poetry

A Journey with Two Maps: Becoming a Woman Poet

gwen — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

“But if the tradition would not admit me, could I change its rules of admission?” Eavan Boland asks in her new book, A Journey with Two Maps. This volume honors the accumulated change wrought by earlier woman poets, the self-claimed permission for women to write identities outside of the feminine, and the female victory of bringing the ordinary into the canon. She also proselytizes for a transcendence of the binary: that the writer can perceive the contradictory aspects of poetry’s history and practice and reconcile them through her work, and then use these two maps to reach a poetic destination.

Boland frames critical reviews of women poets - including Sylvia Plath, Adrienne Rich, Elizabeth Bishop, and Gwendolyn Brooks – with an opening autobiographical essay on her perception of the creative process as influenced by her painter mother, and closes with a “Letter to a Young Woman Poet.” She presents insights of her youth, such as the realization that the sublime is not some entity storming through the heavens in order to overwhelm those who make art, but rather, their creation. Boland also describes her appreciation of Plath, not as the scribe of self-inflicted internal terrors, but as a champion of the domestic, wisely selecting Plath’s explication of “Nick and the Candlestick”: “A mother nurses her baby son by candlelight, and finds in him a beauty which, while it may not ward off the world’s ill, does redeem her share of it.”

She acknowledges that her appreciation of Brooks grew from perceiving her as an author in the tradition of urban documentarians – like Hughes, Eliot, Sandburg, and Crane – to a “critique of race and nation,” and acknowledges that this understanding was cautiously negotiated through qualified comparison with her experience of Irish colonialism, not through some claim of instant affinity. I was also introduced to Charlotte Mew, a writer who I spontaneously liked due to her wry to response to the mundane social inquiry, “Are you Charlotte Mew?”: “Unfortunately, yes.” She also wrote the lines, “It may be that what Father said is true, If things are so it does not matter why.”

A Journey with Two Maps, Boland illuminates, in prose both fluid and lucid, the reasons why, pertinent to the efforts of woman writers, and the significance of the matter.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, April 28th 2011

Morning Haiku

beth — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Sonia Sanchez

Beacon Press

In her introduction, Sanchez—a member of the “Broadside Quartet” who published her first volume of poetry in 1969 and is most often associated with the Black Arts Movement—recalls her discovery of haiku at the 8th Street Bookshop in New York at the age of twenty-one. “I slid down onto the floor and cried and was changed. I had found me.” It may seem hard to sum up a person in three lines and seventeen syllables; Sanchez solves the problem by writing poems composed of groups of haiku.

These poems certainly feel like personal reflections on people and places that have impacted the poet. We hear the joy she experiences when listening to Max Roach and the deep respect and reverence for female African American politicians and reformers in “9 haiku (for Freedom’s Sisters).” One of the hardest-hitting pieces is “sister haiku (for Pat),” a bare bones account of her sister’s rape and subsequent pregnancy:

his touch wore
you down to a
fugitive eye.

Her language can evoke sorrow and reflection, or playfulness and fierceness, as in this excerpt from “4 haiku (for Eugene Redmond)”:

your quicksilver
words waterfalling in
sweet confession

you have taken down
the morning turned it into
a roar of blackness

Of the thirty poetry groupings in this slender volume, twenty-two are dedicated to people or things. Among the notable dedicatees are jazz drummer Max Roach, murdered black teenager Emmett Louis Till, jazz singer Sarah Vaughan, philosopher and Christian saint St. Augustine, and the murals of Philadelphia. Luckily for the curious reader, a brief description of these and lesser-known dedicatees is included at the end of the volume.

The collection ends with “haiku poem: 1 year after 9/11,” which is not a haiku but twenty-eight couplets using the spare images and syntax of haiku. Sanchez channels her grief and confusion over the cataclysmic attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon and wonders how the world will change. It’s a somber note but somehow fits it with her short reflections on forces that have impacted her life. Like the best haiku, these poems will also impact the reader in subtle, often untraceable ways.

Written by: Karen Duda, March 5th 2011

Morning Haiku

gita — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Sonia Sanchez

Beacon Press

From my first taste of Byron at age twelve, I was hooked on poetry. As a teen, my reading went from the Romantics to Sylvia Plath to the Beats. By the time I belatedly discovered Sonia Sanchez, who has been publishing astonishing poetry since 1969, I was ready. This, I thought, this is poetry: not a word wasted, and all of them well-chosen; inspirational, revolutionary, and speaking straight to the heart. With her latest volume, Morning Haiku, Sanchez takes her work to a new place of innovation and tenderness.

Poet, scholar, and civil rights activist, Sonia Sanchez has amassed an impressive body of work, including over sixteen books. In her latest, she shares with the reader her discovery of the haiku form, and how it spoke directly to her heart. With skill and artistry, she crafts haiku that are dedicated to many great leaders of the civil rights movement. When I read “9 haiku (for Freedom’s Sisters),” it was impossible not to cry and to feel awed and thankful. These poems are written for Kathleen Cleaver, Betty Shabazz, Barbara Jordan, and other strong women leaders. Each haiku is, by definition, brief; but Sanchez layers the poems together, and the effect makes an intense song of praise.

