except when spoken for.
I was in Boston this past weekend for the Simmons International Chinese Poetry Festival where such questions as "What makes a Chinese poet Chinese, or Chinese poetry Chinese?" were posed on panels. Does it boil down to language, ethnicity, geography, lineage?
What makes this Chinese poet Chinese? Looking at the characteristics of the other poets in attendance and their shared commonalities, I felt like the marginalized of the marginalized. There were two Asian-American poets, inclusive of myself, both from outside of the academic world, at the festival to present our work. Neither one of us presented our work in Mandarin, nor were we able to provide written Chinese translation of our work. There were about 15 poets total, each allotted 8 minutes of presentation time. This festival, Marilyn Chin, Li-Young Lee, Timothy Lu, they all opted out. Apparently, the first fest left Li-Young feeling puzzled and out of place. The feeling of not belonging - though he did have the language piece of things.
The organizer of the festival felt that my voice should be included in such a gathering. But what is it to really speak at one of these events? Who gets to speak and who doesn't, quite literally? I realize that these sorts of gatherings produce in me a profound sense of identity confusion and self-loathing. To look Chinese, but to not be Chinese. To let others speak for me. That when the speaking that does occur on my behalf is a rattling off of CV details and qualifiers of my Chineseness - i.e. lived in Taipei, funded for a fellowship by the Taipei City Government, friend of so-and-so, etc. I am embarrassed.
The work should speak for itself, always. But where language is an issue, how can it speak for itself?
I came back on the airplane and saw a friend who's experienced similar alienation from her experiences with Cave Canem.
Sometimes I long for the experience of racelessness. This seems impossible.Even if I were to repatriate to Africa...
The question of what makes a Chinese poet Chinese and Chinese poetry Chinese - this catapults me back into my first PhD mixer at UW with the anthro department. Getting interrogated by a professor in my department who made me justify how I could identify as Taiwanese-American, if my father was indeed descended from Han Chinese.
I no longer wish to identify as being Taiwanese-American in terms of my poetic identity politics or my professional career. I no longer wish to identify as a poet. I write poetry, sometimes. I practice yoga. Buddhism happens to interest me. Etc.
I feel like a veteran of poetry organizing, whether of readings or festivals - it is difficult to not walk into a situation organized by someone else and to critique it. Agendas, priorities, budgets, politics, aesthetics, funders, partners - all these things compete for a subtle and sometimes dominant role, and yet in the end, isn't there a way to make them appear at least to disappear long enough to actually create a critical mass?
