His hair is dirty blond, with one trailing dreadlock thrown over his right shoulder reaching halfway down his chest. His facial hair is dark and unkempt around his face. He lights a cigarette and takes a sip of his coffee, before his pale green eyes catch mine and he politely inquires, “Would you care to hear a poem for a penny?”
Andrew Muppett-Spencer is a common sight around Fredericton and those willing to talk to him are in for a treat. When he recites his poems, he jumps upright weaving his hands back and forth to illustrate his point as a conductor would. His voice is a low, cultured tone, an interesting lilt to the middle of his sentences that grabs your notice.
When he does speak, he has a tendency to always face what catches his eye, so his head is always moving. His body is only sometimes able to keep up with the contortions and begs you to lean closer to catch every single word that drops off his tongue to make up the difference that the traffic tends to drown out.
Muppett-Spencer said he attended UNB for a year, taking mainly third and fourth year courses and securing marks of 80 per cent or higher. However, when he decided to go to STU for two years, he was required to begin with first and second year classes, sinking his marks down to 70 and 60 percent.
“It wasn’t much of a challenge,” he said adding his proudest achievement was a paper he completed on the evolution of genocide – a topic not frequently talked about at that time.
When I asked about his busking, he tells me he makes anything from $10 to $70, depending on whether or not he cares that day.
The best comment he has ever gotten on his poems was that he had changed someone’s life. The worst have been everything from “get a job” to one lady who wouldn’t listen to his poems, but would listen to him reciting William Blake.
“I told her ‘So, you prefer all of your poets dead?’” he said, snickering slightly at the memory. Others will even recite poems back at him.
Muppett-Spencer’s long-time acquaintance Scott Mehan said his favorite poem is a poem about a cat who wanders away to play, but always has a bowl of milk to come home to.
When passersby look at Muppett-Spencer, they see someone of little worth because of his appearance, when even five minutes of conversation reveals so much more.
Peruse the ground and just maybe find a glint off a copper penny. See a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck.
When asked if he was going to raise his price, Muppett-Spencer shook his head. My surprised response was, “But pennies are out of circulation.”
“But they still exist,” he replied.
