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FELICITY a poetry zine

FELICITY Dear Reader, People often assume that all poetry is heady, heavy, and no fun at all. However, poetry can be—poetry is—so much more. With Felicity, we aim to highlight the happy poems of the world. The love letters, the hopeful refrains, the odes to flowers in bloom on a happy spring day. We have gathered the work of student poets and testimonials from poetry lovers with the hope of giving you something to smile about. After this long year inside, we are here to celebrate the better days that are soon to come, and the power of poetry to spread this joy to the world. This zine was created in collaboration with UCLAPoem and Westwind Journal of the Arts, and would not exist without the generous submissions of their members. We would also like to give special thanks to Kaya Press and Neelanjana Banerjee, under whose tutelage this zine came to fruition. Finally, we extend the utmost gratitude to our contributors, who took on the challenge of writing positive poetry and made the world a little brighter in the process. Much love, Jade Lacy Creative Director

Cover Art by Immanuel Ibon

Contents 4

Day of the Blossom

Glaciation

Yours and Mine

Our Favorite Happy Poems

10 11

A Studio Ghibli Film, But It's Starring Us Forget

Night Flower

Wish

Why We Love Poetry

From An Abandoned Saddle Bag c.1901

Leftovers

Gratitude

Authors

Special Thanks

DAY OF THE BLOSSOM by Helena Huynh My mother returns with her nose turned pink from her trip to the store. I wave her over. Her star-bright eyes blossom with excitement—that familiar faint twinkle I haven’t seen for awhile. She says the snowshrouded cherry tree has bloomed in the cold. Wear a jacket outside, it’s much too cold, she tells me sternly as my cheeks flush pink with no protection from the snow. People gather in the town center, a wave of murmuring ripples of whispers so faint; How many years since the last blossom? All eyes are on the cherry blossom as my mother and I shiver from cold. Gentle winds coax the petals to faint like a waterfall, a cascade of pink that flutters and flutters, wave after wave and drowns the streets in blankets of pink snow— petals fly away like the snow during a snowstorm that’s begun to blossom, guided in the sharp air by the wind’s wave. The lone tree stands smug in the face of the cold saying I did this! as it stretches its pink arms farther—a sudden change from the faint 4

dull skeleton with weakened limbs, the faint tired body grown heavy from the snow; No, instead rain falls pink against the backdrop of gray-white. The blossom, just for a moment, makes my mother forget how cold it’s been lately, makes her feel a brief wave of warmth and reminds her of the long-forgotten wave of summer I’ve never seen. I turn to my mother and ask, any faint idea why? Maybe it was tired of the cold, she says. Days pass and the relentless snow, slowly but surely, consumes the cherry blossom— Nothing left but a single petal of pink; But no one ever forgot the waves of pink, a faint memory of the day the old cherry blossom defied the cold of the everlasting snow.

GLACIATION by Cory Chen If you kiss me I will fall for you are Earth and I am partly a pale sky If your lips take in my breath clouds will spill out of me and my body will condense in pieces of you it will pour softly at first then thunder in heavy sheets the rain will not be falling the rain will be the warmest part of me melting into the warmest part of you

YOURS AND MINE by Teri Anderson Yours a pair of arms I seek to hide Mine a pair of ear which you can confide Yours a smile I could melt in Mine a heart to tell your sin Yours a secret nook to find Mine a jumper to help in a bind Yours a seeker to tell the true Mine a finder to ale the blue

Art by Cynphnie Hsu

Our Favorite Happy Poems "We must learn that our Life is as important as that of any other person on Earth, but never more important." from "Life is a time for learning." by Steven Javan Jones

Javan's poems are beautifully crafted, and I empathize with many of his poems. But the most important thing about his poetry is how human and comforting it is. The current

lifestyle

live

with

constant

social

media

usage, self-scrutiny, FOMO, etc. These poems, like "Life is a time for learning," helps me feel happy for who I am now and that I don't have to rush to success or agonize over how "behind" I am. I'm just me, you are you, and we are

all

important

without

needing

justify

importance everyday. - Emily Hernandez

In the twilight rain these brilliant-hued hibiscus A lovely sunset by Matsuo Basho

that

There's this haiku by Matsuo Basho that I find to be really serene and tranquil. Happiness in poetry to me is derived from poems that instill a sense of peace and reset you in a way. Life is hectic, and being able to find a moment to breathe and reset yourself is how I find happiness. I also really love the depictions they use for the weather and the hibiscus.

