Class Blog

Radical Repetition

Perhaps one of things that makes Qwo-Li Driskil’s poem For Matthew so devastating is the use of repetition throughout the poem. This technique is used in five different ways throughout the writing. The first being the repetition of various US cities and their acts of protest against the treatment of Matthew: “In Seattle…”, ”In San Fransisco…”, “In DC…”, “In Laramie…”. This emphasizes the sheer magnitude and national outreach of the protests following incident and highlights the presence of the queer community in one man’s story. Repetition is then used in two different ways simultaneously; first, in form through the use of parentheses and also in the anaphora within these parentheses with the phrase “I wanted…” echoing the speaker’s internal anger. The parentheses act as a way of showing that these desires the speaker express are suppressed and secondary (or possibly complimentary) to the cities that precede these statements. The use of couplets in pairing cities with these angry and almost violent thoughts allows the cities to be separated in poetic form in addition to being geographically separated in a more literal sense. The contrast between the calm protests in each city, and the enraged desires of the speaker is quite powerful and, in my opinion, speaks to the idea of peacefully protesting in order to preserve the integrity of a movement, even when the movement itself is fueled by rage within the protesters.

 Even when this pattern of cities and desires breaks away, we are still left with even more repetition: “Thousands upon thousands say Never Again, Never Again.” Once again tying emotion and personal experience with community and numbers; the movement is pushed forward by the people, their simple message emphasized over and over again, from city to city, protest to protest. Then to end the poem, the speaker brings together all previous repeated ideas with the use of the pronoun “we”, merging the personal parenthetical thoughts with that of the protesting cities and, perhaps most importantly, the relationship between Matthew and the speaker. “We have no more time” is a statement of fact, one repeated three times, but never losing impact. The continuous repetition reflects, not just on the death of Matthew, but also upon that of many other queer people fallen victim to hate crimes and ignorant acts of violence. The kinds of widespread protests sparked by what happened to Matthew are nothing new to the queer community, and though the person being memorialized or the means of protest vary, the situations somehow seem very repetitive. The use of the Audre Lorde quote at the top of the poem “I have died too many deaths that were not mine” solidifies this underlying theme of connection and widespread feelings of grief felt across large parts of queer communities across the nation (world?). 

More than a caricature

The section of Qwo-Li Driskill’s “(Auto)biography of Mad” I found myself coming back to is titled “Fear.” The poem in its entirety is harrowing, it rather clinically recounts the symptoms of the systemic oppression of indigenous Americans. “Fear,” however, seems to slightly deviate from some of the hard-hitting words and phrases that come before it, like the opening: “Abuse, Physical, ii, 3; / Sexual, Age 4; 28” (l.2-3). In some ways, it may seem counterintuitive to have some sort of incongruity in a poem of this magnitude— maybe it should all be unequivocally dark. I think that Driskill’s intent in including this section is to emphasize that people really are much more than just their trauma and life circumstances. Not every facet of a person is a direct result of their traumatic experiences. This is significant as it can help us in further humanizing, and aiding, minority groups of which we are not a part. 

The section of “Fear” that I would like to point to is, “of hairs on the backs of hands, 14; / of loud noises, 19-28; / of men, 4, 14, 46, 128; / of pencils, ix, 4, 14, 26-28; / of people hiding in laundry piles, 3-28” (l.56-62). What first struck me about this section was the fact that I could make a clear link between some of these fears and the possible trauma that the narrator underwent. Loud noises and men as triggers are often attributed to trauma, and we can more readily understand why those would evoke an anxiety response. What about “hairs on the backs of hands,” or “pencils,” or “people hiding in laundry piles?” I believe those bring a sense of humanity to the poem that was intended to make this section even more impactful. While these fears could be related to trauma, they could also just be the result of being a human. People who have undergone horrific violence and trauma are still humans. They may have an irrational fear of “hairs on the backs of hands” for no particular reason. By attributing entire beings to their worst experiences, we reduce them to caricatures, rather than people.