There are helpful yet unobtrusive explanatory notes at the end of the book, marked only with page numbers, to help the reader unfamiliar with a person mentioned in a given poem.

I have lived in Philadelphia, and the abundant murals (over a hundred) are one of the most glorious things about the city. They are a technicolor reflection of the city’s neighborhoods, of the people that give the city life. Perhaps because of this personal connection, my favorite poem in this book is “10 haiku (for Philadelphia Murals).” Each small poem adds another layer of descriptive love that I think any city resident, seeking beauty in small and sometimes chaotic places, will appreciate. The poem peaks for me at number eight, where Sanchez writes, “common ground/is we, forever/breathing this earth.”

On the dedication page for Morning Haiku, Sanchez writes: “Let me wear the day/Well so when it reaches you/You will enjoy it.” I hope this one not only takes residence in my memory, but becomes manifest in my actions.

Written by: Lisa Rand, February 6th 2011

Sonata Mulattica

priyanka — Sat, 29 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Rita Dove

W.W. Norton

Rita Dove’s poetry is seductive. Her narrative verse reels you in because it’s like reading a page-turner of a novel that suddenly immerses you in her beautifully recreated world. It is always a world she has taken the time to carefully research. In 1986’s Pulitzer Prize winner Thomas and Beulah Dove’s subject was the adventurous and bittersweet epic lives of her grandparents, who survived and loved through the Great Depression and into the Jim Crow era in Akron, Ohio. I remember reading it in college and feeling blown away, challenged by the sophistication and intelligence of her work.

Now with Sonata Mulattica, the former Poet Laureate gives us the obscure world of George Augustus Polgreen Bridgetower, a virtuoso violinist and accomplished performer in his own right in the late 1700's before he eventually met, performed with, and inspired Beethoven. Beethoven’s famous Violin Sonata No. 9—or the “Kreutzer Sonata”—was originally written for and dedicated to Bridgetower, the son of a black man who described himself as an “African Prince” and a white Polish/German woman. It’s sad but true that were it not for what Dove describes as a “saucy remark” made by Bridgetower about a woman Beethoven possibly had in his sights, a remark that so infuriated the composer that he angrily erased his dedication to the young violinist, the world would know him. We should be calling it the Bridgetower Sonata instead of the Kreutzer Sonata!

Besides Beethoven, other key figures are given voice in the poems: his father Friedrich, a well-dressed philanderer who remained dedicated to the crafting of his son’s image and seized every opportunity to showcase his amazing talent; the famous composer Franz Haydn, under whose tutelage the young Bridgetower remained while he lived on the estate where Haydn was musical director; Mrs. Papendiek, Queen Charlotte’s “wardrobe keeper,” who watched the child progidy perform at Windsor and recorded her front-row experiences in her diary.

There is a short play among the poems called “Georgie Porgie, or a Moor in Vienna” in which Dove lets all the major characters hilariously act out the events leading up to the sonata episode. I enjoyed her funny exploration of the way it might have happened, but I am saddened by Beethoven’s hasty decision and attempt to erase the man’s name from his beautiful work of art forever, and hence musical history. Still, I am thankful for one woman’s poetic imagination bold enough to resurrect this fascinating story, and I am also thankful for one of my favorite films, Beethoven. In the movie there is a scene that lasts only seconds: a black violinist is warming up in a roomful of white musicians. (I don’t really need to say anything about the poignancy of that description, right?) It was this scene that sparked Rita Dove to begin her research. I haven’t seen the film in a long time but I plan to watch it again soon, just for a brief glimpse of the one and only George Augustus Polgreen Bridgetower.

Written by: Natalie Maxwell, January 29th 2011

Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters

farhana — Sat, 29 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Marilyn Monroe

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Everyone knows about the tragic life of bombshell Marilyn Monroe, whose nickname “Miss Golden Dreams” would indicate nothing of how brief her existence would be. At thirty-six, the “orphan” with a mentally damaged mother and no father to call her own was found naked and dead in her Los Angeles home, apparently from suicide. With three divorces, several miscarriages, and plenty of roles depicting her as a dumb blonde, not even Monroe’s celebrated curves, sapphire blue eyes, or perfectly heart-shaped face were enough to keep her smiling. No fame or money could save the starlet with the little girl voice from the many demons that haunted her.

Since her passing in August 1962, hundreds of books have attempted to capture the patron saint of tragic screen sirens. Now, forty-six years later, Monroe speaks for herself in Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters, the sleek hardcover edited by Stanley Buchthal and Bernard Comment. Fragments gives us a glimpse of a woman who was used and misused many times over. Finally, we have the truth of who really was one of the twentieth century’s greatest icons.

This book is a collection of Monroe’s poems, letters, notes, diary entries, and even recipes that were kept hidden-until now. However, the first few pages confirms what many have long suspected—that she suffered from a dark depression, which wasn't widely talked about during her lifetime.

Despite seeking guidance from several doctors, Monroe wasn’t afraid to further examine how she felt, even noticing how her sadness was affecting her physical beauty, including “eyes dulled, cheeks flushed with capillaries that look like rivers on maps” and “hair lying like snakes.” Using a poetic language, undoubtedly inspired by her passion for literature, Monroe expertly depicted herself as “a dancer who cannot dance,” a turbulent storm who couldn’t be embraced by the men she sought.

