Writing and Risk

Last Tuesday I had a reading in Brooklyn, Park Slope to be exact. It was at this cute little place called the Perch Cafe. I read with two other women writers Taha Ebrihimi and Hossannah Asucion. All women of color. Taha is Iranian and read from her memoir she wrote when she got a grant to go around the world and observe/write about the Sufis (which apparently they are a private group and do not normally allow outsiders), and Hossannah is Filipino and read some sultry prose poems about the city. I especially liked the line: "The city taught you to love in incomplete parts"

I was excited to read with two new women of color. Not that I don't like to read with familiar women of color, but I was excited, you see, because it was the first time that I read with other genres as well as with people whose work I was unfamiliar with. This meant, undoubtably that I would be reading to an almost all new audience (though, luckily several of my friends made the long trek from Harlem to Park Slope with me!).

So, I am learning now, too, that I have this book ("How God Ends Us") that will be coming out in the spring and will hopefully have a whole list of readings and places to go and people to read to. Before I had this book forthcoming, I used to like to use readings as opportunities to test out new material; I would always read new work every chance I got to get behind the microphone. At first, I was a bit devastated to think that I would have to confine myself to one collection, that I would not be able to read new stuff. But, despite the fact that I'm finding it fun - for now...I suppose this is the honeymoon phase? - to look at my manuscript from different angles and figure out what stories I can tell using which poems and having each reading be a new reading. Maybe it's because I believe every poem can be read aloud (I know some poets who would argue differently and then complain that they are tired of reading the same five poems from their book...and I say to them: you have a whole book of poems to choose from!) Maybe because I believe in taking risks.

Here we are: the risks part of this entry. This reading happened the Tuesday after we lost Bernie Mac, Isaac Hayes, and Mahmoud Darwish. I'm not going to lie, I am sad and feel for losing anyone, but I was mostly sad about Mahmoud Darwish (his collection "The Butterfly's Burden" will forever be one of my favorite books of poetry) and how important his voice was/is/will be to illuminating the Palestinian's history and current state.

So I mentioned this, at the reading, that we lost a lot of people over the weekend, but probably most important to me was Mahmoud Darwish. While planning what I was going to read, I was not planning on reading any of my Palestine poems (of which I have a whole second collection I'm working on...), but I felt I must. A bit of background: I have been working on and off on this collection of poetry based on my historical research in college about the history of the conflict and how Palestinians tell or portray their suffering/story. A way I thought I could get into the personal side of it was to spend time reading blogs and watching films - mostly feature films, I had articles and books for the hard facts. I go to places like the BBC or other less-biased world-news places to get updates on both sides of the story and events that happen, and found this interesting podcast "Crossing the line" that I tune into sometimes to hear accounts when my eyes beg reprieve.

My risk then, was reading these Palestinian-based poems (they are persona...in the voices of Palestinians) to an all new audience, with all new readers, when I should be gathering folks in support of my book coming out. I could lose readers/listeners with a wrong move. I could offend a host of folks with two poems. But that is the risk right? What fun is it to be safe always, to read the same poems all the time?

It was interesting. I was the last reader. I had to close out the evening. I started with the Palestine poems, because I figured I'd have time to redeem myself with other poems later. I started with a poem by Adonis, and said I wanted to read it to remember Darwish. Then I read two newer poems (which I admit, the older me has calmed down on the voices) - one which came out in the latest Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review -- a poem I wrote about this news story I read where two lovers were separated by the wall that severed East Jerusalem, and had to sneak around in order to be together. And then I read this ghazal about Gaza using facts and stories I've collected over time and places. So the refrain, if you're familiar with the ghazal form (composed of couplets, mostly mildly disassociated with the end of the second line containing the refrain), was "under siege" -- and I watched as I went through the 15-couplet ghazal the audience shift. It was heavy in the room for a minute. And I thought -- I am doing my work. I am making these people listen, whether they like it or not. I have taken my risk.

Immediately after (I had three poems I wanted to read about Palestine) I switched gears though. I figured I wasn't going to walk that line too far. I still wanted them to be with me, in some way, until the end. Even if I did shake them up and make them uncomfortable for about 5 minutes of their life.

So I read some poems from the book. I read two new poems. And said thank you. By the time I got to about the middle of the selection of poems from the book, tension shifted in my favor again, and people were smiling and nodding. I had a couple of people come up and thank me for my work, with smiles, saying they really liked it. People mentioned specific poems. No one mentioned Palestine. But that's okay, I did it.

My friend attended the reading and said he felt the energy shift as well. What is advocacy if not risk? What is writing for - if not to illumine?