Tag: Poetry

Sometimes I am tired

Kimberly Coffman
TCCS ’20

Stream of consciousness prose:

Sometimes I am tired. I wonder if anyone else ever feels like a nomad in their own body. Stopping at a space that feels incomplete, dilapidated. Is this the journey or the destination? My mother gave birth to the struggles of her people’s diaspora through the intergenerational trauma that was inescapable for my brothers and sisters and I. Where is home? Is home the California chaparral – hot, arid, frustrating, yelling, crying? It wasn’t the California coast – cool, distant, dreamy, aloof. Apparently, “home is where the heart is.” But how many times have I removed my heart to make a home for a tall, white man’s emotional labor? Colonization.

Sometimes I am tired. My people are crying. My people are hungry. My people are poor. My people are politicized. My people are vulnerable. My people are paternalized. My people are researched. I’ll leave it up to you to figure out who my people are. Am I that much of an anomaly? I am the product of anomaly. M I S C E G E N A T I O N. Tragic and confused, and, of course, undesirable but so desired. I’m so exotic. I lick my lips with the tongue that will shape words that taze you, they run through your body like electricity and you cannot deny them because you don’t want to. I don’t play hard to get I am hard to get, and when you think you’ve gotten me, you haven’t.

But I am tired. Sometimes I feel alone, and sometimes I am not okay. I don’t know where I belong. My mother speaks of home as a place where she used to eat fried grasshoppers stuffed with peanuts and smell the tobacco from her father’s pipe. But she never describes it as the California chaparral. “Forced migration.” Explain to me how we can take trauma that is so acerbic it tastes of metal in your mouth and then turn it into the word “diaspora.” A word that sounds like a whisper, so innocuous. Explain to me what isn’t an imagined home, because that is the only home I know and the only home that my mother, my home, knows.

Sometmes I am tired. But I still can’t find a home where I can rest.

A photograph of the author and two siblings, taken in 1998.
Kimberly, Seth, and Kristofer Coffman circa 1998.

Zine Culture as Reclamation, Resistance, and Resilience

Izzie Villanueva, TCCS Student ‘19

Editor’s note: In fall semester of 2017, Izzie Villanueva curated a zine for TCCS 610: Topics in TCCS offered by Aminah Pilgrim, Senior Lecturer of Africana Studie and core faculty of the Transnational Cultural and Community Studies program at UMass Boston. The following post is about this zine.

Playing off an abbreviation of “magazine”, zines are becoming an increasingly popular publication medium for artists, poets, and more. Zines are alternative publications to spread knowledge, narratives, and truths. Currently, many activists look to this platform to spread awareness on a variety of issues, combat inequities, and simultaneously advocate for their rights to exist and create communities. The presented zine incorporates the knowledge of community organizing and identity-validation to disrupt the oppressive ivory tower of higher education.

Colorful cover of zine created by Izzie Villanueva

I used the image from our TCCS handbook as the overall cover of the zine. By blurring the image (especially blurring the outlines of a cityscape and buildings that was there previously) and enhancing the opacity of the colors, I wanted to reflect on how the pieces presented in the zine have their own differences, but still come together to collectively create one tangible piece of art. Furthermore, this symbolizes how my cohort and I have all come from different walks of life but are now together in the TCCS program.

Two poems in the zine

I started this zine by incorporating poetry by my classmates Jimena and Taina (whose work appears above left and right, respectively) as they reminisce upon their homeland as they transition to the United States. 

For Jimena’s piece, the background is an image I found in a fashion magazine of woman of color shaving her armpit hair. After reading Jimena’s piece, I thought about how blue is socially constructed to be the opposite of red.

I thought about how femininity is socially constructed, influenced by different ethnic cultures, but usually automatically linked to womanhood. I also thought about the things that are supposedly unallowed on a woman’s body such as hair or menstruation blood.

Is a nation state inherently tied to womanhood as it is depicted as one’s ‘motherland’? If she is drowning will others save her or will they simply say the water is simply tears and she is being overly emotional?

For Taina’s piece, I envisioned a letter being sent thousands of miles away; not only does the letter supercede human-imposed borders, it travels through land, sea, and time. Taina had informed me this piece was written several years ago and no longer held much relevance to her current life.

I argue, this is the beauty of poetry and reclaiming one’s narrative; when each piece of poetry is created, it holds relevance and significance of a specific moment in time and life.

I used an actual cardstock letter to illustrate this stagnant moment, but also consider how one’s interpretation as person moving in the diaspora, is always changing.

Poems in the zine

Continuing, I incorporated pieces by Myles and Grace (above left and right, respectively) to critically assess the word ‘America’. The image behind Myles’s piece is a white man wearing a red and white shirt with blue jeans.

Although not explicitly clear, it symbolizes the secret pervasiveness of colonialism that fuels ‘American culture’ and white supremacy – just because one cannot see it, does not mean it is not there.

Grace’s photo is essential in showing what the Americas truly are and subverts what U.S.-centric media portrays it to be. Both pieces are held together by a question mark sticker and a sticker of the American flag to question the validity of ‘Americanness’ as depicted by the U.S.

Poems from the zine

Pieces by Jimena and Jeanette (above left and right, respectively) are incorporated to continue thinking about ‘Americanness’ and what is expected in regards to language.