Monroe’s marriage to Yankees baseball star Joe DiMaggio may have been a match made in tabloid heaven, but it was her relationship with playwright Arthur Miller that proved more telling, and perhaps more damning, than any of her other romances. From her rainbow collection of books, as seen in Fragments, to her determination to attend the Actor’s Studio in New York City, it was of no surprise that Monroe would be drawn to someone who can satisfy her desire to learn. Yet, when Monroe found her husband’s diary in 1956 and discovered how shameful he felt when she was around his intellectual peers, we’re able to feel how heartbroken she must have been over this shocking surprise.

“I guess I have always been deeply terrified to really be someone’s wife since I know from life one cannot love another, ever, really,” Monroe reveals in Fragments, later stating, “I think to love bravely is the best and accept-as much as one can bear.”

Despite that Monroe was desired by thousands of men as the dress flying “girl” or diamond-obsessed Lorelei Lee, the real life pinup suffered from the same sorrows that all women face when they’ve been betrayed.

While Monroe was one of the first actresses to launch a production company in spite of the star factories of Hollywood studios, Fragments shows that her accomplishments weren’t enough to fulfill what she always wanted: love.

It’s certain that loyal Monroe fans will instantly fall head over heels for Fragments. Even curious listeners can also learn a thing or two about the actress who continues to captivate audiences a century later.

There are still many unanswered questions, yet Fragments ultimately reveals how Monroe was a curious, hopeful and passionate woman willing to overcome the many obstacles that came her way by trying to control of her fate. Fragments exposes not the love goddess we’ve come to worship, but the misunderstood mortal who wouldn’t live long enough to find what she so desperately searched for.

Written by: Stephanie Nolasco, January 29th 2011

Red Willow People

mandy — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Devreaux Baker

Wild Ocean Press

Imagine evening as a woman, wind as a friend, and every part of nature as an organ in the human body. You have now entered the landscape of Devreaux Baker’s newest collection of poetry, Red Willow People. The colors are red, white, yellow and the green shade of clay. The light is supplied by lines from poetry by Federico Garcia Lorca. The smell is sage, cedar, and pinyon pine. These poems are the story of a region, specifically Taos and the Southwestern area of the United States. They are also the story of a people, all the different clans of the Navajo (Dine’). The collection captures the essence of both the region and the people while exploring the universal themes of transformation and rebirth.

“Change wants to work her mantra into each being’s heart,” Baker notes in the poem “The Nest,” one of my favorite poems in the book. Baker describes trees as lungs, rocks as bones, and rivers as veins in the beginning of the poem. As the poem continues we see life examined through the lens of middle age, the change an individual body goes through, and at the same time the change nature goes through as Baker’s neighbor cuts down 100-year-old trees so the leaves won’t fall on his house.

These kinds of observations can be seen throughout many of the poems, full of the small and big mishandling that humans do to nature. Observations of birth and rebirth are also throughout many of the poems. At the end of “The Nest,” Baker’s calves and thighs become a nest for a little baby bird that the mother bird drops into her lap. It reminded me that even as we age and even through all the changes of this earth, there is constantly new life beginning again. And we can protect that life.

The books starts with the series of poems about the Spider Woman, a part of the Dine’ creation story who also teaches the people about weaving. It ends with a poem about coming home, a journey that took many lifetimes... “about burning all the way back to ash and then it was about becoming water, that simple.” That encapsulates this collection. Beautiful images of nature and the Southwestern landscape fuel the simple story of birth and rebirth. I always want to know what the relationship of the writer is with indigenous nations they are writing about, so I was curious about how Baker created her work which relied heavily on Dine’ myth and culture. I believe it’s literary territory that needs to be respected in a serious way, especially if you aren’t from that group of people. I think she told her story honestly in Red Willow People and showed respect for a culture that clearly inspired her greatly.

Written by: Maleka Fruean, January 25th 2011

Each and Her

mandy — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Valerie Martínez

University of Arizona Press

It can be easy and convenient to forget facts learned and impressions made about our southern neighbor, Mexico. Because I like to think of myself as conscious and conscientious of both international news and poetry, I was surprised by my recent discovery of Each and Her by Valerie Martínez. A widely anthologized poet and former poet laureate of Santa Fe, Martínez has been recognized for a career’s worth of community outreach and education, and even for translating Uruguayan poetry.

On the back cover of Each and Her, Martínez’s mentor, Joy Harjo, admires the poet's elegance, metaphor, and noble purpose: “They were roses, those tender girls broken against the edge of the border between Mexico and the U.S. They were our sisters, our daughters, our nieces, granddaughters; they are us… There can be no more silence. These poems make an opening in the pathway for justice.”

I must agree; this is one of the most lovely and thought provoking elegies I have read in a while. Martínez bestows a quiet honor on the lives of nearly 500 victims (since 1993). She does this by encompassing their names in her larger meditations on the cultivation of roses, and on representations of cultures that value (or devalue) those who are vulnerable, female, and poor.