This idea of fear as a natural byproduct of humanity is important to the overall theme of Driskill’s poems, which in turn relates to much of our course content. Yes, the narrator in Driskill’s poem “Map of the Americas” is angry about the cruelty their people have faced, but is also able to love a white man. In “Cherokee Love Haiku,” the narrator recounts a loving encounter, where, in “For Matthew,” the narrator, “…wanted the city to burn” (l.11). Indigenous people, queer people, people of color, women— they’re all people. They all deserve the space to have irrational fears, to mourn, and to love. In understanding that, we can then make appropriate space for all types of people, and dismantle oppressive systems. 

Structure & Persimmons

In Qwo-Li Driskill’s poem, “Cherokee Love Haiku,” they offer the same poem in three different forms; the first is in their language, the second is transliterated, and the third is in English. In class we talked about how Driskill’s use of a haiku was significant because of how highly structured they are. The haikus also take up the page in an interesting way. The poem in the indigenous language is first; then the transliterated one, which is also intended; and lastly, all the way on the left again, is the one in English. I think this feeling of structure could connect to the institutions that forced indigenous people to assimilate to white society. However, the transliterated haiku being indented gives the page an illusion of movement and the passage of time, like each poem flowing into the next. This feeling is also strengthened by the fact that there’s a transliterated poem, which seems to represent a transition period/the process of assimilation, but also resistance. Resistance comes from the easy, wavelike movement of the poems within such a strict structure. Also, though, Indigenous children were forced to learn English, usually at the expense of their native language, and Driskill’s use of the English alphabet and (I’m assuming) Cherokee words seems to push back against that. The wave like pattern of the poems also suggest an ebb and flow. If it were read from bottom to top, it could be seen as Indigenous people slowly reclaiming their languages and cultures. 

We also talked about Driskill’s use of the word “persimmon,” which is a fruit native to North America. I read the Wikipedia page for the persimmon’s native here, and they don’t seem to be endangered, which I think is interesting. Colonial settlers wiped out/endangered a lot of animals native to North America, but the persimmon made it through alive, and Driskill’s poem seems to argue that their culture did too. Like love and persimmons, Driskill’s culture was able to withstand immense hardships 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diospyros_virginiana  

Words are Everything and Nothing. Let Me Explain.

Hey reader, have you ever thought deeply about language?

How I put the letters c-a-t together and somehow you can connect them and have a notion of a cat I’m referencing. Surely the connection between the each letter in  language is harmless, right? While most may gloss over the question and agree quickly, I truly believe Eli Clare would disagree, and assert that words can bear a burden that can be only defined by those who identify with said word. Confusing yet?

To have a point of entry, I will be referencing Clare’s chapter titled “Losing Home”. Throughout the chapter, specific words are italicized, adding an emphasis to them and drawing the reader’s attention, such as queer, exile, class, dyke, redneck, shame, and embarrassment. Although each word has a particular definition and specific part of speech, each provide Clare with a sense of identity. At the same time, these words provide each of us as readers an entirely different definition that we apply to ourselves. Clare even says himself, “I know the definitions. I need to enter the maze created by dyke identity, class location, and white rural roots” (32). Analyzing this one sentence alone, Clare is well aware of what words mean, but, at this point, is unaware of how they feel as a lived experiences. I want to pull these words out of the text and ask the question of what do these words mean to you? For some, words provide a sense of security or a revelation for their personal identity, where Clare would sit in the argument.

However, this inadvertently raises a set of problems. What about when labels are used negatively? I can speak for myself and my own experiences. I would never know what it meant to be manipulated if I did not do the research myself. This label of manipulation, allowed me to come to the realization that I was in a controlling and abusive relationship for three years. I could have spent three years of my life putting my efforts elsewhere, and by knowing what was happening to me, I do believe I saved my own life. With this being said, I never want to be called a victim. I’m in a healthy relationship, good grades, in good health, and am the first in my family to attend college. I am anything but a victim in my eyes. I am not defined by my past relationships. The same way many in the LGBTQ+ community wish not to be defined by their gender identity, sexuality, or otherwise. So what? Does this mean that words mean nothing or everything? I wish there was an answer written in black and white to point to, but to be utterly honest, I believe the answer lies in each of us. For Clare, words are powerful tools, used by all. For me, words are tools, that I use for myself and myself only. I really hate labels, what about you?

