As with life, art leans on the past which infiltrates the present and the future, as long as memory and breath serve our bodies. Is there a poem that does not endure revision? Is there art that does not look back at itself? The circularity of a Palestinian artist under colonial existence also asks what happens to love, to the intimate shadows of daily hours. It takes seriously what it mocks. Maya Abu Al Hayyat seems to run cricles around herself, her heart, and manages to complete a work in her lifetime that succeeds as it "suspends itself in our throats."
Fady Joudah on "Revision" |
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Joy Harjo: When Poetry Has Power
"To be an artist—a designer, a poet, or a comedian—it’s a kind of calling. We don’t always understand it, nor do others always understand who we are and what we do. While I was an undergrad at the University of New Mexico, I was an art major, and I heard contemporary Native poets for the first time. Suddenly, I was in those circles, and I started writing my own."
via VOGUE |
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What Sparks Poetry:
Jody Gladding on Marie-Claire Bancquart 's [—What did you say? Lost empires,]
"Bancquart’s poems are spare, grounded, and, for all their attention to demise, surprisingly light. Just the thing for a pandemic. This poem with its 'lost empires' and 'catastrophes' counterbalanced by a shrinking soap bar seemed particularly suited to the moment. I was struck by Bancquart’s vertiginous shifts in scope/scale, producing the same effect they do in cartoons—making us laugh." |
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