Each and Her is, essentially, a book-length poem; there are seventy-two numbered, title-less meditations that follow a starkly written introduction to the paramount problem: many females, often students or factory workers, have been (and continue to be) murdered in or around Juárez and Chihuahua, Mexico. Martínez’s objective, page-long prologue tells us that the murders are linked by evidence of sexual violence, torture, or mutilation, and that the numbers each year are steadily rising (from twenty-eight in 2004 to eighty-six in 2008). The problem is getting worse, and in its background we see a drug and labor trafficking culture, and exploitation in the maquiladoras, the export assembly plants where some of these girls are employed. In one of her many numeral-rich poems, Martínez cites the number of girls and women who currently work in that industry:

472,423
while they can be hired legally
at the age of 16, it is common for these girl-women
to get false documents
start work at 12, 13, 14

Martínez arranges beautifully sparse facts next to rich details that mesmerize with their quiet reality (“Amalia went back to Juárez / dirt floors/ sheets for doors/ Coca-Cola in small bottles/ in wood crates stacked/ bundles of tortillas and tamales/ out the front window/ pesos and dollar bills/ crushed on the ledge”). Moments like these, and small poems like “this / way” or “I refuse” helped me contemplate the horror (“right breasts severed / left nipples bitten off”) while holding onto glimpses of how these women and girls may have lived before they were tortured and killed (“crush of the crowded Juárez market / Malia is first / hand clutching mine/ Grandmother behind / tethered to Mom”).

I admired how Martínez incorporated found poems, such as selections from the Orthodox veneration of the Virgin Mary and Eve and “the missive / from the attorney general / of the state of Chihuahua,” into the same long poem as her narrated lesson on worthy ancient women: “finally, a great throng of women deserving to be named, some as Greeks, some as muses, some as seers, for all were nothing more than learned women held and celebrated…” Whether suggesting the beauty and toil of flower harvesting labor, evoking the motif of sisterhood, or considering the working conditions of women, as in poem "36." (“a typical maqui working schedule/ 60 hours per week/ typical daily wage—$8.29”), Martínez left me amazed at the breadth of her careful poetry.

The emotion of each experience—of a girl-woman and her loved ones—is nodded to and transcended. Martínez understands that the deep icon of the rose radiates out from what mathematicians or ethicists can understand about these brutal murders. I was literally propelled through these poems by a need to privilege these lives with my attention, by a kind of reverent curiosity about these girls’ and women’s stories, and by the utter pleasure of Martínez’s lovely, sparse, and thoughtful language. Justice often comes through awareness and empathy, and the way that Valerie Martínez reverently and tenderly handles her collection of meditations about this terrifying cultural pattern buoys the possibility of justice, and hopefully, a remedy.

Written by: Julie Ann, January 21st 2011

The Vintage Book of American Women Writers

mandy — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Edited by Elaine Showalter

Vintage

Anyone who has taken their share of English literature survey courses will tell you that the women considered great enough to be included within the literary canon are few to be found, as women writers have been marginalized throughout history. Even today, the title “great American novelist” is one that has yet to be bestowed upon a woman, and many women writers whose work has literary significance find their work disregarded as "chick lit." The Vintage Book of American Women Writers helps to give women their due. The 848-page book traces the history of women writers in America, beginning with Anne Bradford, the first woman to be published in Puritan America, and ending with such contemporary writers as Amy Tan and Jhumpa Lahiri.

Among the most noteworthy additions on the table of contents is feminist Kate Chopin, who was revolutionary in her time for depicting women who hungered for an independent life outside of the confines of marriage and children and who sought out their own sexual fulfillment. Included within this anthology are “Story of an Hour” and the two connected stories: “At the Cadian Ball” and “The Storm.” “The Storm” was particularly groundbreaking; written in 1894, it presents a woman who, in the throes of lust, commits adultery during a violent thunderstorm. Due to the sexual explicitness of the story, it was never published until 1969, over seventy years after Chopin originally wrote it.

Continuing along the same vein are works by Dorothy Parker (“Big Blonde”) and Edna St. Vincent Millay (“First Fig,” “Second Fig,” and “What My Lips Have Kissed”). Both writers also portrayed women who expressed sexualities that challenged societal mores, although this specific story by Parker displays a woman who becomes trapped by the limited role she is left to carry out in society.

Even with multiple English degrees under my belt, I found there to be many stories and writers within the anthology I had not read, or even heard of. Among the writers whose legacy has been somewhat left to obscurity is Alice Bradley Sheldon, who posed as a man and wrote under the pen name James Tiptree, Jr. in order to better her chances of publication. Tiptree, who once belonged to the CIA, wrote compelling science fiction works. The included selection, “The Last Flight of Dr. Ain,” reflects both her background in the CIA and the knowledge she gained through her Doctorate degree in experimental psychology. Also included within this collection (and one could not imagine any anthology of women in literature not including them) are a selection of poems from Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, and Adrienne Rich.

The Vintage Book of American Women Writers makes note of the struggle women have fought in order for their voices to be heard within the literary world. Of course, many people are apt to argue that there are many wonderful and historically significant women writers who did not make it into the collection, but there is only room for so many in one book. In the end, this anthology successfully underscores the overlooked importance women have played in literary history.