Your favorite crime,

JAY WALKER

Eli Clare: Exploring Identity

At the beginning of his essay “Stones in my Pockets, Stones in my Heart,” Eli Clare writes, “Gender reaches into disability; disability wraps around class; class strains against abuse; abuse snarls into sexuality; sexuality folds on top of race… everything finally piling into a single human body.” Here, he sums up all the different facets of himself that not only make up his body but make up his identity, who he is as a person. I feel this passage highlights how aspects of everything Clare has been writing about in his book can extend not only to him, but to people in general, as he refers to “a single human body,” not specifically “my body,” leaving room for commonality. But there is also room to not see aspects of yourself in the minority groups he is referencing, as this phrase also implies that he is simultaneously not referring to everyone. So while we may be able to see parts of ourselves in the groups Clare discusses, we may not see all of them, and that’s okay.

This theme of open possibilities extends to Eve Sedgewick’s Queer and Now, where much of Clare’s sentiments seem to be echoed. She emphasizes that queer people should talk about themselves in the first person, leaving room for individual identities to flourish but also to be able to find commonalities with your fellow human without the pressure of feeling like you must find these commonalities. These two texts highlight how important it is to find your own identity and individuality, welcoming and embracing all the facets of ourselves that make us who we are. They also encourage people to share their lives with others, to tell all the stories of their experiences—the good, the bad, and everything in between. They also encourage, through our stories, for us to find and build communities rather than push people out because we don’t exactly align with them. Most importantly, they emphasize that it is okay to not be like everyone else, and that other people should see your uniqueness as okay and accept it and you for who you are.

~written by SilverFlute

I Am Really Not in the Fucking Mood to Do the Work That Eli Claire Does and if I’m Going to Keep It Real With You Reader I’m Not Sure if His Work Is Worth It (Why I Say Fuck You So Often)

TW: Descriptions of torture

Dear Reader,

I am a really fucking angry woman. If I was as articulate as I was angry I wouldn’t need to be taking an English class. Luckily though I know, someone both angrier and more articulate than I will ever be, James Baldwin. A quote from To Be Baptized has been bouncing around in my head for a while.

“I said that we could petition and petition and march and march and raise money and give money until we wore ourselves out and the stars began to moan: none of this endeavor would or could reach the core of the matter, it would change nobody’s fate. The thirty thousand dollars raised tonight would be gone in bail bonds in the morning, and so it would continue until we dropped. Nothing would ever reach the conscience of the people of this nation–it was a dream to suppose that the people of any nation had a conscience. Some individuals within the nation might, and the nation always saw to it that these people came to a bad, if not a bloody end. Nothing we could do would prevent, at last, an open confrontation. And where, then, when the chips were down, would we stand?” (Baldwin 436).

America doesn’t have a fucking conscience, it never did, and any peaceful protest will fail. I think that Claire fails to understand this in his concerns that “The harder part…rural homophobic violence.” (Claire Losing Home 44). While I admire this idea that we can simply “dialog across our differences” it’s ultimately proven to be a false one.

Rat torture. Reserved for the worst of the worst. What they’d do is take a bunch of rats, put them in a bucket, and place that bucket upside down on the wretched creature’s stomach. The rats would scamper around for a while, trying to get out of the bucket, banging their little heads and hands against the steel, until they’d realize there was only one way out. Rat teeth can’t tear through steel but they’re more than sharp enough to rip through flesh.

Claire has fallen in love with the man whose belly he sits upon and tries to claw his way through steel. I’m not going to try to talk to someone who doesn’t believe that I have a right to exist and try to convince them that “actually I am a human being.” Claire is either an idiot or a fool for asking me to try. What are you even talking about? The paradox of tolerance is an essential part of any worthwhile philosophy.

I’m generally so sick and fucking tired of this idea of “calling people in instead of calling them out.” Would you ask a sheep to call a wolf in? FUCK NO. You get that sheep *something* to make sure that the wolf stays the fuck away from your woolly little buddy. Like, if someone calls me a faggot my response isn’t going to be “H-hey it’s wrong to talk to people like that.” You know what I’m going to say? “FUCK YOU!!!”

