My first post of the year is a throwback, and my first reading of the year was at Portuguese Artists Colony, the music, reading, and live writing event that's always dynamic. This time, I was a guest reader, but the last time I read there was in 2011, when I shared the completed version of a story I'd written to win the live writing competition. That story is called "The Nun's Daughter," but it's come to be known as my stripper nun story. That's because, well, it's a stripper nun story, and who cares about a title when you've got stripper nuns? And I guess you can't just go around telling people you have a stripper nun story without sharing said story with those who didn't hear it the first time, so I'm sharing it with you now.
Visit the Portuguese Artists Colony
for their upcoming events. Next up, we'll get to hear live writing champion Lori Savageau finish her intriguing story, inspired by the prompt, "She still had baby teeth."
In the meantime, you can read my story here. Or, if you you're curious about how often I giggle while reading a stripper nun story, watch the video below. I'd like to say I've grown as a writer since then, but I'll be honest - if writing stripper nun stories is wrong, I don't want to be right.
Today is my birthday! I share it with a special day, Transgender Day of Remembrance.
This day is necessary to remember all of those who lost their lives
to anti-transgender violence. Unfortunately, anti-trans violence is all too common, and the majority of the victims are transgender women of color
. They've experienced multiple forms
of violence and oppression throughout their tragically short lives. And after death, the media continues to disrespect them
by ignoring, misgendering, and even villifying them.
We can fight against the messages and violence that treat transgender people as disposable by honoring the lives we've lost this year
. I mourn with sadness and anger. At the same time, I celebrate the resilience of transgender people who defiantly show each day that their lives matter, as they face the struggles of discrimination, harassment, and violence with courage and strength
For my birthday wish today, I ask for your support in my organization's work to combat anti-transgender violence. At Community United Against Violence (CUAV)
, we work to restore the dignity and self-determination that all of us deserve by making changes to create a world in which we can all feel safe from violence, regardless of gender identity or expression. Visit CUAV's website
to learn more about our work and to make a donation. If you're thinking about donating, now's the time – a generous group of CUAV supporters have made a Community Matching Challenge, so if you join our circle of monthly sustainers at $10 or more, they will match every dollar you donate in 2014, doubling the impact of your gift.
Thank you for supporting this essential work. You can also recognize Transgender Day of Remembrance by attending an event in your area
. Let's make this a day of reflection, and a day of action, as we stand up and say that nobody is disposable. Nobody is forgotten.
We remember you, and we continue to fight for you, in your spirit of bravely fighting for yourself every day.
Audre Lorde died twenty-one years ago today. When I first composed this post, I didn't realize the significance of this day. It's not a coincidence, I'm sure. The spiritual connection that allows black women to strengthen each other can't be broken, even in death.
Last month, I got the thrill of a lifetime with the chance to see a documentary film about Audre Lorde, my activist poet queen, at The New Parkway Theater in Oakland. Audre Lorde: The Berlin Years
was playing as the final feature film in the 2013 International Black Women's Film Festival
, an event designed to combat negative stereotyping of black women in the media by giving space for black women to tell our own stories. As soon as I heard the film festival would be playing this film, I knew it was the place for me.
It's just a movie, I know, but as I headed to the theater, I felt the giddiness of preparing to meet my idol in person. It seemed like the closest thing – when Audre Lorde passed away in 1992, I was a child unaware of her existence, and I have rarely seen evidence of her life in any form other than text. This text has felt, to me, like sacred traces of a mystical woman, echoes of divine footsteps that once walked the earth with us mere mortals. As I've read Audre's poetry, essays, and speeches over the years, I've imagined her as such a human being who is so extraordinary, she may not be human at all. In my mind, Audre Lorde has always been a goddess.
It remains true that Audre's spirit is divine and eternal. But the film showed many things, and perhaps most of all, it showed her humanity. Would a goddess walk through parks with friends, or laugh, or dance? Would she face the struggle of a cancer diagnosis? Would she endure the gentle teasing of her loving life partner? Maybe. But it's possible for any person, including me, to experience such things. Any of us could live our lives as she lived hers, with love and poetry as social action, with the capacity to change the world around us.
