Reviving the Sleeping Poetisa

This is my third semester in college and it quite a doozy (did I really just use that word?). I haven’t considered myself a poet in a long time and one of my classes is a poetry class with the final project being a chapbook. I have wanted to create a chapbook for a long ass time but always felt a little bit at a loss as to how to even start. Where to even begin. So I am grateful that this class will give me some structure, guidance and hard deadlines to just do it.

Entering my fourth week of the poetry class I have found myself struggling with how to translate my thoughts to poetry. It’s not that I’m reaching for new ideas but rather how to bring back up to the surface some ideas that have settled in my belly (no other way to really describe where those feelings sit). Some of the themes that have found a deep home in me include displacement, cohabitation, and the twin sisters of longing and loss.

My first assignment was to write a series of haikus. I focused on ancestral altars, preparing to ride the bus in a still new to me city, things left behind by those who left, and sort of still lifes from my terrace. I thought they were shit. My instructor, who had a PhD in Puerto Rican studies said he wanted to read them on my terrace with coffee, said they invoked a poetic legacy I was part of. Maybe I could be a poet again. Maybe I never stopped being one.

In New York my poetic life was built on routines centered around readings. Having a reading in my calendar meant I had to have something new to share. Not that I couldn’t share older material but I needed to test, get public feedback on (would the audience laugh, nod their head, or stare blankly) new things. So I would always be working on new things, at night or early in the morning, when the kids were asleep, when I wasn’t chatting with lovers who lived cross borough or cross country.

After living in Los Angeles for 7 years I haven’t found that routine here yet. I haven’t found a poetic home that I feel embraced or safe enough to experiment/test in. I haven’t found a poetic family. And honestly when you’re over 40, a parent, a student, an executive director – the spaces I have found seem so compartmentalized – people see me in one way and crossing into another identity makes me and others uncomfortable in a way I haven’t been able to navigate (yet).

So for now I’m just going to keep writing, in a much more solitary way or through my class (which since it is an online program still can feel pretty solitary) and hope that it will be enough to get me through and keep me disciplined.

From Sonia Guinansaca-TEDxCUNY Disappoints!

sonia profileNote from Mamita Mala : Maegan E. Ortiz

Last night, Sonia requested I post her statement on my blog so that she could share it. In solidarity and support of her I have done so.

Statement

My name is Sonia Guinansaca and I am a migrant queer poet activist and organizer.

I was invited to speak at TEDxCUNY talk whose theme is borders and belonging. I was one out of a few migrant speakers, formerly undocumented and queer. I was excited for this opportunity to share the resistance, resilience, and creative work of my migrant community. Problematic, oppressive, racist, misogynistic behaviors and lack of professionalism has forced me to out of this opportunity.

I was contacted about this event on very short notice and followed all protocol to ensure this talk went smoothly. My goal was to center undocumented, migrant, Trans, Black and people of color with humanizing depth. From the very first rehearsal, on the date of November 6th I performed my poem and read my suggested script. The TEDxCUNY committee was very supportive and enthusiastic, stating that I made good points. No other concerns were stated. My script was again shared in a document with the committee with no feedback received. On the second rehearsal which happened on Tuesday, Nov. 17 just three days shy of the event, I was only met by one person, a man of color, from the staff who once again approved my content and structure.  An email was sent to me later that night by a white cis man who had not been present at the rehearsal, and previously touted that he was “from the suburbs,” in regards to the content of my talk and how it no longer aligned with TEDx structure. In this email, he stated the following:

tedx excerpt

After this email exchange, I made it clear that I had every intention to continue with my talk without revisions, and confirmed my presence for the dress rehearsal taking place on Thursday Nov.19 that evening. I also pointed out that there were larger concerns regarding professionalism, tone, and privilege. Throughout this whole encounter as a queer woman of color migrant, primarily a cis white man did the email exchange, which was uncomfortable and triggering. In spite of having a predominant staff of color and women, the primary contact person was a tactless white cis man. Throughout this whole endeavor, I continued to give them the benefit of the doubt only to be met by hostility, which escalated at the dress rehearsal. The dress rehearsal ran late. As soon as I got up on stage, I was met with disinterest and defensiveness from the team, which made me feel cornered and targeted. It was apparent they had no interest in hearing my talk. As soon as I finished doing one run through, the same white cis man and his team in the presence of other speakers berated me. He continued to talk at me for over 10 minutes regarding palatability of structure for TEDx audiences. He repeatedly stated that my talk was worth “1 sentence”, that there was no need to give me 15-20 minutes on stage. He described my talk as not being “innovative”, that “no one wants to hear a list about migrant artists”, that people want to hear a “heroic” story. I stated it was important and simply responded “Can any of you name ten migrant undocumented artists?” The room was uncomfortably silent. I was open to feedback but it was clear that the goal was not to uplift my speech or my talk, but rather shame and belittle my efforts, my content and the voices I wanted to center. After this excruciating exchange, where the interrogating white cis man rushed out, I was approached by one of the guest hosts, a woman of color, who acknowledged the abrasiveness of the room, stating, “Your poetry is so amazing, it would be just a loss to lose you.”

