Tag Archives: poetry

Isolated and Deeply Enmeshed: A Conversation with Sarah Heady

In 2013 poet Sarah Heady went out to southeastern Nebraska for a writing residency at Art Farm, a program started by a woodworker who’d grown up in that farmhouse. While introducing her to the place, he invited Heady to poke around the attic, which was filled with turn-of-the-20th century magazines and newspapers. It was July on the prairie, and it was sweltering. “So I went up there and spent a long afternoon sweating and looking through these old magazines from the teens and twenties,” Heady says.

Mostly, she told me, she was drawn to the stacks of a magazine called Comfort, “which was like a Ladies’ Home Journal for rural women.”

Touted as “the key to happiness and success in over a million and a quarter homes,”[1] Comfort was a mail-order magazine published from 1888 to 1942 by Gannet & Morris out of Augusta, Maine. Primarily a means to advertise Gannet’s Giant Oxien, a snake oil cure-all, Comfort increased its circulation ten-fold in the first six years of publication, making it the first magazine in America to surpass one million subscribers.

The pages of the magazine were filled with articles and ads about domestic life, in some ways much like those that fill magazines marketed to women today: advice columns, beauty tips, and recipes, with a tinge of early-internet-esque information sharing. “People would write in with questions about what was wrong with their chickens or share recipes for food or fertilizer for the kitchen garden,” Heady says. More surprising for today’s readers might be the ads for things like pessaries, mechanical devices used to keep one’s uterus in place to recover after a prolapse, most common after a woman has had multiple vaginal births.

Heady left Art Farm with photographs of many pages of Comfort magazine and other similar periodicals. When she got home, she started experimenting with constructing poems from this found language and, eventually, many other primary and secondary sources about the settlement of the Great Plains. These experiments, interspersed with other lyric pieces, eventually became her second book, Comfort.

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Anti-Capitalist Love Poems for the Future: Marie Buck’s Unsolved Mysteries

Marie Buck Unsolved Mysteries review Weird Sister
What makes a life worth documenting? And whose lives are most often documented in capitalist societies?
Unsolved Mysteries, Marie Buck’s most
recent book of poetry, raises these questions and more as the author explores the television show of the same title. Completed before the Netflix 2020 reboot of the series, Buck’s book focuses on the show’s original run in the 1980s and 90s. However, this book isn’t about rehashing or dwelling in the past, nor is it simply about a TV show and the terrible deaths the show documented. Ultimately, it is a book about life and the reasons to keep going. It’s about imagining a future where things aren’t so shitty.  

The poems throughout Unsolved Mysteries feature a speaker who is likely the author themself: a leftist organizer whose day job is with a publication (Buck is the managing and web literary editor at Social Text). Many of the long, discursive poems tend toward prose and could just as easily be described as lyric essays. They explore media the speaker has consumed, from books to documentaries; detail explicit sexual encounters; discuss protest and activism; and document working class people’s lives. 

A number of poems take for their titles the names of people featured in Unsolved Mysteries episodes, such as “Dottie Caylor,” a poem in which the author details a missing woman who was most likely killed by her husband, and “Kari Lynn Nixon,” an incredible poem about possible liberation from small town norms:

I imagine some scenarios 

in which

she leaves because she’s being abused

or to go be queer in New York City

 

or to go do drugs in New York City

or to go be with a lover in New York City

 

Buck imagines Kari Lynn Nixon and a friend living in a squat, finding loving chosen families, falling in love with people, and making weird art (perhaps an escape dream of Buck’s own, who elsewhere in the book details growing up in rural South Carolina). Devastatingly, after dreaming of the possibilities of a different life, Buck reveals the episode has an update that Kari was raped and murdered by a neighbor. This gets right to one of the major themes of the book, as Buck writes in “Documentation”: “Most of the people in Unsolved Mysteries would not have very well-documented lives, were it not for their horrible deaths.” The author connects this to a book by Frances Yates, The Art of Memory (1966), which describes how to use visuals for extreme memorization, a common practice “for record-keeping before people had easy access to paper and print” that can be used to create a memory system for ideas. Yates warns against using the “anonymous lower classes” in these visual exercises, unless the image is made exceptional by disfiguring them, “as by introducing one stained with blood.” Buck interprets this concept for us: “we can bloodstain people when we think of them, and then they are memorable.” Buck inverts the memorization trick by imagining wealthy people, like Jeff Bezos, stained with blood in order to remember the lives of people like those featured in Unsolved Mysteries Continue reading

