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Happy National Poetry Month
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Honoring the community of poets that have raised me.
by Jireh Deng
Poets, of course, still squabble between what meets the literary standards of “what is poetry,” much less what constitutes “good poetry.” Poetry critics might look at Rupi Kaur’s pithy lines and humble sketches as half-baked Instagram optics, but they can’t scoff at her 4.3 million followers on Instagram or her ascent to become a household name.
Kaur’s poetry would not have been possible in the same fashion without a visual social media platform or in an age where women of color were not allowed to be published or not worthy of consideration in serious literature. It is undeniable that for a good portion of European history, our literature studies in the classroom have centered scholarship of white cisgender men. (Think Walt Whitman, Edgar Allan Poe, Shakespeare, William Wordsworth).
The diversity of the poetry community has fostered my growth and nurturing as a writer. I remember first seeing Sarah Kay’s TED Talk that every English teacher at the time loved to share with their students. There she was, a woman with big curls, with a steady voice, inviting me to sit with her words.
I’ve seen Kay perform live at multiple serendipitous moments in my own life. The first time was at a reading in 2018 at The Last Bookstore in Los Angeles, where I cried in the meet-and-greet line before hugging her. Later that fall, she performed for my freshman class at Long Beach State. It was my confirmation I was meant to be at this school.
Most recently, last fall I was performing at Youth Speaks’ “Between My Body and the Air” Anthology online book release party, where Sarah Kay was also one of our featured performers. I was then reminded of how far I have come throughout my writing career to be an officially published poet.
I was given my first chance to learn poetry through a scholarship opportunity with Spoken Literature Art Movement taught by Matthew Cuban and Alyesha Wise back in the fall of 2019.
I reference their work in my creative journey a lot because it was a turning point in my writing career. It was the first time I found myself in a diverse group of LA writers who affirmed my ability to write and perform. I learned how to take the stage and allow space for others to speak their truth.
Cuban and Wise also help to host the Da Poetry Lounge, the nation’s largest open mic poetry slams. Pre-pandemic, the space on Tuesday nights featured poets from all over the country and was centered on writers and storytellers of color.
Poetry matters because I see the work that it is doing in our communities with our youth. Organizations like Get Lit, Words Ignite, Street Poets Inc., and Youth Speaks have free programs that teach poetry to communities of color and low-income youth and work to make programming free and accessible to attendees.
I have found that poetry thrives in the diversity of slam poets who transitioned from stage to page and continue to bring equal punchiness and verve to their verses. Individuals like George Abraham, Safia Elhillo, Tonya Ingram, and Franny Choi are all award-winning poets who built a foundation of poetry in the slam scene.
These individuals, along with accessible open mics, create the chance for everyday people to share a story. We see the creative energy there supplanted into the oftentimes dry and esoteric realm of literature.
Poetry is no longer a means for a few to express their emotions, but is a political vehicle. It is a means of survival. Individuals like Amanda Gorman are doing the work of healing even in a time of tumultuous transition.
Poets are collaborating across mediums. I collaborated with a filmmaker to bring my poem to screen in a small project, “Blooming in the Whirlwind” with Level Ground. The poets of Get Lit, Words Ignite performed in the soon-to-be-released film “Summertime” which featured at Sundance.
Even during a pandemic, poetry blossoms through online gatherings and classes that are made accessible beyond geographic limits as writers from all over the world gather to write and celebrate their work together.
The future power of poetry is more than hopeful, it’s already here with us and we are witnessing it. Poetry hasn’t been cheapened by the fact it has expanded its audience, but has been made better because of it.
Like the moon, poetry may wax and wane and sometimes disappear from our sight of view, but its gravitational force pulls at us constantly even when we do not see it.
I see poetry at its strongest when it’s centering marginalized voices while also helping us to dream expansively in radically new ways in which we occupy futures. Poetry at its best is anti-capitalist, anti-racist, anti-colonialist and anti-imperialist.
I’m proud to name the poets who have raised me in this school of thought and encourage me to continue writing. I’m writing to liberate myself and my communities.