What they continued to ask of me was a bootstrapped, singular narrative that just isn’t the reality nor lived experiences of migrant communities. My intention was to center Black and people of color, Queer, Trans, migrant artists’ voices. I feel that the structure of my talk was something that highlights the work of collectiveness, demonstrates the work of undocumented and migrant qtpoc that doesn’t operate in a vacuum. I named collaborators, engaged more than one heroic story that showed a lineage of work.  In an individualistic society we are taught to be ashamed of our collective, and our collaborations. Supposedly, we’re magically to escape our connections with the right accomplishments, respectability, & assimilation of our success. I’m not invested in this divisive model of scarcity and the harmful white racism disguised as diversity sessions.  I was asked to either cut the entirety of my talk or to minimize my time to poetic contributions. This devalues the time I spent on this project and speaks to the larger issue of how we treat artists in society. The only options given to me were to cut a bulk of my talk or simply perform two poems. In doing so, the integrity of my work is reduced as supplemental art or as an accessory.

What is striking is that at an event housed under the concept of borders, one of the few migrant and formerly undocumented women of color would be limited in time and directed to move forward with neither her version of the story or her own strategy of self-determination that centers her community. Instead given no other option but initiatives that do not represent her work and her choices.

I wanted to make this interaction and my experience transparent and public. I would like to hold accountable the parties that are responsible and again highlight the labor of queer women of color and the total disregard of agency of migrant speakers in a migrant-themed space. The goal is not to sell an idea; the goal is to tell our stories. Our lives are not ideas that you can edit, minimize, and recycle for your social appeasement and entertainment.

Our stories are not a competition but a disruption of the rampant violence we face.  This entire situation has again emphasized that my community’s perspective is central to my work and that the experiences of migrant and undocumented lives must come from the community within. I was affirmed yet again of the fragility of white american masculinity and the ongoing commodification of migrant stories in a particular, comfortable and sellable package that does not disrupt privilege, white supremacy, and misogyny. This ordeal was a razor-sharp example of this. White masculinity righteousness directed at queer femme women of color and setting examples of migrant lives is not considered brilliance or noteworthy unless we’re a heroic exception or specimens to squander & minimize. It was communicated to me that “The way that it is, the talk is just not working.” I was lectured that TEDxCUNY is “not interested in stories, but ideas.” If one wanted to say, innovate ideas, to actually transform humanity, how innovative would be to actually hold a queer women of color migrant with dignity & respect as opposed to succumbing to flagrant racist and misogynist tropes already perpetuated by American society? What about uplifting her by honoring the trauma & strategy it takes in multiple fold to give a speech such as this? What about trusting people with the experience to be the strategists & pioneers of their own embodied savvy?

Do you know what’s not new? Demeaning & pummeling (verbally, spiritually, or physically) someone living in multiple struggles as a blanket of good white intentions that’s supposedly for our benefit.  Many migrant, undocumented, queer, transgender, Black, and femme community face deplorable and aggressive racism by fragile whiteness systemically and individually on a day-to-day basis. What an opportunity this could have been for TedxCUNY to rise up, set an example, and demonstrate that they could actually embrace diversity not with the obsolete single-issue approach of shame and dehumanization, but rather an honest wholeness of experience that invigorates their talks?  This would be a raw mirror, one that echoes the need for collective & endeavors multiple migrant lives in wholeness, a model well deserved for our own society at large. It is not uplifting to erase the stories and agency of undocumented and migrant people of color. Who exactly does this benefit and at what cost?

 

 

Never Trust a Poet

Never trust a poet to keep your secrets.

They read between the lines

and weave together fragments

creating a story quilt

that can fan flames but also smother them.

Never trust a poet to be discrete.

It’s not in their nature.

They are like parasites

sucking molocules of life

to survive and making them their own

making them into a song

they are compelled to sing.

Never trust a poet not to kiss and tell

telling is all they know

they paint portraits and landscapes

with their bodies, their mouths.

Never trust a poet

even if that poet is you.