Written by: Adrienne Urbanski, January 17th 2011

Written on the Body of The Erasable Woman

mandy — Wed, 29 Dec 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Interview with Shaunga Tagore

When did you start writing poetry?

At a very young age—probably when I started writing with chalk on my bathroom door or adding my own two cents to my parents’ biology textbooks they tell me I always furiously flipped through. I experienced a lot of racism, (hetero)sexism, and different kinds of regulation at a young age too, and I think what that did was make me really quiet and closed up in a lot of ways. But expressing myself creatively was something I did to become myself again—whether that be through writing, acting, music, or just telling stories about how I imagined my life to be, instead of the scary, oppressive ways I often experienced it.

Who has influenced your writing?

First and foremost, my family: my parents and sister created an environment for me where creativity was valued and encouraged. Now still, there are so many ways I am creatively inspired by the lives and perspectives of my friends and family, even in ordinary moments. I’m also lucky to be a part of Asian Arts Freedom School, a creative arts and radical Asian history and politics group, where the conversations and stories continually influence and push my own writing.

As for famous people, some who come to mind are Arundhati Roy, Jhumpa Lahiri, Shyam Selvadurai, Audre Lorde, Gloria Anzaldua, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna Smarasinha, Himani Bannerji, and Andrea Smith.

The Erasable Woman is your Master's thesis project; why did you choose to write it in poetry?

I was sick of writing like an academic. (Laughs.) My topic was exploring colonial violence against racialized queer women, as well as how broad systems of oppression or histories can manifest intimately on women’s bodies, and in personal relationships. I find that poetry can express this intimacy in ways academic writing cannot. A lot of people in academia would not consider poetry a legitimate way to express theory or politics, but poetry is theory, it is knowledge, and it is political. I was really lucky to have a supervising committee who understood and supported this kind of project (Enakshi Dua and Priscila Uppal).

Why the title The Erasable Woman?

The Erasable Woman is a title of one of my poems, and I feel it fits the entire collection. A major theme that runs through my manuscript is erasure…being forgotten, lost, ignored, invisible, expendable, and disposable. At the same time, it asserts a physical, spiritual, sexual, emotional, and undeniable presence in the midst of being and feeling erased. That’s one of the ways I tried to express the complexity of what it means to experience oppression and survive/resist it at the same time.

Erasure is such a key and powerful way that violence is allowed to continue. [It] speaks to the ways in which racism and other oppressions in feminist movements is ignored, and the well-being of women of colour is not considered. Also, the value of challenging sexism, homophobia, and transphobia in a lot of anti-racist or queer initiatives is often marginalized and not given enough importance. So many things in this world are structured through erasure: mainstream education denies the violence of colonial conquest on this land by largely painting it as a benign, peaceful process; national media doesn’t pay enough attention to the ways in which violence impacts marginalized bodies or communities; survivors in/of abusive relationships are silenced and shut down when they try and fight/talk back; queer or unconventional love/desire is constantly trivialized and demonized; expressing or feeling certain kinds of emotions is minimized. I wanted to explore these topics in my own way.

How do your identities influence your work?

I can’t separate myself from my social position, or my mashup of identities, and I can’t separate myself from my writing, so it all becomes intertwined. In this particular work, it was important for me to center the voice of a queer woman of colour, because it’s not a perspective that’s often given attention—in literature, feminism, anti-racism, or queer politics.

How did you came to the decision to use images in your collection?

I always start with a feeling or idea I need to express (sometimes desperately), and I follow my intuition, as well as work with my skill set, to give shape and form to that feeling or idea the best and most honest way I can figure out how. For example, at one point I wanted to create something that expressed how the bodies of women of colour are judged and marked by oppression just by living in the world. So, one of the pieces that appears in my collection (called "bodysnatchers") contains a series of photos with oppressive words actually written on the body. It just made the most sense.

The Erasable Woman is currently not available to the public. Can you tell us what your plans are for this wonderful collection of poetry?

The Erasable Woman is still a work in progress that I am currently fine-tuning, and I hope to get it published in the near future. I’m really excited about how it’s shaping up and have been doing readings at various events. I now have a website, which is new and still under construction, where people can read some of my work and check out other things I’m up to.

Read the full interview at Black Coffee Poet

Written by: Janet Romero-Leiva, December 29th 2010

I’m Black When I’m Singing, I’m Blue When I Ain’t and Other Plays

barbara — Sun, 26 Dec 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Sonia Sanchez, Jacqueline Wood

Duke University Press

It has always been Sonia Sanchez the poet I’ve known and loved, with strong works like Wounded in the House of a Friend, Does Your House Have Lions?, and Like The Singing Coming Off the Drums. Sonia the poet, a towering figure in my mind when I think of the powerful black woman poets that still get me through this life and inspire me to write. But there is Sonia Sanchez the playwright too, and I’m so glad to meet her in this critical new collection I’m Black When I’m Singing, I’m Blue When I Ain’t and Other Plays. This collection finally brings together all of Sanchez’s dramatic works, previously published and unpublished, spanning from 1969 to 2009.

