Getting halfway there and then a little closer, halfway again, seems like a sensible and honorable goal in general. So here's my "No Borders" zeno.
no borders on
the land or page.
tip the
bottle,
spilling
ink…
greet me with
a
nod or wink.
no borders on
the way we
think.
(Did you notice that I cheated? Penultimate line should have only two syllables--but "how we/think" just doesn't work the way "they way we/think" works. This is the definition of poetic license.)
************************************
Today for whatever reason I'm in the mood for language that's out there, that reaches beyond ordinary borders into the territory of the water mountain, otherness, rules unbound. Here are two poems I've admired recently, both with pretty heavy-duty themes. I hope you appreciate the language of these poets as I do--both of them Asian-American women.
You're So Paranoid | Franny Choi
--for
José
A wall
of cops moves like a wall of water on a barge no beauty.
A wall
of iron swallows the woman who falls to the ground and keeps
falling.
There's a video. The picture stays intact (again).
It's not pretty, meaning it's hard to watch.
When a
poet says we have to keep our eyes open I know who he's
talking to
I don't
listen. I listen long enough to hate him.
If I
say the woman dragged by her hair.
If I compare it.
I
witnessed meaning stood by the window meaning shuddered let
hand
fall gently over lips pulled coat tight tighter.
A wall
of cops bucks like a frightened boar. (If I describe it.)
Will it
speak. If I say it came furtive and dressed in red.
The cops think cop thoughts.
The cops move.
They
walk like
a walk.
Like an economy which after all is a fairy
bucking
with hunger. Not pretty. Not picture.
I
follow the border patrol agent through the airport thinking
fast
thoughts bloodfast blood hound steps he buys
a
burrito. If I say he stood alive in line
and my
friends are afraid to leave their bathrooms my friends
who I
love and love and. My friends who eat
from
plates who plug cords into machines for singing.
(If I
say a wall of men standing on my friends' necks.) (If I describe it.)
My
friends. Who slice plums illegally on soccer fields. Whose knees
move
like knees into the grass. If I name the grass.
If I
call sweet liquor and smoke
(if
I say cloy).
If the
child shrieks
as
she's swung if the sun if August if blue juice
will it
talk.
The cops are thinking cop thoughts.
They
move. With a wall inside them. Answering
machines
answering.
The
window rattles and I fall to my real knees.
If I
hoist my friends up so they can be seen (by whom).
If I
say they are beautiful if I compare if the sun.
Touches
the glass and I feel it. ....
Read the
rest HERE at my local
poetry factory, SPLIT THIS ROCK.
The next
one comes from a 2019 collection called INK KNOWS NO BORDERS: Poems of theImmigrant and Refugee Experience.
Domesticity | Kristin Chang
In
Chinese, the word country is half
the word home: 家. Written before a name,
家 also means domesticized, as in daughter
the word home: 家. Written before a name,
家 also means domesticized, as in daughter
whittling
her ribs into toothpicks.
Daughter breaking clean
as a bowl. I grow full on
Daughter breaking clean
as a bowl. I grow full on
steam.
I eat through all my leashes, swallow
a sky twice my size. I gather rust
between my fingers, my girlhood
a sky twice my size. I gather rust
between my fingers, my girlhood
grown
out of. In this country, I choose
between living like an animal or dying
like one. Be the tongueless dog or the hunger
between living like an animal or dying
like one. Be the tongueless dog or the hunger
it
was rescued from. There is nothing alive
about me. I prove it with a passport
photo of my birth: my mother unknotting
about me. I prove it with a passport
photo of my birth: my mother unknotting
me
from a length of rope. Someday
a child will slip out of my body
like a neck from a noose. Motherhood
a child will slip out of my body
like a neck from a noose. Motherhood
an
attempt at my own life. I envy birds
who fly domestic, their bodies
native to the same sky. Our wings
who fly domestic, their bodies
native to the same sky. Our wings
are
alien, attached backwards, angled
wounds. Instead of flight, we learned
butchery. How best to eat from
wounds. Instead of flight, we learned
butchery. How best to eat from
our
injuries. We blow on our cuts
like cooling soup. Serve me
in a corset, a country waisting me
like cooling soup. Serve me
in a corset, a country waisting me
so thin I double as a blade….
The round-up today is hosted by Cheriee at Library Matters--thanks to a first-time host, and see you there!
To say there are powerful images in these, Heidi, feels like a weak answer. I read through both several times, trying to pull meaning from the feelings there, the terrible heartache and yet, the persistence to survive: "Be the tongueless dog" may be terrible but that is what I took from it. I have Ink Knows No Borders and have not opened it yet and I need to. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteHa! Heidi, you are one poet that can "cheat" and get away with it in style. I love that we can still embrace that there are no borders on the way we think. Domesticity packs an emotional punch that sets me down with a hard thump. The images are so powerful...the suffering that caused them so real that on most days I'll choose hiding from them rather than dealing. I know I need to read this book. I'm working my way toward it. I know too that it will un-do me.
ReplyDeleteMany years ago, I took a class on literary theory. One of the texts was by Terry Eagleton and he wrote something to the effect that literature should disrupt our thinking about the world. (Or our lives; maybe you read the same book once.) Both of these poems made me think of that book, for they have both disrupted my thinking about many things today. Thank you for always heightening my awareness.
ReplyDeleteI love your zeno. My brain is too full right now to absorb the other two. And this is my biggest take-away: "Getting halfway there and then a little closer, halfway again, seems like a sensible and honorable goal in general." My new motto.
ReplyDeleteI appreciate how your zeno takes us into the following poems Heidi. I have a hold on this book at my library. I love how these poems make us feel uncomfortable.
ReplyDeleteYay for taking poetic license, and yay for no borders on our hearts or minds....
ReplyDeleteI like this idea of ink having no boundaries. We could do with a few less boundaries in so many ways.
ReplyDeleteHeidi, all of the poems you shared are powerful. These lines, "no borders on/the way we/think gives us a hint on the other two with their rawness and emotions exposed.
ReplyDelete