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Those Objects of Desire: A Conversation with Rachelle Toarmino on Objectification, Persona & the Internet

Rachelle Toarmino Weird Sister

That Ex, writer and editor Rachelle Toarmino’s debut poetry collection, came out last summer with Big Lucks Books. God, does this book vibe. It vibes way down in the bones of every relationship you’ve ever had, of every love you’ve lost or are afraid to lose. Like the Libra the author is, That Ex is all cool sophistication and casual glamour on the surface while bubbling up with eager tenderness and brutal honesty underneath. Toarmino gives herself and her reader permission to revel in the love poem while never letting anyone forget that emotional apocalypse is around the corner, that there’s something exploitative in documenting your love, that there’s nothing we crave more than total devastation.

At the beginning of the pandemic, I was reading think pieces about anticipatory grief, a term that continues to be thrown around during this period of universal loss. That Ex speaks to that kind of fearful breath-holding: we know something disastrous is going to happen but must push on with living anyway. The speaker’s relationship status is constantly in flux from poem to poem. In “I Wanted to Ask You,” the speaker is in a relationship. In “I Said Okay,” the speaker admits “what doesn’t kill you / makes you mad for the rest of your life” and as a reader, one is left on unsteady ground, looking apprehensively into the future, knowing what has been lost and wondering what else there is to lose. Toarmino references the poems’ speaker as “that ex,” but the speaker could also be the you (or multiple yous) comprising the addressees of these love poems, hate poems, and I-couldn’t-care-less-about-you poems. Either way, even the title of this collection casts every use of the future and past tenses into turmoil: we know this will end, but when? Who is that ex? Will I be next?

***

Gion Davis: What makes a person “that ex”? Is there any way for a woman/femme to process her grief or anticipatory grief about a relationship without becoming “that ex,” or is it impossible to escape the patriarchal, misogynistic and contradictory expectations of being a perfect woman even after a relationship has ended?

Rachelle Toarmino: We all know that ex—the one who can’t let go. I wanted the title to nod to a gossipy recognition—we’re expected to know what someone means when they qualify a noun with that—as so much of the book is about having fun with the term’s reclamation. What’s less chill-girl than writing a whole book about your breakups?

I’m also interested in the grammar of that and how it communicates a subject making an object out of something. That is the direction of an outstretched finger—no word in the English language does more pointing than that. But then a magic happens when my speaker, after finding herself on the receiving end of that looking, turns to the reader and yells “Look!” She resists objectification by insisting on the significance of her pain—its power to be interesting, even. Continue reading

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A Boundary Broken: A Review of Running to Stand Still by Kimberly Reyes

Running to Stand Still Kimberly Reyes

Kimberly Reyes’ poetry is obsessed with the fragmentation of both the memory and the body. In her debut collection, Running to Stand Still (Omnidawn Publishing, 2019), Reyes recounts a life of unrelenting anti-Blackness, familial and generational trauma, and the inherent violences of dating in the digital age. Surprisingly, rather than focus solely on the interior narrative of a Black woman speaker, Reyes jarringly places us at the periphery amongst characters who enact violence on her. Past lovers, classmates, family members, and pop culture figures build an echo chamber for the speaker’s experience. While the “I” is constant, the speaker, passive and matter-of-fact, acts as a window providing the reader a glimpse into the incessant, ignorant, and truly degrading interactions that haunt her everyday life. Through sharing the lived experiences of a Black, Puerto Rican woman speaker, Running to Stand Still suggests there is no escaping the horror of both memory and body, how they are inherently fragmented and their boundaries broken without consent.