As one of the major writers of the Black Arts movement, Sonia’s bold and creative voice demanded to be heard among an intimidating arena of popular black male writers, many of whom nurtured chauvinistic ideals. We are all now aware of the rampant misogyny that permeated this period during the sixties and seventies, when sadly too many black men saw the possibility of liberation through the destructive lens of patriarchy and inflated notions of manhood. Sanchez unflinchingly addressed such issues in her drama, which can best be described as poetic fire infused with hope for a better reality for black people in what she would term “this place called America.”

1974’s Uh, Uh; But How Do It Free Us? is a play that only a woman with a deep love for her people and a real desire to save them could write. It painfully shines a light on the damaging effects of addiction and the open degradation of women in the militant black community. The play is broken into three groups of characters, each with different stories that reflect the problematic behavior prevalent at the time yet often hiding behind “revolutionary” rhetoric. In “Group II” we meet five men riding white rocking horses who revel in physically and verbally abusing two women, “White Whore” and “Black Whore.” Although the men proclaim to espouse revolution and progress, they are abusers as well as slaves to their drug addictions and sexual appetites.

Sanchez’s love for the women who suffered during this period is honored in the 1969 play Sister Son/Ji. Son/Ji is eventually left alone to deal with the consequences of her commitment to a movement that, as Sanchez says “cannot catch her when she falls down in midnight solitude.” There were women who lost their minds as a result of choosing such a life, she says. Women like Son/Ji who threw themselves into the cause even while losing their children to war. In one of the book’s two essays, “Poetry Run Loose,” Sanchez lifts up Son/Ji as one who survived many years of death and sacrifice and chooses to speak in spite of her scars.

Placing these plays within their historical context is important, but they also hold up today as dramas that uplift and motivate their audiences and readers, dramas with messages that are still valuable. As this collection reminds us, there is Sonia Sanchez the activist too.

Written by: Natalie Maxwell, December 26th 2010

The Livelihood of Crows

payal — Sat, 25 Dec 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Jayne Pupek

Mayapple Press

In her latest collection of poetry, Jayne Pupek, who brought us Forms of Intercession, shows that she still knows how to rivet readers.

The Livelihood of Crows swells with fresh phrases and unique images, making it difficult to select just a few favorite lines from the collection. In “Skeptic in Apt 23,” “loneliness / reaches its peak season, it tastes like neon lights / short circuiting on my tongue.” “Census of Seagulls” turns faith into a “paper bag I breathe into when air is scarce.” In Pupek’s world “leaves gossip in the wind,” “jars of pearl onions glisten like small moons,” “beige taproots fondle each other without asking” and “abundance is found in the fusion of our mouths.”

As indicated by the title, birds take a prominent role in Pupek’s most recent poems. Crows “vie for positions along the roofline,” gulls form white umbrellas and blackbirds swallow morning. A pet parakeet helps a woman to deal with abortion, while seagulls swoop overhead “watchful as midwives.”

In the title poem, crows and crow imagery serve to depict the speaker’s affair with a man named Jackson. The speaker explains the livelihood of crows by saying “we are all replicas.” When Jackson returns to his sick wife, the speaker watches “the red eyes of your taillights disappear” and the “crows divide the sky into halves.”

“Prayer of the Drowned Woman” features a woman who asks to be plucked from the ocean floor and put back together with “sparrow bones and glue.” Meanwhile, seagulls circle nearby and cry for buttered corn. The bird imagery continues when the speaker reminisces about being “fed on collected / berries passed mouth to mouth.” Through these illustrations, the poem highlights the ways in which we lose our ability to breathe.

Pupek also examines some hot-button political issues such as terrorism and economic decline. “Terror is the new catch phrase. Were we always afraid and didn’t / know it? / The fairytales told to us as children may have been the first acts of terrorism,” she writes in “At the Gallery: New Artists’ Series.” “Recession Song” explores forfeited dreams as “stars dim in the haze of foreclosure” and “clocks tick on in sync.”

There is no shortage of beauty in this collection that was crafted by a poet who’s mastered the art of infusing words with a rhythm that haunts and surprises.

Written by: Michelle Tooker, December 25th 2010

Traveling Light

gwen — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Linda Pastan

W.W. Norton & Company

Pastan’s latest collection reaches beyond the usual everyday subjects and themes of a “domestic poet,” a label that has long underrated her abilities. While many of the poems in Traveling Light continue to display her familiar manner of sensing dangers that lurk beneath quotidian objects and rituals, Pastan demonstrates her broader capabilities by grappling with more political matters in the fourth section of the book, “Somewhere in The World.”

In the uncharacteristically political fourth section, Pastan comments upon a number of defining historical moments, including World War II, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and most intensely, the September 11 terrorist attacks. These events are often personalized, brought down from abstraction to the level of an experiencing individual at a specific moment. Consider, for example, the short poem “Anniversary”:

For us it was the anniversary
of love–September 11th,
the day my parents met, a year later
the day they married.
So when I see or hear that date,

my heart by habit lifts
for a moment, just before
it plunges–history’s
dirty thumbprint
staining the calendar.