While

it's

short

descriptions,

the

word

choices adds vibrancy to them and really makes the depictions stand out more in my head. - Matt Alcedo

"Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk and asleep in his boots, Catches tigers In red weather." from "Ten O'Clock" by Wallace Stevens

This poem reminds me to live and find comfort in my imagination, as opposed to reality - Jad Aazami

A STUDIO GHIBLI FILM, BUT IT’S STARRING US by Chazz Hannah I was at my typewriter and the sun was up and the wind blew through the rice paddies and it smelledsweetandmyramenbrothwasboilingIshouldcheckitandohdearIforg ottogetthegreenonionsandIhavetomeetthematcorridorflowat10a.m.buti’m surei’llbetherefirstbecausetheyneverweregoodaboutthatandTrumpispresi dentandthisissurelytheendwhatifmydaughterisbirthedinto “Darling!” “Yes, silly?”

お茶を飲みたいいいね

“ .” I want to drink tea. “ .” Sounds good Spring time had prevailed upon us We sat and drank, you told me about your day There was some handholding on our walk Our cabbage was nearly ready to harvest I loved it there

Art by Cynphnie Hsu

FORGET by Cory Chen Sincerely, I say to you If I forget you, Then I forgot me too. My love which sings now will return to its chorus I will find you on a meandering staircase of a lighthouse I climbed three days without rest, Perhaps I can’t say your name but at night I will wonder why your chin is so familiar until the wheat colored sun wriggles under the hasty curtain and you can see the spade I dug beneath my eye-where sleep beckoned me with her arms but I feasted on a perished dream. If I forget you I did not stop memorizing you for a moment as the last shadows swam across fading fields

You will greet me at the coffee table and say “it’s me” and I will sit with silence steaming on my lips. You will smile And the urn of my memories will fill with the warm vapor of a running shower, and I will write into the mirror, “it’s you”. Somedays I will stare at you like I do daydreaming on a blank wall and as I speak, it will sound as though an important part of a song is missing. But then I will stumble upon a large tower, and I will make my way to the top, gripping on to the hand rails. Staring into the heart of light I will see a beautiful stranger standing before me then I will forget that I forgot you. 11

NIGHT FLOWER by Cory Chen Taking a shower in the middle of a hurricane he braces in the warm rain blooming against his skin like melting snow The window above his head broadcasts a continuous stream of windy gossip replied by a murmur of the shower curtains as he feeds his hair rose shampoo Downstairs, laundry from a hot dryer begins to cool. the lingering detergent pollinates the air Even as the trees outside chafe their frigid paws, a jet turbine bleats mute through the clouds He turns off the shower and wraps a white towel around him an orchid paling in the moonlight

Today the water aches as it crumples off his legs. when he scratches his ankles his fingernails collect grey clock hands: a day peeling away Stepping gingerly on the coral rug, and its soft nylon stems plume beneath his toes like flowers pressed between the pages of a book He combs the starlight from his hair traces a finger through the foggy mirror his glance penetrates the steam he inspects his face, nods, and leaves

WISH by Mishal Imaan Syed Let each white globe Spiral into sighing wind Capricious against Azure stretched taut— Silken lucid sky. Dissipate like snowdrops: Vagrant, or splattered Stars—a thousand Fragrant wishes Blossom into sunbeam. Baby’s-breath florets Echo against brisk Blue air, each zephyr An unraveling— Canvas every flurry. Wishes budding Into hushed breeze, An aria of white. Art by Cynphnie Hsu

Why We Love Poetry Poetry feels like one of the most flexible and interpretive art forms to me in terms of how almost anything could be considered

poetry.