Throughout Running to Stand Still, Reyes presents this fragmentation of memory within personal and cultural lineages. Through the creation and use of terms such as rememory and dismemory, Reyes plays with the conception of truth as it applies to Black womanhood as the book’s speaker grapples with what she can recall and what others recall for her. In the third poem of the book, “Rememory,” she writes “My mother, the one to recall / this day, for me.” Ancestral and familial women anchor many poems in the opening sections of the book as the speaker’s mother, grandmother, and even the famous poet Gwendolyn Brooks act as gatekeepers to memory. In “Epigenetics, Elegy and Effigy” Reyes writes about finding her great great grandmother’s name in an online database, which conveniently leaves out who she was enslaved to. The closing lines: “women without a world / that won’t claim / us / or how our mothers / only knew / birthright belonging / is the maim.” To remember is to harm oneself, and so Reyes leaves the burden of memory to others, doubling down on her aversion to her own recollections. She writes in one poem, “I can’t be expected to recollect every detail,” in another “so my narration is jerky, / preemptive, unreliable,” and yet in another “liars are the most reliable people you know.”  Continue reading

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Two Cities, Fairy Tales, & a Marathon Sprint: An Interview with Muriel Leung

Muriel Leung, poet.

Photo by Sarah Gzemski.

Muriel Leung is an Asian American poet who defies convention and form, who adds whimsy to everyday objects and exposes the darkness behind them, and who pushes the boundaries between the real and the normal and the hyperbolic and absurd in her work. Her first collection, Bone Confetti (Noemi Press), toys with the magical yet apocalyptic and the romantic yet grotesque; it is both a strut through a flowery meadow and a devastating walk through the ruins of a ravaged city. I joined Leung in her adorable Echo Park, Los Angeles apartment for this conversation in racial politics, Asian American poetics, labor, and grief.

MV: What was the process behind writing Bone Confetti? As a fairly young poet, how did you balance writing and coming-of-age in your 20s?

ML: I wrote the bulk of Bone Confetti during my MFA, which I started in 2013. I moved to Baton Rouge, Louisiana from Queens, New York, which is where I grew up. I had the great fortune of having a wealth of different experiences, to work with different people and communities beforeLouisiana. It was such a big move and shift—from going to a chaotic city that constantly displaces people and is very difficult to live in—to then move to Louisiana where the pace of life is different. Baton Rouge has a different set of racial politics, where being an Asian woman there meant something entirely different than in NY.

I also began to understand the history of resilience in Louisiana, which has seen so much social, political, and environmental turmoil. I saw how much this was embedded in the fabric of its history that if there is a storm coming, people know they have to cook all the meat in their freezer because the power might go out, so they just throw a big barbecue. The attitude of survival in Baton Rouge is very different from NYC, which sometimes doesn’t know what to do with itself other than facilitate high productivity. I think both city’s spirits contributed to Bone Confetti, which was a very important transitional point in my life—a whole wealth of experience and language. Continue reading

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“It’s like you had to split yourself in two to watch yourself”: 21 Moments in Lauren Levin’s The Braid

Lauren Levin‘s poetry collection The Braid (Krupskaya Books, 2017) is described by its publisher as “a fever dream of pregnancy and early parenting in the era of the police state.” Here are 21 moments and meditations, strung together from from this whirlwind text.

1. The Braid opens wondering, “what it means / to say we want our work to be vulnerable when we’re the ones who make it.” (13)

Vulnerability is the ultimate braveness, admitting one’s own insecurity.  Telling the truths we are not sure we can understand.  Standing in our uncertainty and being willing to speak from there. It is guts. This book has guts.

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A Tactile Encounter: A Review of Slabs by Brittany Billmeyer-Finn

Slabs Timeless Infinite Light Brittany Billmeyer-Finn

The book fits in your hand: it can go inside the back pocket of your jeans. It is truly portable, and the tactile encounter of the book, I believe, conditions the reading experience. There is that feeling of manageability, contrary to its title, Slabs, that is being invoked by poet Brittany Billmeyer-Finn‘s second collection, released in 2016 from Timeless, Infinite Light.

The book is arranged in two parts. The language is fragmentary—as a reader, it seems as though I am eavesdropping. The conversation has been going on long before the reader opened the book, and now we are entering in and out of the narrative at any given point. What is beginning? What is ending? How do I situate and locate myself in relationship to the text?