Present here are Pastan’s classic distinguishing qualities–the discovery of the extraordinary within the ordinary, the concrete image at the center, the simple and elegant language, the ominous tone. But while history often represents cyclical loss and failure in Pastan’s poems, it would be erroneous to classify her as a negative poet. Pastan’s pessimistic expectance of loss may permeate through her poems, but it is overcome by her faith in the individual’s innate moral goodness and power to turn any course of events. In “Weights and Measures,” for example, she argues that one’s ultimate natural allegiance will not be to any political or ideological stance, but rather, to love:

Wouldn’t I break my word,
wrap myself in any flag (stars,
or sickle, or rising sun) just
to be with you? …

In other sections of the book, nowhere are Pastan’s talents more compelling than when she reflects upon her state as an aging woman. Absent are the clichéd complaints one would expect over the loss of physical beauty. In their place are nuanced meditations on the oppositions that animate life–youth and old age, forgetting and remembering, change and permanence, sadness and joy, good and evil, destruction and renewal. In mediating between these oppositions, Pastan asserts her ever forceful mind and impassioned spirit over her failing body as she does in “Any Woman”:

Age has nothing to do with me.
Lust still raises its purple flag
and envy its green one–
don’t I repent the same sins
every year, make the same resolutions?

Particularly evocative and lyrical are Pastan’s Eden poems, which summon the archetypal figure of Eve to explore women’s complexities and concerns. Pastan’s Eve is not Milton’s passive and subservient Eve, but an Eve who took a lover, who questions God’s motives, and who takes credit for the Fall as the unifying narrative of humankind. And just as Pastan is given to weighing oppositions, so does her Eve embody both humankind’s most exalted qualities and most dangerous faults. This Eve is all at once sensual, astute, vain, foolhardy, wise, and vulnerable.

Pastan’s “mind of spring,” the vividness and potency of her thoughts and feelings, shows through her keen powers of observation and illumination. At each turn in Traveling Light, the reader is surprised with a startling image and recalled to a profound truth previously taken for granted or neglected. Pastan attunes us to the possibilities of each given moment, to their dangers and rewards, and in doing so enriches the kinds of realities we can create.

Written by: Abigail Licad, December 23rd 2010

The Keening

priyanka — Sat, 11 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By A. LaFaye

Milkweed Editions

A. LaFaye’s The Keening is one part poem, and one part novel. Though the narrative is strong, it is the layered, considered language, and the dance with fantasy that make this novel something special. Both a modern-day ghost story and young adult novel, the book is complex, something that can’t be tied to just one genre.

This book’s protagonist, Lyza, lives with her father on the fringe of a Maine fishing village. With the family’s feet dug deep into fantasy and another foot tipped towards reality, the village doesn’t quite understand them. After her mother’s death from the 1918 influenza epidemic, Lyza has to decide whether she will head to Portland to take a college examination or stay and save her father from those who do not understand his obsessions.

Like many teenagers, Lyza is unsure of her place in the world. Often, she feels as though she has been “orphaned” from her family’s talents and creativity: her mother’s knack for sewing and her father’s carvings. This feeling of otherness or isolation is not helped by her oddball parents who are content to live away from the village. Mater and Pater, as Lyza calls them, do not care that the town ostracizes them or that they are talked about. They are comfortable in their world of sewing, carving, and creation.

Once her mother passes, Lyza’s search for her identity intertwines with the plight to save her father from being institutionalized. Soon, she taps into her family’s heritage and sees the souls in her father’s wood carvings. Like many children who shy away from the thing that makes them different, Lyza realizes that she is not unlike her father, her talents are otherworldly, and that much will need to be done to mend the wounds between her mother’s family, her father, and the different worlds between which she is caught.

The joy of this book is when the descriptions are subtle yet layered. The characterization in this novel is punctuated by sharp descriptions. For example, LaFaye writes “...Mater liked her meals with the tides—breaking her fast as it went out, setting down to supper when it came in, preferring to eat as gulls do between times—pecking at this or that...” In just a few sentences, Mater’s personality is chiseled to perfection.

If there is a misstep to the novel, it is its ending. Here, the speaker tries to wrap up each string or piece of the future: mentioning “the staircase leading up the cliff to home. To college. To anywhere the spirits and the Good Lord cared to lead me.” The final sections of the novel explain too much: The speaker’s realizations about paths—whether or not Kingsley Cove could be emptied out—seem too loud for such a dream-focused novel. The strength of the novel is diluted when the speaker puts her feet on the ground.

It’s moments like when Lyza’s Pater looks up and sees “angels in meteors” or when the writer describes her friend, Jake, and his inability to stand up to his father as “folding like a church lady’s fan” that this novel shines. The poetry in this novel is sharp and layered like Pater’s wood carvings. When Lyza finally learns not to “trip over her talent,” it’s like the glow of a lantern on a dark day. Soon, Lyza learns that if she paddles long enough, keeps her eyes, mind, and heart open, and listens to what’s around her, the shore is sure to come.

Written by: Lisa Bower, December 10th 2010

Untold: A History of the Wives of Prophet Muhammad

mandy — Thu, 25 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Tamam Kahn

Monkfish Book Publishing

Although the wives of the Prophet are held up as examples for Muslim women to follow, little is told about the human beings behind the women on pedestals. We all get told the same stuff—how Khadija supported her husband, Aisha’s work as a jurist and teacher—but the discourse focuses on their actions, not their persons.

