Intersections – What it Means to Me

Diversity in Literature: Intersections

Literature is a preserved collection of the human experience. It transfers thoughts and ideas into a shareable medium. Literature by nature is diverse, but does it represent the expanse of the human condition? Does it provide a truly collaborative snapshot, or merely the most popular narrative?

We are all humans, and like literature, exist in a variety of forms. We are diverse in race, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, culture, socioeconomic status, political beliefs, occupation, etc. Literature helps us understand/comprehend the differences and the connections between us. Literature is at a point of intersection. To expand our minds, we must also expand our exposure to different perspectives.

We at New Plains Student Publishing encourage everyone to have a voice, and are excited to announce a new biweekly diversity blog series: Intersections.

Intersections will feature blogs from alternating diversity themes.

-New Plains Student Publishing

racial identity
What It Means to Me

Written by Caitlin Carnall

I would be lying if I said I had it figured out from the start, writing that is.  For the first couple of years, I was extremely self-critical of my own work and never wanted to share it in fear of judgement from my peers.  

During my fourth year on campus at the University of Central Oklahoma, I was in a Young Adult Literature course and we were studying W.E.B. DuBois’s concept of double consciousness.  The concept encompasses the idea and struggle of an individual’s identity being split and divided into two or more facets.

It was difficult for me growing up with a Hispanic grandmother who blared Latin tunes during Sunday’s chores, singing every word in Spanish, but not understanding what I was listening to.  Not to mention, I would look in the mirror and notice my skin wasn’t as dark as hers, so did I really belong to her ancestry? Or was I just this white girl living in the Mexican neighborhood in Oklahoma City?

When I first began studying the concept of double consciousness, I didn’t recognize that I, myself, was split between three different racial identities: Caucasian, Hispanic, and American Indian.  When speaking directly about the effect of my racial identities upon my writing, I rarely talk about and reflect on my American Indian ancestry for the simple fact that I know very little about it.  On my mother’s side of the family, my great grandmother’s mother was full-blood Cherokee Indian, but we couldn’t trace back the history far enough to take ownership of our benefits. On my father’s side, I know my grandfather was less than 25% Indian.  I reflect most on my Hispanic and Caucasian ancestry in my writing, especially my poetry. The divide between my racial identities add a certain kind of character to my work, where in reality causes me anxiety that I am normally uncomfortable sharing out loud.  However, through my writing, I am allowed to express this struggle I encounter with my racial identities without feeling directly judged. My writing truly allows me an outlet for overwhelming emotion, and it gives voice to a diverse individual. The following is my poem, Tough Meat:    

Girl, you crazy.

Yeah, gram.  You.

Best friend—my fear

Is my best friend.

 

Hold you close, but at a distance.

Like your skin color, like

the color my skin should be—

Stuck to my finger and stuck to my memory.

 

Mine—

Just don’t let anyone catch me

Admiring mine:

Love you at your worst.

 

Oh shit, maybe I’m crazy too.

The skip-a-generation bullshit is real.

We got tough meat—as hard as is—

Always soft.

 

Lithium over easy atop my enchiladas

¿Por favor Abuela?

Over easy brain,

Over cooked heart, impenetrable.

 

Impenetrable

I am crazy, but

We got tough meat—as hard as is—

Always soft.

 

¿Duele?  Swallow pills like Portia

Swallowed fire. Your neuro

home is not a home any longer.  You

know the medicine is there in your food, your brain.

 

I stopped taking my happy pills and

I’ve been searching for the roundness

in light, caramel dermises on the streets.

We got tough meat.  Always soft.

Within the piece, I am questioning my identity as a Hispanic female, but also, I am questioning my future mental stability as the grandchild of a woman who suffers from a severe case of bipolar disorder.  So, not only do I struggle with a divide in my racial background, but also, I struggle with the fear of my genetic mental state. The personal tear I experience when dealing with such issues is flavorful for my writing.

 

Throw Away Your Television

That day when our minds roam free,

We began to live without agenda.

That beautiful release for you and me,

We can all flourish in beautiful hacienda.

Where we do not live by another decree,

And we can relax in peace.

Outgrow our nervous nature,

And we will find peace of mind,

As far as can be seen

Not a worry is in sight,

And not one involuntary notion,

Not a single distraction from divine delight.”

READ MORE…

“Tall Tale–A Lumber Camp Massacre” by Gina Marie Bernard

The snow arrived at 11:11, superstitious numbers for the Cass Lake loggers:
    four parallel pines announcing the banking storm.

Men had been promised a day and a half of women and whiskey,
    and drug themselves from the forest, footfalls heavy as felled fir.

These thirsty birlers—Norwegians, French Canadians, Irishmen—carried
    upon their shoulders broad axes and serrated saws,

but buried deep within their woolens they bore darker truckage:
    national pride and prejudice as sharp as crushed juniper.

READ MORE…

“Paradise, USA” by Christine Nichols

Let us move to the island of rattlesnakes.
I will protect you.
Watch me slide off my city-pumps,
walk barefooted on hot
rocks.  Together, let us dance
across the beach, wave our hands
like carefree children, feel grit
rise between hungry toes.
I will ask youspend the night here,
with me on the dunes,
bare-bodied in the sand.
Know that in this garden,
all things are natural.
Take away my weapons.
Let the hiss of the water
conceal their approach.

READ MORE…

Three Poems by D. C. Wiltshire

“I am the outcast”

I am the outcast of the day
aloft on shrill gusts
up near the quiet cirrus,
who dangle their legs in my long, thick hair
that tickles in breezing past. Behold the shepherd whose sheep go home
each to his own den, away from the wind,
and I to my humble abode, too small
to house them all. I who stand creekside

READ MORE…

“#BlackLivesMatter)” by Keri Withington

For the good of the Fatherland,
              i know why the others aren’t here the girls with
              purple-black eyes the boys with boys the priests
              who sermonize and the Jews the Jews the Jews
              houses sit empty stare not one says any thing no
              one trusts any know no-one wants to look any
Keep eyes ahead.
Don’t blink.
              i cross my heart i hope to die i have a secret if
              you promise if you hope to die but i never
              told you they asked questions i told you they
              are watching the gaps watch the spaces be-
              tween furnaces make life-room make space to

READ MORE…

“A Guide to Violence” by Kandace Siobhan Walker

  1. have a body.1
  2. abandon the gender you were assigned at birth.2
  3. name social structures which shape & govern your reality.
  4. name trauma. name the classes who inflict trauma on bodies like ours.
  5. remove a history book from its shelf and light a match.
  6. practice empathy.3
  7. walk naked into the street, demanding reparations.
  8. adopt english as a mother language, when you’ve no other choice.
  9. disobey the state by giving birth.
  10. talk in dialect, like you never left the motherland. learn to code-switch.4
  11. name the women you love & who love you.5
  12. design new vocabularies to voice your lived experiences.
  13. navigate.
  14. mourn the dead, thank them for what they left behind.
  15. demand what you are wrongly denied.6
  16. be vulnerable, sometimes. when it suits you. be kind.7
  17. protect what you love.

READ MORE…