Many of us first generation immigrants or second generation children might have grown up with the rule of not speaking English at home; yet, the education system of the United States imposes this language, leaving us either confused or forced to forget our native tongue.

For Jimena, she previously abhorred speaking in English in Costa Rica, but now is forced to use it as her primary language. Whereas for Jeanette, she felt strange speaking in Spanish in a classroom setting because of how ingrained European settler colonialism permeates in the K-12 education system of the United States. The background is scattered with stickers one might find given to assignments for (native English speaking, adhering to colonialism, aligning with the system) elementary school students.

Poems from the zine

These pieces by Fernanda and Juan (above left and right, respectively) demonstrate the stark contrast of how others perceive assimilation and how it actually is in practice. Assimilating to a new nation should be sweet and seemingly easy to transition into with new identities easily assigned and adhered to (the bunnies for Fernanda’s piece hold complacent faces as they take in their new environment and eat the sweets of capitalism, not daring to question the process). Yet, even when this is supposedly achieved, more confusion appears as navigating ones new identities is no where near simplistic.

Juan’s piece is on different pieces of paper that must be flipped up to be read fully and the background is a space galaxy.

This symbolizes the seemingly never ending quest to understanding nationality, ethnicity, and how they play into one’s understanding of lived experiences and identity.

Poems from the zine

I wrote these two pieces at the end of the summer, right before moving to Boston. For the first piece, I used images of some of the students I have worked with in the past as a physical reminder of some of the communities I am pursuing a master’s degree for. Throughout the semester I found myself having to look at old photos to help me continue with school.

For the second piece, I formatted the page to look like a letter I was sending back home to remind my home communities, as well as myself, I would be okay, and there were other communities outside of California that would support me just the same as they would.

I believe flowers symbolize growth and not only surviving in harsh environments, but also thriving. Despite the initial fear of facing the ivory tower and imposter syndrome, I believe I am now more confident and ready to thrive in graduate school as a queer person of color.

Photograph of students in the 2017 cohort of the TCCS program

I wanted to end the zine with something that encaptured the reason why my cohort and I are in TCCS – to make a change and be advocates of social justice. Samnang took a photograph of our TCCS 612: Community Formations class.

I believe the photo is essential in documenting ways we are disrupting traditional academic norms while creating and fostering community building among one another.

Allie’s quote is truly a reminder of how each of us in TCCS deserves to be in a seat, in a classroom, in graduate school: We will use tools outside of the master’s house in order to bring a better future for our communities.

 

The Feminine Nature of Knowing

Allie Richmond, TCCS Student ’19

Between the reaching branches and the sturdy trunks is the space where the light lingers on the crystalline morning rays. Bright and almost blinding with intense purpose, it seeks out the ice-slick earth with determination I often envy come Monday morning as I make my way to work.

It strikes me as strange, that winter is known as a dark time of the year. Without the dense foliage of summer months, and within the unburdened silence that hushes the clutter of noise, it seems so bright and clear, as though welcoming clarity of vision.

Considering the places that I have been, the one place I know I always feel entirely whole, is where I hear the crunch of leaves under foot, and feel the filtered sunlight on my cheeks. I often seek out the woods and the quiet of morning walks to clear my own vision. Under the canopy my ideas sprout and take root, growing deeper and reaching higher, attempting to mimic the trees.

A hand-drawn image of a woman with tree roots and nature emerging from her head
Original artwork by the author

This past semester I spent a lot of time walking through the woodland paths near where I stay. Graduate school is by far one of the most intimidating experiences in my life. I confront my fears, doubts, and insecurities about my ideas, intelligence, and ability to understand with every lesson. I often worry that I am not grasping conceptual complexities, or not interpreting the nuances within the topics.

It is not a fear of the unknown, rather, a fear that I will reach a limit or an end to what I can know, or what I am capable of knowing. Of coming to a point of stagnation where I become unwittingly but definitively ignorant of what is beyond.

Recently, I have found comfort in several podcasts and books on self-care as a woman and how it is deeply connected to the cycles of the Earth. Many of these outlets explore the feminine power that is a part of Mother Nature. Connecting with Mother Nature is thus a way of connecting with maternal lineage and knowledge.

A figure of a woman stylized with bright, colorful organic lines emerging from her headOriginal artwork by the author

A podcast I listened to recently talked about feminine power and the connection between women and their mother’s lineage. This connection is called Motherlines in the podcast and describes how women have a special knowledge deeply connected to the natural world. It refers to the ancestral string of maternal knowledge that guides us and allows us to understand our journeys with the support of all the past mothers and women in our bloodline. This podcast opened my eyes and reaffirmed my comfort within the woods as a connection I have to my maternal lineage.

One of the speakers mentions the cyclical nature of the Earth. She spoke about how women heal and learn in a way similar to the seasons, and are connected to the cycles of the moon. The seasons of the year, express a continual circle of unending life, death, and rebirth. This gave me solace from my fears. It soothed my mind because, I rationalized,  if I learn in a cyclical way, I will never reach my limit.

Aiming for cyclical knowledge, where no scale can place boundaries of linear judgement, I am free. There will never be a final ending, but instead, many beginnings and endings that enable growth and rebirth without limit.

My fear dissolves.

A figure of a woman with the words "memory", "heart", "soul" and "past", "present" and "eternity" surrounding her
Original artwork by the author