Tamam Kahn’s Untold aims to tell the human stories of the Prophet’s wives—and succeeds. In the preface of the book, Kahn touches on her intentions: upon meeting strong Muslim women in Morocco, she wanted to tell the stories of strong women, including the back story. Indeed, what makes for a strong woman isn’t just her praiseworthy behavior, but also her imperfections, her humanity.

The format of the book is not like traditional biographies; it mixes original poetry and prose interlaced with history, a style which makes for an easier read than a straight-up biographical narrative. Unlike other works on the subject of the Prophet’s wives, the way Kahn tells the story, at the crossroads between history and fantasy, social science and fiction, Untold can appeal to more than “just Muslims.” It is a wonderfully uplifting, spiritual read.

Untold invites us to contemplate the context of the Prophet’s marriages without falling into the trap of apologist discourse. When discussing the Prophet’s marriage to Zaynab bint Jahsh, Kahn discusses the politics surrounding her divorce from Zayd and subsequent marriage with Muhammad, outlines possible motives, and concludes that “what might have happened between Zaynab and Muhammad is forbidden love, the onset of impulsive feeling, deep connection and pain.”

Aisha, far from the platitudes of your Dar-ul-Big-Beard textbook, is described as a “both naive and wise,” and a “formidable foe” due to her “vigilance” and her “uneasiness at sharing her husband.” Khadija’s story is also reframed: instead of “just” being the woman who dropped everything to support Muhammad, she is painted as the cornerstone of his work. "…She is part of all that is vivid in that landscape of dusty earth…the sustaining date fruit…She is the underground river beneath desert palm trees and gardens.” The stories of the Prophet’s wives aren’t the only ones in Untold. Sections are dedicated to the humanity and strength of his daughters, as well.

Untold’s framing of the stories of the Prophet’s wives cast them in a new light. Instead of being untouchable examples for humankind, they become women we mere Muslims can relate to and emulate in all their humanity. The place of women in Islam is often talked about, but the stories of Muslim women themselves, less so. Untold fills a void in popular culture and helps to re-frame the role of Muslim women in narratives about them.

Cross-posted at Muslimah Media Watch

Written by: Nicole @ MMW, November 25th 2010

Living and Loving in Dos Lenguas

mandy — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Interview with Janet Romero-Leiva

Janet Romero-Leiva is a queer, feminist, Latina visual artist and writer whose work explores immigrant displacement, denied aboriginality, queer and of colour existence, living and loving in dos lenguas, and the continuous intersection of identities that shape who she is and how she moves in this world. Janet immigrated to Canada at the age of seven and has since been trying to find her footing between America of the north and America of the south. She loves smoothies and cartwheeling, and can often be found reading children’s books at the Toronto Women’s Bookstore.

Why did you start writing poetry?

It was by accident; I didn’t really know that is what I was doing, but I started writing because I felt a need to express and somehow release things I was trying to make sense out of—like my queerness, my feminism, my latinidad, and my experience of being an immigrant child.

What is your writing process?

I write a lot when I am trying to sort something out—a thought, a feeling, an experience. Mostly it’s from a feeling of discomfort or confusion. I will usually sit with the feeling for a while before I write about it and will usually write down a line or two so I can revisit it when I feel capable of going back to that discomfort. When I do go back to it, I write about the experience itself, what feelings came up for me and when I have felt this before. Then I edit until I manage to capture the feeling more than the actual experience.

Who are your influences?

Chrystos was the first poet I read that made me think I could write too, so I obviously love her. Also Gloria Anzaldua, Cherrie Moraga, Audre Lorde, Qwo-Li Driskill, and Lee Maracle.

You used to manage the Toronto Women’s Bookstore. What is lacking in the publishing world?

The publishing world is lacking feminists, queers, people of colour, trans people, working class people, folks with (dis)abilities, immigrants, and older people's writing. A big problem is that the majority of people in publishing are not the people on this list, so they don't see a problem with this. It’s not that no one is publishing people of colour, queer people, etc. It’s that the big publishers and bookstores make it very hard for the independents to stay in business. I think another factor is that, because we have not seen ourselves represented in literature, it is hard to imagine that this can change, so part of it is believing that this is possible for us.

What role do you see poetry having in activism?

I equate poetry with activism. We need to hear/know/understand the world from various perspectives, and I think poetry allows us to express and hear things in a way that traditional methods—like speeches and academic writing—do not because it evokes a feeling, and when you leave a talk/conference/march you will forget the words you heard, but the feeling will stay with you.

What advice do you have for young writers, women of colour writers, and queer writers?

Keep on writing, regardless of what people say—good or bad—and continue to write what you need to write. Share your writing. If no one hears what you have to say then it is only you who will benefit from your work, which is great and important as a growing and learning tool, but it is also great for us to hear you, to normalize our reality, and be an influence to others who may not have the words to express the many wonderful and difficult things we live.

Read the full interview at Black Coffee Poet

Written by: Jorge Antonio Vallejos, November 20th 2010