After the movie ended, I was a blubbering mess of joyful tears, and I didn't have the words to explain why. Maybe the sight of Audre Lorde dancing was something I never knew I needed to see. Maybe I'd been thirsting to hear her speak the words I'd read so many times. Suddenly, she felt more real to me than she ever had before. Maybe I needed to see her in the flesh. Maybe I needed to be seen.
It's strange to think that seeing somebody else on a big screen could help me
feel seen, but it's true. The film chronicles the final years of Audre's life, 1984-1992, when she spent time in Berlin and had a profound impact on the lives of black women there, challenging both black women and white women to think and write about race as they never had before. She mentored black women who had been silenced and isolated from one another, bringing them together to recognize one another and themselves as Afro-Germans. Many of these women testified in interviews that Audre's guidance allowed them to feel proud of who they are, for the first time in their lives.
The film sent me off with the exhilarating, terrifying feeling of seeing myself as Audre Lorde would have seen me. Not the goddess Audre Lorde, mythical creature of my dreams, but Audre Lorde, the human being, who really lived and breathed and saw a magnificent power in every black woman.
Now, I don't have to wonder what it would be like for me to meet Audre Lorde. Now, I know. I wouldn't have to prove my worth to her or ask her permission to step into my power. She would believe in me, simply because she could see me for who I really am.
I got to step into the power of my visibility later that day, when I read my poetry at Hazel Reading Series
, opening my reading with an epigraph by Audre Lorde: "Wherever the bird with no feet flew, she found trees with no limbs." Hazel's all about fostering the visibility of women, featuring women writers who each invite another woman to read at the next installment of the series.
Hazel's next event is today at 5:00 pm, at 1564 Market St. in San Francisco. My invitation to read went to Jezebel Delilah X, another queer black woman writer with divinity in her humanity. I can't wait to witness her sharing of magic through her words, continuing the legacy of resisting invisibility by lifting up our own stories to be seen.
Since my last post
about measures of success for a political poet, I've had several fruitful conversations about the potential of poetry to create positive changes in the world. Thank you for reading, and for sharing your perspectives to affirm my work and the transformative work of the artists I admire.
Recently, I've also had a couple of publications include my words in their projects to lift voices for social change.
The Everyday Abolition/Abolition Every Day Project
is producing a zine all about our creativity and collective power to resist the prison industrial complex. Everyday Abolition
is "an international political art collaboration between Chanelle Gallant and Lisa Marie Alatorre, collecting stories, art, and interviews highlighting the ways PIC abolitionists practice, and live PIC abolition in our work, organizing, and personal lives."
So for the rest of 2013, Everyday Abolition is posting stories and words about what it means to live abolition, everyday. A print version of the zine will follow, and until then, you can read the posts online. So far, pieces include The Creative Spark of Injustice
, my response to the acquittal of Travyon Martin's murderer, and Isolation Cannot Heal Isolation: One Survivor's Response to Sexual Assault
, a beautiful, brave post about healing, safety, and accountability, written by Blyth Barnow, a woman I'm proud to call my friend.
Read these posts and more on Everyday Abolition/Abolition Every Day.
My words also appeared last month in an article by Andrea Abi-Karam, published on openDemocracy's Transformation: Where love meets social justice
. The article, "Political Poetry Does Not Ask Permission,"
includes interviews with me and two other political poets, Jacqueline Frost and Wendy Trevino, on the transformative power of political poetry.
This piece begins: We long for the time when we took to the streets. But now, we take those words from the streets and transform our post-occupy political daze into poetry.
Poetry’s evasion of mainstream capitalism gives it a unique, charged voice for political expression in the public sphere. Compared to other art forms, books collect dust on shelves while gallery pieces sell for thousands. Poetry’s existence outside of “economic desire” gives it the power of a voice that doesn’t seek to please anyone.
“I feel like one thing that makes political poetry so impactful is that it doesn’t ask permission,” says Bay Area poet and activist Maisha Johnson. She continues: “A lot of political poetry says: ‘This is my truth, I’m not going to wait for anybody to allow me to speak my truth. This is what I need to say – I’m going to say it.’”
Read the rest of the article and watch videos of the poets on the Transfomation website.
It’s hard to find a measure of success for a political poet. I’m thinking about success now especially because of I’ve just received an amazing honor – my poem “island’s daughter,” which appeared in the latest issue of Eleven Eleven Journal
, has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize! And, in the spirit of my practice of feeling proud, I’ll just leave that honor there, without dismissal. What happens next? Life goes on.
