Today we’d like to introduce you to Argy Selman.
Alright, so thank you so much for sharing your story and insight with our readers. To kick things off, can you tell us a bit about how you got started?
I grew up as a first-generation Albanian American girl always feeling like I existed in between. Too Albanian to feel entirely American, too American to feel entirely Albanian, I spent much of my childhood searching for language that could hold the parts of me that never seemed to fit neatly anywhere. That longing quietly shaped the way I moved through the world. I became deeply aware of the people who go unseen. Because the world rarely slows down long enough to witness them. Poetry became the first place where my inner world could exist without explanation. Yoga followed, teaching me that being witnessed begins with witnessing yourself. Together, they became two expressions of the same practice: creating spaces where people feel less alone than they did when they arrived. Whether I’m performing poetry or guiding a room through breath, I’m chasing the same thing, a moment where someone recognizes themselves in a story they thought only belonged to them.
That pursuit has carried me farther than I ever imagined. It’s led to national competitions, opportunities to perform poetry across the country, and the privilege of serving as assistant coach of the Urban Echo Slam poetry team in Detroit, helping cultivate the next generation of voices in a city whose storytelling tradition has shaped me as much as I’ve shaped it. But the accolades have never been the destination. The work has always been about making room. My poetry asks difficult questions with compassion, and refuses to flatten people into stereotypes. My poetry is revolutionary. Detroit has recognized me as a distinct voice because I’m willing to stand inside contradiction and invite others to do the same. From a little girl searching for where she belonged to the woman I am today, I found the belief that being truly seen can change the course of a life. Every poem I write, every class I teach, and every stage I step onto is an attempt to offer someone else the thing I spent years looking for myself.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
The hardest part wasn’t learning how to write, it was learning how to trust my own voice before anyone else did. Growing up between cultures, I always felt like I was too Albanian to feel fully American and too American to feel fully Albanian. That feeling followed me into poetry. There were so many moments where I questioned whether my stories were important enough or whether I really belonged in the rooms I was standing in. A lot of people assumed I was just a white woman before they ever took the time to know me. It was frustrating, but it also taught me that people will often decide who you are before they ever ask. That only made me more committed to telling stories that remind us there’s always more beneath the surface.
Like a lot of artists, I’ve struggled with rejection, comparison, burnout, and the temptation to make work that feels more digestible instead of more honest. Every poem is a chance you’ll be misunderstood, and I’ve had to make peace with that. Winning championships and being recognized didn’t magically erase self-doubt, it just gave me bigger stages to keep choosing honesty over approval. Balancing wellness, teaching yoga, coaching, and performing has stretched me in ways I never expected, but it’s also reminded me why I do this in the first place. Looking back, I don’t think those struggles held me back. I think they gave me the perspective my work needed. They taught me that the most meaningful art doesn’t come from having all the answers, it comes from being willing to tell the truth even when it’s uncomfortable.
As you know, we’re big fans of you and your work. For our readers who might not be as familiar what can you tell them about what you do?
I’m creating spaces where people feel safe enough to say the things that need to be said. I specialize in spoken word poetry that sits at the intersection of identity, belonging, grief, revolution, healing, and the things we don’t always have language for. My work often begins with something deeply personal, but my goal is always to widen the lens until someone in the audience says, I thought I was the only one who felt that way. I think that’s where art becomes less about performance and more about connection.
Over the years, that work has led to national championships, the opportunity to perform poetry across the country, and the privilege of serving as assistant coach of Urban Echo Slam poetry team in Detroit. Those are accomplishments I’m incredibly proud of, but what means the most to me is hearing someone say a poem made them feel understood or inspired them to tell their own story. I think what sets me apart is that I’m not interested in writing poems that simply sound beautiful, I’m interested in writing poems that change the temperature of a room. I want my work to challenge assumptions, invite difficult conversations, and leave people seeing themselves, and each other, with a little more compassion. If people remember me years from now, I hope it’s not just because of the titles I’ve won, but because I gave language to feelings they carried for years they didn’t know how to name.
What do you like best about our city? What do you like least?
What I love most about Detroit is that it’s a city that values realness. People here can tell when you’re trying to be something you’re not, and they’ll call it out. There’s something incredibly freeing about that as an artist because it forces you to stop performing and start telling the truth.
Detroit has challenged me, humbled me, celebrated me, and made me earn every bit of respect I’ve received. It’s also introduced me to some of the most generous, fearless storytellers I’ve ever met. The poetry community here believes art isn’t just entertainment, it’s a form of service. That’s the kind of artistic home I was looking for, and I’m grateful I found it here.
If I could change one thing about Detroit, it would be how quickly sometimes one can decide who someone is before they’ve taken the time to know them. I’ve experienced that firsthand.
I’d also love to see us celebrate one another more openly. Detroit has an incredible amount of talent, but sometimes we can operate from a place of scarcity instead of abundance. As if someone else’s success somehow diminishes our own. I believe the opposite is true.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://urbanechopoetry.com
- Instagram: @thisisargy
- Youtube: @thisisargy