Yours in Burning Hot Rage That Boils Me Alive,

Carmine “Red” Zingiber

Baldwin, J. (1998). James Baldwin – Collected Essays. Penguin.

 

** note: edited by Prof Kersh on 10/9.  Please feel free to ask me any questions**

Words Like Ammunition

Certainly, we know language to be a powerful tool. The words we use can easily uplift those around us as it can be inflicted to hurt people. The infliction of this pain can take up many different forms as it isolates, eats, and destroys you from inside out. In reading Eli Clare, his words are chosen carefully and openly explained to describe their unique experience as a person intertwined with many identities. In the chapter of stones in my pockets, stones in my heart – it bubbles with the emotions in which words can interact with the way he experiences them. Especially as disabled queer person, “All too often, the thieves plant their lies, and our bodies absorb them as the only truth. Is it any surprise that sometimes my heart fills with small gray stones, which never warm to my body heat?” (152). While it is clear to see Clare’s commentary on the way that people’s actions and words have negatively affected his life, the use of the word “thieves” poses a more insidious imagery. A thief, someone who takes something without asking, insisting that Clare’s thieves robbed him of his own identity. This idea of stealing and reclaiming makes me think about how some words in the queer community are in the process of being reclaimed. Words like “faggot” that have far too long been used as weapons pointed at queer people to deminish their queerness. By using it, steals power from those who carry its title like a target. In turn Clare says we give these “lies” much too power for them to hold. 

In reading Ecofeminists perspectives with how climate change is inherently connected with queer studies, it is interesting that the words he uses like “plant”, “absorb”, and “stone” have associations with nature and the environment. This I see as not a coincidence, as much of Clare’s life is also defined by nature and childhood in Port Orford. These moments with nature gives us a glimpse of Clare’s thinking in the perspective of how he views the world around him. There is also something to be said about the ways that bodies are inherently plants as well requiring the necessities of food, air, and water. These foils also exist as Clare talks about “gray stones…never warm[ing to] body heat” – when plants aren’t provided with the necessities to function, it inhibits their survival. Therefore, just as the gray stones inhibit the bodies’ ability to function properly and to “warm”. This is layered with the idea that the words inflicted on Clare’s body stole his ability to function. 

Thinking bigger, Clare’s experience dealing with the dynamic power struggles of those who have torn him down asks us to consider why we allow the power of words and language get the best of us. In a way, thinking of Michael Warner’s, Trouble with Normal, we are also asked to embrace the ways that have been deemed abnormal and different. Why do we insist on sticking to patriarchy and the heteronormative standards? When the words have no longer served its purpose then they have no use.

Eli Clare and Queer Joy

The last paragraph of Eli Clare’s “Stones in my pockets, stones in my heart” is beautiful.  The author presents language regarding acceptance, not only of one’s own differences but how those aspects of identity unite members of the broader Queer Community. Clare begins by saying he will be sitting on a wall with his legs dangling over big smooth stones. How he will be sitting with a variety of different groups who identify as Queer (159). The focus of the paragraph on the stores that evolve for their queerness rather than their identity itself:

“Laugh and cry and tell stories. Sad stories about bodies stolen, bodies no longer here. Enraging stories about false images, devastating lies, untold violence. Bold, brash stories about reclaiming our bodies and changing the world” (159-160).

Clare chooses to begin each of these sentences with words that define the feelings of the stories. They are allowed to be happy, sad, or enraging. In this, the author presents us with a range of tales about identity. Clare understands, and tells the reader, that to understand one’s identity all different kinds of emotions must be acknowledged. Rather than only giving credence to the happy stories, to the moments of queer joy, Eli Clare chooses to tell all the stories about the process of understanding his identity, and by extension invites the reader to do the same.

The author also legitimizes a range of acceptable responses. Clare and his group of storytellers are going to both laugh and cry. The latter being an emotional response that is typically considered socially unacceptable, especially among men. Thus, he further defies heteronormative gender roles.

By putting the actions “laugh”, “cry”, and “tell stories” together in the same sentence with the word “and” in between each Clare allows them to exist both together, and as their own perfectly acceptable possibilities. Clare and his people are not only going to laugh, cry, and tell stories but also laugh and cry while telling stories. Clare opens space for all of these vulnerabilities to exist together and separately.