What would success look like for a political poet? Like publication? Like winning an award? Those are great accomplishments, but in the grand scheme of trying to make an impact on social issues, it can feel like there’s still much more to be done. Sometimes, I feel restless trying to sit with the joy of good things, even the best of things
, while outside of the bubble of my poetry world, life goes on.
Yesterday brought an example of this dilemma. I was at home, delighted about the publication of three of my poems in the online journal aaduna
, when I heard a commotion outside. I looked out my window, and for the next couple of hours, I witnessed a mob of police officers aggressively pursuing and arresting a man of color.
With what I know about the alarming rates
at which people of color are being incarcerated, and about the school-to-prison pipeline
making their incarceration inevitable, I knew I was seeing just a small piece of a much larger, completely disheartening puzzle. And suddenly, publishing a poem called “Emmett Till Cry”
didn’t feel like something to rejoice about. I feel grateful for the publication, sure, for the sake of fostering conversations about systematic violence against black boys and men. But it’s hard to celebrate, knowing that this scene will repeat itself again and again. Knowing that life goes on.
I do believe in art as social action, though, so I believe these poems are worth writing, even as life goes on. As I read a piece like “alternatives to sentencing”
(see video below), I know the incarcerated youth I write about sit in their cells, unaware of and unmoved by my poem. But I feel that, by sharing that poem, I can offer a drop in the river flowing to create alternatives to incarcerating young people
. Let’s create something new with youth, I say. Let’s help them build other options for their paths. Let’s try anything but locking them up until their own minds turn against them as they suffer through trauma
that no young person should ever have to struggle to recover from.
I bring up this example because I need your help in getting this poem published. It was one of three poems I performed to win The Lit Slam in August (remember that? that was fun
). That means it'll appear in Tandem Volume 2
, along with such luminaries as Saeed Jones, Sam Sax, and Daphne Gottlieb. I’m just beside myself with the honor of being published alongside these poets, who all create work that touches on some of the most pressing issues of our time. For me, this is not just about the success of publication – it’s about the importance of these words and the conversations they create as life goes on.
So, I humbly ask you to pre-order your copy of Tandem Vol. 2 now by backing The Lit Slam’s Kickstarter campaign
, helping to bring this incredible collection to bookshelves all over the country.
Tonight is San Francisco's Lit Crawl
! Lit Crawl is where lit nerds' dreams come true, as we can stumble through alleys, galleries, bars, and laundromats and find poems and stories floating through the evening air. It takes place over three phases, allowing you to choose how you want to shape your night.
It's hard to choose, but I know where I'll begin: reading as part of Black Futurists Speak Presents: New Black Writing
during Phase 1. I am just thrilled to be in another edition of Black Futurists Speak, the literary component of the Black Futurist Project
, an arts, community, and technology collaboration featuring forward-thinking black artists. The last one I participated in
was simply one of the best literary events I've ever witnessed, let alone read for.
And I'm deeply honored to be among this line up of seriously powerful artists: Sonya Renee Taylor
, Shawn Taylor, Jezebel Delilah X, James Cagney, and Kwan Booth
. I would say that I'm intimidated by this line up, but that doesn't even begin to describe how I feel, so let's just say that tonight is going to be a sort of surreal for me, as I enter that dream-like state of watching some of my literary heroes perform and then reading my own work alongside them.
The fun begins at 6:00 pm at Casanova Lounge, 527 Valencia St. For a preview, watch videos of the artists reading their work on Boothism, the website of our host, Kwan Booth. Also, check us out as part of Not Your Mother's Literary Tour, one of KQED's picks for a Choose Your Own Adventure Lit Crawl.And to plan the rest of your Crawl, find a full schedule on the Lit Crawl website, where you can download a Lit Crawl map. It's nearly impossible for me to narrow down all the goodness to pick my own path through the Crawl, but here are a few picks. For Phase 2, I'd love to see Javier O. Huerta and other talented folks at Latina & Latino Writers Living La Palabra Loca. But then again, I may be unable to resist the chance to see the fantastic line up including Ali Liebegott at RADAR Productions and Sister Spit Books. For Phase 3, I wouldn't want to miss San Francisco's Poet Laureate, Alejandro Murguía, at International Poetry Library Presents: Los Días de Los Muertos Celebration. But Lisa Gray is also performing, as part of Sunday Stories Presents: Brown People Don't Read III. Obviously, it's going to be a tough choice. At least I know I can't lose - maybe I'll just find myself wandering around the Mission, knowing that no matter where I end up, I'll hear some words, and those words will be good. Hope to see you out there!
