Tuesday, January 31, 2017

A Place Called...

January 31, 2017
Poets of Color/Professor Elmaz Abinader
Mimi (Rose) Gonzalez-Barillas

Response to:
An Instance of an Island, by Patrick Rosal
Carols, Long Before and Shortly After, San Martincito, Of Mule and Deer, Anamorphosis, by Farid Matuk
Language for a New Century poets:
·      Saadi Youssef
·      Phåm Tiên Duât (a,e,a incorrect accents)
·      Mahmoud Darwish
·      Asadullah Habib


This week’s reading points us in the direction of “home;” more accurately, place – that great continuum against which time exercises its never-ending story.  Taken as a whole, these poems and poets offer readers a sense of how the land in which we are reared, becomes the soil of our skin wherever we travel on our own personal journey.  From the start of our lives as children and as our parent’s wards into the claiming of our identity as we learn to stand by and for ourselves, never far from the arms that held us, nor separate from the eyes made of the soil and parental terra from which we are made.
There is an inherent loyalty to the land upon which we learned life.  Conversely, there is also a migratory urge, a wanderlust inhabiting our animal selves that drives us to discover “what’s out there.”  We learned to forage for food that follows seasons; to seek the sun’s light and follow the sky.  We’re born to look, to seek out.  No matter how far we go, home and motherland accompanies us.  Even when we have to run from our motherland and seek refuge in a new land because our brothers are paid to attack us or because the savior sent to relieve us from a tyrant who’s stolen our land and identity then becomes our abuser.
Saadi Youssef’s poem, “America, America”[1] indicates a different kind of place, when an invading army infiltrates home.  This Iraqi poet’s love for his home is illustrated through all of the examples he gives of its simple landmarks: the date palm, the mulberry tree, water buffalos and feasts.  He also reveals an insightful level of familiarity with the dominant American culture by noting jeans, jazz, Mark Twain.  What’s astonishing is his deep awareness of what the American culture needs as he’s addressing the country:
“Let’s exchange gifts…
“Take your blueprints for model penitentiaries
and give us village homes.”[2]
This passage and two other couplets from this section found me exclaiming out loud, alone in my apartment, “Wow.”  What America has sought to inflict on his country, he demands they retract.  In the same breath, he elucidates in such fine succinct prose, what America is doing to its own populace: building prisons instead of homes.  The passage continues,
“Take the stripes of your flag
and give us the stars.
Take the Afghani mujahideen’s beard
and give us Walt Whitman’s beard filled with butterflies.”[3]
Here is an Iraqi, so familiar with what is important in America, not his home, addressing Americans on the territory of our homeland through references significant and specific to America.  How many American’s could muster what’s in Whitman’s beard?  And Youssef is willing to trade this American poet’s beard for that of his regional neighbor.
All of the poets in this week’s selection speak to where they began and where they currently are.  Some have never left and don’t have wanderlust.  Some can’t leave because of economic or travel restrictions; especially reinforced through this week’s racist travel ban on Muslims - legal, vetted residents.
There was an echo forward from Youssef who stood out for me.  In the cited poem, he dismisses our massive cities and edifices for his home.  “I need the village, not New York.”[4]  The same anthology and assignment included Phåm Tiên Duât who too mentioned the village saying “These days every village must be a great city.”[5]  This poet travels so far within the poem “In the Labor Market at Giang Vo.”  He cites stacks of food and comments on the rich using up any laborer from anywhere to build their many homes.  Progress has come in the form of construction.  But it’s still the village.  A village that survived the Vietnam war and is now a suburb of Hanoi.  It still wears its history in the scar on the worker’s face and that returns the poet to what this village was in the midst of what it’s becoming.



[1] Youssef, Saadi. “America, America.” Language for a New Century. ED. Tina Chang, Nathalie Handal, Ravi Shankar. New York:  W.W. Norton, 2008. 197.
[2] Ibid. 199.
[3] Ibid. 199.
[4] Ibid. 198.
[5] Phåm Tiên Duât. Ibid. 212.

5 comments:

  1. Mimi, I think you really captured the conflict of wanting to remain true to one's homeland yet needing to make a completely different life in a foreign land when you write, "we're born to look, seek out." You make very worthwhile points. As humans, we are programmed to explore and travel yet we are also wired to crave routine and familiarity. I think about simply traveling for a week to visit family, having routine disrupted. For the speakers of many of these poems about immigration, their whole routine and sense of familiarity has been uprooted and they know they may never hear the same sounds or taste recipes made just the right way. The "mundane" is so important, your response really illuminated that for me.

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  2. Mimi,
    “Home is a place you carry with- “land becomes the soil of our skin”- all great lines that capture the work. Well written Mimi.
    A line from one of my favorite artist Erykah Badu speaks to the ‘home” that is always with us, Badu sings,“ I have a home, and I take it every where I go, I’m planting seeds so I reap what I sew,…” I think this line not only carries its on weight, but fits into the lines of the poets we read. The issue being is if the next generations are in fact carrying their home with them. Do they have the same sense of the “mother land” you write about. As Pham Tien Duat writes,”A new sky means new clouds… no lack of work but this new life gives birth to new lines of workers.” And Habib writes, “where are the old story tellers to tell the story of my country where is one listener.” New lines of works under new skies of grey, with no one to tell them of home, and t a lack of hears to listen, what does that lead to? We must keep writing and keep listening because I don’t want to live in a world where I forget where home is.

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  3. Mimi,

    I enjoyed reading your response to these poems, very well written! I think that when you explained- "these poems and poets offer readers a sense of how the land in which we are reared, becomes the soil of our skin wherever we travel on our own personal journey" entirely captures the idea of the poems and the poets who have each their own personal and engraved identity captured within these poems that deal with their own space and how they each perceive and are perceived based on that space.

    Daisy

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  4. Great Mimi,
    i sat with the same quote as Tyrice, "how the land in which we are reared, becomes the soil of our skin wherever we travel on our own personal journey" This suggests a geographical imperative, a place where our body naturally fits and in the many forced and voluntary migrations, i believe the poets suggest they are lost, but they adjust or die, like Josefina. Thanks for working so hard on this, but you don't have to put footnotes in blog, the pieces are short enough for me and others to find the reference. Very well done.
    e

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  5. Hi Mimi! Sorry for the late comment, I've been horrendously ill! Anyways, I think you captured the duality of, essentially, what is home-yet-not-home so well here: "This Iraqi poet’s love for his home is illustrated through all of the examples he gives of its simple landmarks: the date palm, the mulberry tree, water buffalos and feasts. He also reveals an insightful level of familiarity with the dominant American culture by noting jeans, jazz, Mark Twain. What’s astonishing is his deep awareness of what the American culture needs" This really hit me hard. I have a lot of similar feelings to what you articulated here. My family is from Singapore, and though I know the basics of "American Culture", I know so many more intimate details of Singapore because thats what I truly loved and reminded me of my mother's love. I treasure the little things like when I find mangosteen at the grocery store, or hear someone with a hokkien accent in a video, or a warm, heavy rain storm comes. Its hard when one thing is sort of "technically" your home, but one feels more so, and they seem to be hurting each other all the time. It feels like you have to make a choice.

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