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Two Books About Beauty: Khadijah Queen’s I’m So Fine and Sarah Jean Grimm’s Soft Focus

Khadijah Queen and Sarah Jean Grimm

“A very flat-chested woman is very hard to be a ten.” As we all know by now, the President of the United States said those words on the Howard Stern Show in the nineties. I still can’t get past that. I’m not sure if it’s because our president, like most middle school boys, believes in a rating system where women are appraised based on their physical traits, or if it’s because, as a flat-chested woman, I’m bummed I’m not a “ten.” I know that’s a sick thing to think, but of course being feminist doesn’t mean one is entirely free from the intense ideological beauty standards of our society. I think this is what it’s like to be an intelligent, feminist woman today: you can recognize the bullshit, you can feel angry, and you can also want to be recognized within that admittedly-bullshit system as a desirable object. I’m So Fine: A List of Famous Men & What I Had On by Khadijah Queen and Soft Focus by Sarah Jean Grimm are two brilliant new poetry books that simultaneously celebrate and eviscerate the complicated landscape of American womanhood. While both books explore the traditional trappings of femininity—makeup, clothing, hairstyles—along with our newer gendered societal norms—selfies, Instagram, clickbait, celebrity culture—on a deeper level, Khadijah Queen and Sarah Jean Grimm each peel back the layers of multiple selves, masks, and metaphorical armor most women wear every day in order to simply survive.

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Dark Continent Dubfeed: On Vidhu Aggarwal’s The Trouble with Humpadori

Vidhu Aggarwal The Trouble with Humpadori

The smashing spectacle of Bollywood, the feminine grotesque of Gurlesque mashed with the colors and sounds of sci-fi and fantasy comics—all these obsessions assemble in Vidhu Aggarwal’s electric debut poetry collection, The Trouble with Humpadori (The Great Indian Poetry Collective Press, 2016). Aggarwal’s poetic range includes text art, sound, video and live performance.  Aggarwal, both an artist and Professor of Postcolonial/Transnational Studies, surely embodies a new kind of artist-scholar. In her book, Aggarwal creates the interstellar character Humapadori (“Hump” for short) who acts as a messenger for extraterrestrial beings, a medium sent down from the cosmos. Move over Ziggy Stardust. It’s time for Humpadori’s time to occupy the international stage.

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Love Doesn’t Save Anyone from Themselves: An Interview with Angeli Cabal

Angeli Cabal

I first encountered Angeli Cabal’s work as the co-editor-in-chief of {m}aganda Magazine. My staff and I were blown away by the pieces she submitted–poems critiquing colonialism, Western beauty standards, and the figure of the Filipino woman. I was stunned to see that in addition to being a poet, Cabal is also a visual artist and multi-genre writer who creates sleek, intricate, highly clever illustrations and incredibly heart-wrenching creative essays. In addition, Cabal has been a devoted fanfiction author since age 12 and has garnered an impressive online readership on Tumblr. In 2013, Cabal self-published her first chapbook, True Love and Other Myths, which sold out after the first printing. She went on to publish a second chapbook, The Anatomy of Closed Doors, joining the ranks of  poets and writers who use social media as their vehicle. Cabal’s work is raw, evocative, hands-on, and accessible. She joined me for a conversation where we discussed fanfiction, our immigrant parents, and which three fictional characters she would invite for a session of afternoon tea.

MV: I’m not sure if you’ve read this recent Buzzfeed article about women and fanfiction, but they argue that fanfiction is a central genre for women writers because it allows us to create narratives that are not available in everyday life. Why fanfiction? Why should we keep writing and reading fanfiction? What power does this form of creation give us?

AC: It’s been 14 years since I started writing fanfiction and I’ve never grown out of it. Fanfiction is so much more accessible for me because of world building. In fanfiction, you already have this world created for you so there’s less pressure and you can focus on the narratives you want to tell, particularly characters you want to transform and flesh out. When you have these characters presented to you and you see all the paths and avenues the author could have taken to make them more human, these are awesome opportunities to take. It is also such a supportive community, I can’t even read some of the stuff I wrote back then because it was so horrible but I get reviews that say, “Hey, this is really good, keep it up.” That was so important for me as a young writer because no one else knew I was writing fanfiction. It really encouraged me and is one of the reasons why I still write fanfiction today. Continue reading

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