Okay, here it is. My Miley Cyrus post.
I wasn't going to do this. Not because I've been living under a rock, unaware of the pop star's recent antics, but because I've been hoping that she'll just go away. I've kept track of conversations about her, with people like Tressie McMillan Cottom
, Syreeta McFadden
, and Big Freedia
expressing how I've felt about Miley's choices much more eloquently than I could (seriously, click those links. They're essential reading). And, after so many mic-dropping moments of brilliant commentary, I really hoped Miley would just get the message, hang up her own microphone, and fade away from the center of pop culture attention.
But no. We're still talking
about Miley. Only now, much of the conversation
is about Miley's sexual expression and whether or not we should be encouraging her to put on more clothing
. And I'll be honest. In the grand scheme of things, considering the current degradation
and the historical exploitation framing the context of what's been happening with Miley, I really could not care less about what Miley chooses to do with her own body.
So, even though I'm well aware that there are plenty of issues
more important than Miley Cyrus, I've taken a moment to write about Miley. Because these conversations touch on issues that go far beyond the power of a half-naked pop star, and to me, it's important that my perspective isn't forgotten. That's why I'm sharing this poem, which I wrote in response to a Saturday Night Special
prompt of "wiggle." Read on to find the wiggle, and see if you can hear why on some level, while I hate to admit it, Miley matters to me. miley and me
CUAV's Spiderweb of Self-Love
Throughout my quest to get to know my feelings
as part of my healing process, I've managed to get quite cozy with some emotions that seemed terrifying before. I've invited anger
to sit beside me as a partner in my social change work. I've cuddled up with sadness
over a bowl of callaloo soup. But one emotion still beyond my grasp is somewhat surprising to me. I’m having a hard time with pride.
I know this because I've had a few reasons to be proud of myself lately. After graduating from my MFA program
in June, I've written a chapbook
, won a lit slam
, and had my work published in a few journals. And even listing those accomplishments, I cringe a little, not wanting to seem too full of myself.
See, I know that pride has an ugly side, and if I found myself on that side, I might see my accomplishments as all my own, instead of acknowledging the mentors, community members, and historical heroes who have made all of my achievements possible. I don't want to do that, and I know that's part of why I find it so difficult to sit with pride.
I also know that, as a survivor of violence, pride isn't something I'm used to. I'm more accustomed to shame and self-doubt. I'm used to dismissing my achievements as not good enough, or as simple strokes of luck.
And so, with this in mind, I see that a necessary step in my healing journey is to practice letting pride in. I'm going to practice looking at what I've done and saying, Damn. I did good,
and sitting with the discomfort of how that feels to me, until it gets more comfortable. I'm grateful for everyone who has helped me get to where I am, which must also mean that I'm grateful for myself.
For me, it's all about the practice of self-love. This year at CUAV, we're closing the year with three months focusing on self-love, and last week's awe-inspiring performance event, Color of My Spirit
, was the perfect way to kick it off. Together, our members and the event's attendees created a Spiderweb of Self-Love, with messages of love to ourselves and our communities. My message said, "We are strong." "We." I guess that means me, too.
So, here I am being proud of myself – I’m published in Eleven Eleven Journal! Eleven Eleven is a highly-respected literary journal, and the latest issue includes my work alongside heroes including badass poet LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs, my professor from San Francisco State Toni Mirosevich, members of my community including Portuguese Artists Colony's Caitlin Myer, and Evan Karp, who edits the journal that accepted my first published poem. In other words, this is big for me, and the perfect opportunity to practice feeling proud. You can celebrate with me at the Eleven Eleven Issue 15 Reading/Release Party, happening at 7:30 pm tomorrow, October 9, at the CCA MFA Writing Studio in San Francisco. Check out the details of that and other upcoming events on my events page. I also have a new page here, just in time to remind me of my reasons to be proud. On my new publications page, you'll find some of the places where my work has appeared, in print and online. You'll also find a link to purchase my new chapbook, Split Ears. You can get it for a low price, because really I just want to share it with you, and by purchasing it, you'll be encouraging me to practice self-love, so I'll owe you one.
