiences, emotions into one unified piece.

“Writing in general is vital to my mental and spiritual health.”

Already, notes Manuel affectionately, his 5-year-old brother, Leon, is discovering poetry by accompanying him to open readings. “He’s getting a lot of the flavor,” he says. “After a reading he gets a book and says ‘I’m going to do poetry now.’ ”

Doing poetry now for Manuel includes his friend Dave Youssef, 16, on acoustic guitar. Also a University High sophomore, Dave joined Manuel on a reading he did for a KUCI radio show two years ago.

“I play a progression and just mess around from there as it applies to the words,” Dave explains. Their practice is limited to the day of a reading. Any more would take away from the spontaneity of the creative mood.

Other friends in their circle jam with them instrumentally or in other creative ways. Weekend nights are spent at the local nature conservancy, coffeehouse or someone’s home. “When it’s in the air the urge to express is contagious, I guess,” Dave says.

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Contagious? Maybe among those prone to creativity, but sometimes it’s tough to find those people, notes Mission Viejo sophomore Beth McIlvaine. She caught up with Manuel at Lollapalooza and considers him an inspiration because of everything he’s achieved in his young life.

Beth consumed every minute of the two-day “Writings on the Wall” spoken word fest last weekend at the Lab in Costa Mesa.

“Everybody here is a poet; they’re on the same vibe. I don’t feel isolated with them. Before, I accepted (the idea that) I’d never fit in. Now I’ve found a new world where I can make friends. It’s really strange to have people to talk to who can relate to what you’re doing.”

The 14-year-old turned to poetry in eighth grade during a period marred by family deaths and other personal tragedies. “I had a lot of repressed emotions, pain. I needed to write about my isolation and loneliness. I just slammed down on the floor one day and thought ‘I’m either going to kill myself or I better start writing.’ ”

in this atmosphere i feel almost at home but not quite *

Because she discovered rock ‘n’ roll at the same time, she initially wrote what were essentially song lyrics. Eventually it evolved more into poetry form, she says. There’s still a hint of music to her writing, especially while performing, which she did for the first time to a crowd this weekend.

“To get up there to do it was like being born again,” says Beth, bringing together her fingers with the chipped black nail lacquer. “I get up there, and any fears just wash away when I grab the mike. A few days ago I felt like I had this inspiration, but I didn’t know where to go with it. Now I feel I know where to take it; I have defined goals. I feel kind of older in a way.”

Her poems still explore a darker side, as well as hopes for a another world. Coupled with her head-to-toe black wardrobe, she personifies the assumed image of a troubled kid. But Beth cautions that it’s not escapism she’s after. “After a poem is done, it’s done. I’ve worked it out in my head.”

Well, except for reworking the poem itself. She reviews her writing incessantly. “I’m always going back to my poems and putting words that would work better. If I just let it sit, I feel it will just get worse with time, until it deteriorates.

Of course, she admits, “sometimes there’s a finality to it, and I say it’s finished.”

. . . someone had better feed my head,

my mind is eating itself.

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“Poetry builds your mind,” says Beth’s friend Rhiannon Erbach, a Mission Viejo High sophomore who recently authored the above coda to an unnamed poem.

The 15-year-old has long kept a journal and dabbled in poetry. But since moving from New Jersey last year with her mother, stepfather and two toddler half-sisters, Rhiannon has been replacing her journal entries with poetry.

“It’s a lot more interesting to write poetry than write down events. You can get across your point much more powerfully in less words.”

At first it took discipline to write every day. But writing, she says, has “become almost addictive. It’s easier for me to express myself this way instead of having to (verbally) explain things. Since moving out here, my life’s more active; my thought patterns have changed, I have more to write about now. But I think it’s because of my age.”

Among the themes Rhiannon confronts are the negative influences and effects usually associated with growing up. “Some people read my writing and think I’m totally crazy,” she says. “I’m not a really sad person all the time. It’s just easier to write about the pain and confusion. Confusion doesn’t always have to be considered sad.”

Laying out her inner thoughts in poetry enables her to sort matters out and release the pressure, she says.

And she admits to slightly exaggerating at times for dramatic effect.

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I’ll live with my conclusion

with the cynicism I’ve been taught,

I’ll swim in disillusion.

*

Sunday at the Lab event, she performed a poem for the first time in front of strangers, and in front of her family. The typed paper she held quivered in her hands. At first, her voice was barely audible over the sound system. But after but a few lines, her confidence emerged.

The experience, to say the least, enthralled her. When Mom decided it was time to leave--an hour before the day’s poetry slam--Rhiannon was distraught. She had seen her first slam at Lollapalooza and “it was intense,” she remembers.

“I’ve never seen people perform with such energy.”

School has been less than helpful in this area, says Rhiannon, who also contributes to her school newspaper. Although there is a campus poetry club she recently visited, she wishes the same emphasis would be placed on the arts as is on athletics.

“At our high school the focus is completely on sports, and people like us become outcasts. Schools should focus more money and energy on being creative instead.”

Not that that has deterred her, especially after Sunday.

“This whole week I’ve started thinking about writing more and preparing myself for public presentation. Letting others see your poetry is really personal and scary. You don’t want to be rejected.”

Then she adds: “I think I’m going to learn to type better so I could send stuff to magazines.”

The Scene is a weekly look at the trends and lifestyles of Orange County high schoolers.