Perhaps the reader and our class should consider this queer joy. It is the ability to be oneself without care for social stigma and expectations.

 

 

 

 

Ruminations on Stones in my Pockets, Stones in my Heart

“Dresses. Make-up. High heels. Perfume. I tried wearing the skirts
my mother sewed for me. She urged me into Girl Scouts, slumber
parties, the 4-H knitting and sewing clubs. I failed, not wanting
any part of these activities. I loved my work boots and overalls long
after all the other girls had discovered pantyhose and mini-skirts.
But failing left a hole in my heart; I wanted to belong somewhere.” (Clare 144).

In this paragraph, Eli Clare makes it clear how out of place he felt as a child, without the language to express his identity. As a teenager myself, I understand the desperate need to fit in. It can be scary to live in a world where you feel you do not fit, it can make you feel naked and exposed. As someone who endured abuse his entire life, it makes sense that Clare would want something to protect him, even if that means he would not get to be his true self. All of these activities are known to be feminine, and therefore Clare feels himself repelling away from them. He has an inclination from an early age that he is not feminine, but he does not yet have the vocabulary to express this. As he grows up, he will begin to realize his identity, but in the meantime he feels trapped. The listing of these activities gives the impression that he was faced with an onslaught of them in his childhood. He asserts that he knew that he loved dress that is considered more masculine, even when he was pushed by society to wear pantyhose and mini-skirts. It shows strength of character that Clare had the courage to question the norms that were forced on him.
It is saddening that he felt that by not going along with these norms he was failing, when he was really just trying to express himself. Many have likely felt like that, unable to truly be themselves for fear of not being accepted. Millions of adolescents have likely felt the same way, desperate for some semblance of belonging in a world that rejects their true selves. He was no doubt longing for the acceptance of his mother, who was emotionally absent from his life for so long. Even though she stood by while he was abused, he still wants to gain her affection just like any child would. This particular paragraph contributes to the entire essay by setting up how Clare felt about his gender expression at an early age. His need for belonging prevented him from originally finding his true identity, but the rest of the essay puts this in context. Finding belonging is a lifelong journey of Clare’s, and this paragraph helps to set up that journey.

Stones and Heat

The metaphor of stones and heat recurs throughout the chapter “Stones in my pockets, stones in my heart” by Eli Clare. He talks about how not aligning with the identity he was “stamped” with as well as the damage and violence that resulted from the ableist, homo- and transphobic perceptions of others that did not match his internal sense of self stole his body from him, leaving him with the stones in his heart and his pocket as the only home he had left. Throughout the chapter, he repeatedly asks “how do I write not about the stones, but about the heat itself”.

I would argue that, in order to reach and write about the heat and go beneath the skin, we cannot ignore the stones but have to face and embrace them. The stones, resulting from the abuse and violence based on the marginalized aspects of identity function like a mask or a protective shell to assure Clare’s survival, they are a refuge home for him since his body was stolen from him. I think that to get back to the “heat”, i.e., to the passion and true, raw self, lying beneath the stones, we have to carefully dismantle and work through the stones and the pain that is stored in them. That is because by confronting them, we can change the narrative and reclaim power about our own story as well as reclaiming our own identity and multi-facetity of our identity.

Many people who belong to a marginalized group encounter their identity being reduced to that one aspect of experienced violence when in fact we all consist of countless aspects resulting in complex, multifaceted identities. The process of “facing” and “observing” the stones helps us to overcome the idea that violence is the definer of our identity, that our identity equals our experienced abuse, like we talked in class.

I tried to combine the description of being queer feeling like a loss of home in Clare’s “Losing home” with his proposal in “the mountain” that our body as a home has to be understood as not singular and as something that can be reclaimed, and connect these two to the liberating view of “queer” being able to represent possibilities, as Sedgwick proposes in her text “Queer and Now”. Thereby, it becomes visible how reclaiming our queerness and embracing our stones can help us overcome the feeling of loss of home and help us to “climb” the stones we have to deal with in life, so that ultimately we are able to reach the heat again that is lying beneath the surface of our skin.