What do you have to be proud of? I know you've got something. Sit with that feeling today, and show yourself some well-deserved love.
Tomorrow, CUAV and MCCLA present Color of My Spirit! This post is cross-posted from The CUAV Blog
To love ourselves is to celebrate ourselves is to give ourselves a moment to shine in the spotlight, I say. So I'm really looking forward to doing just that at CUAV's 3rd annual Color of My Spirit, our performance night of queer and trans artists celebrating our survival and resilience. This year, we have a really exciting lineup of performers, including our returning host, Yosimar Reyes, who will share new poetry and lead us on a journey through song, dance, film, and more.
When we applaud, we will clap as audience members, witnessing the gifts the artists offer us by bringing their work to the stage. And for many of us, we will also be appreciating our own strengths, reflected in the strengths of the performers. As queer and trans people, we deserve to show ourselves some love for how we've managed to thrive in spite of forces trying to put us down.
Color of My Spirit will coincide with the time we spend with the Spiderweb of Self-Love, our wellness tool that helps us finish the year with activities all about showing ourselves gentleness and care. When I think about the connection between Color of My Spirit and self-love, I think about the young person from Our Space who watched the performers last year
from El/La and was moved to tears, having their first experience of seeing such positive images of trans women, as they prepared to come out as transgender themselves. And I also think about my own life, because it is so meaningful to me to have this annual event to help affirm and celebrate my existence as a queer black woman.Color of My Spirit
takes place on Thursday, October 3rd, at 7:00 pm at the Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts in San Francisco. We hope you can join us there!When: October 3rd, doors at 7, show at 7:30Where: Mission Cultural Center, 2868 Mission @ 24th St, San Francisco
$10-20, no one turned away, buy tickets hereSpanish and ASL interpretation provided
Fully wheelchair accessible
Help us keep this event accessible by not wearing scents or perfumes.
Buy your tickets ahead of time to make sure you don't miss this powerful night!
Reading from Split Ears for the first time
at Aggregate Space in Oakland.
Photo by Kwan Booth.
Artwork by Christopher Burch.
My spirit's all aglow after this weekend
, which included presenting my newborn chapbook, Split Ears
, to the world for the first time. Featherboard Reading Series
turned out to be a great event, and I'm just simmering with gratitude for everyone involved, and for everyone who was present to welcome Split Ears
to the world with such a sweet reception. Look out for video from the event soon.
In the meantime, I'm steaming right along into the next events in my fall schedule. Next up: this Wednesday's Word Performances Reading Series
. Word Performances is "a reading series of poetry, prose, fiction, memoir and comedy, where words are the lead and music makes a cameo," and it promises to be a good time. The stellar lineup includes storyteller and Oakland Grand Slam champion Joyce Lee
, Litquake co-founder Jack Boulware, performance poet Cybele Zufolo Siegel, and more, and I'm just thrilled to be included. The Broadway World online magazine included a feature article on Word Performances earlier this month, so I guess that means I'm not the only one who's excited. Visit the Word Performances website to see the whole lineup, and if you can make it, join us on Wednesday, September 25 at 7:45 pm at Viracocha in San Francisco. I've got a lot going on this fall, so stay tuned for updates on other events and new publications. Also, I can't write a post about joyful poetry news in this moment without mentioning a great tragedy the literary world suffered this weekend. Ghanaian poet Kofi Awoonor was among those killed in the recent terrorist attack in Kenya.
Professor Awoonor was a legendary writer and thinker, and the uncle of my Pacific University professor Kwame Dawes. Kwame was also in Nairobi for the Storymoja Hay Festival
, and thankfully, he was not a victim of the attacks. He wrote a beautiful tribute
to his uncle, reminding us of the importance of the words
the man known as "Prof" left behind. Read "Across A New Dawn,"
one of Kofi Awoonor's final poems, in the Wall Street Journal online
. Sometimes, even the sunset
puzzles, as we look
for the lines that propel the clouds,
the colour scheme
with the multiple designs
that the first artist put together