It's

capability

for

spectrum

expressions and emotions as well as how it doesn't need to be intricate nor simple to express them makes it feel like the perfect avenue for expression. Whenever I read them it's like reading a book in terms of being able to imagine new worlds, but it also feels more grounded as a lot of poems derive real life circumstances and experiences in their work. It helps me understand it more as well as relate more. It's within that belief that it brings me joy; being able to imagine the words come to life more in depth always make me smile because it's harder for me to find the time to dive into a book. Poetry feels whimsical in a way; it takes you on a journey that you may not understand, but you can still feel. - Matt Alcedo

All art is a celebration of humanity! Joy is as equally nuanced as sadness, yet our English classes choose to spend hours dissecting the latter, because if you aren't the emotional equivalent of an Edgar Allen Poe poem, do you even appreciate art? - Cynphnie Hsu

I'm going to be real with you, I have trouble expressing and understanding my emotions. I tend to blow up and bottle up my emotions, but poetry is a healthy outlet for me that helps me

heal.

brings

joy

guiding

through

emotional outbursts, understanding that I'm not alone with my pain, and providing me with the release I need to feel better. I have dealt with depression most of my life, and this poem helps ground me. Steven Javan Jones's poetry is my favorite because it validates how I feel, reaffirms that I am human with mistakes and wisdom,

and to be humble from my past

experiences. - Emily Hernandez

Poetry is the most expressive form of writing that

embodies,

reflects,

and

illuminates

the

wondrous feelings we experience in life. - Jad Aazami

Poetry, to me, has a way of expressing the unsaid in a way other forms of writing can't. We can say that a poem is about a certain emotion or event -- grief, love, belonging, and otherwise -- but that, more often than not, doesn't do justice to its language and images, how irreducible they are and how they elide convention. It opens up new ways of being

the

world

often

unexpected,

always

bit

resonant -- and I think that's the most exciting thing you can ask of a piece of writing: to read it and come away anew. - Austin Nguyen

FROM AN ABANDONED SADDLE BAG C.1901 by Chazz Hannah Left El Camino for the Western Woods but it still feels the same I’ve got the words, I’ve got the nerve but I ain’t got no name

Look out darling I’m coming from my own private void All I need’s a warm dinner and I know I’ll find joy

Look out darling I’m coming faster than you’d believe tell the townsfolk to ring the bells and get ready to receive

I’m gonna confess to the paper Cry out into the faces I’m gonna touch them oh so gently then turn around and play it loud

I watched the black clouds of truth roll in as I shivered by the fire I’ve been surrounded by a gang of lawmen who sought to lay me down in the mire

Look out darling I’m coming coming like I don’t have a choice If I make it I’ll just smile and revel in the noise.

Look out darling I’m coming rolling by like Thunder My horse’s hooves tear up fresh earth just like I did when I was younger Look at the long road ahead of me… Tell me where does it lead? I don’t know the answer myself But I’ll get there and be freed 16

LEFTOVERS by Giwu Ibon My fridge is full of mix-matched containers with lids not the same sealed together with plastic wrap, and rubber bands, and a prayer that the fruit inside tastes just as sweet the next day

Art by Cynphnie Hsu

GRATITUDE by Herman Chavez plates line the corners of my bedroom, placed carefully by gracious storks, blessed from a womb no longer attached yet irreparably shackled to its offspring. i am no heron. i still bow at the southwest post, aimed down and flat so no head may be beheaded in favor of northern flight. after consumption I see, the sole observant of the storks’ return— who knew they did that?— to the plates they curated, taken back to wash or cleanse or purify for the mornings’ meal. i wait for them, at arrival and departure, knee-deep in excrement. all i was taught: to be perfumed, to be satiated, to be grateful. 18

Authors

Cory Chen

Cory is a chen. He likes to fly around the classroom with Mjolnir, Thor's friend.

Chazz Hannah Chazz Hannah is an Asian-American UCLA student studying English and Asian-American Studies as an undergraduate. His dream is to produce a multi-media body of work incorporating literature, music, and film that authentically reflects Asian-America as it is today. He is currently working on a novel that seeks to comedically destroy the model-minority myth and accurately reflect Asian-American life in the modern era.

Giwu Ibon Giwu Ibon is a third year English major at UCLA. He has rewritten this bio eighteen times and he still doesn't like it.

Helena Huynh Helena Huynh is a poet, writer, and senior at the University of California, Los Angeles.

Herman Luis Chavez Herman Luis Chavez (he/they) is a first year transfer/third year student at UCLA majoring in Comparative Literature and Ethnomusicology. He is interested in intimacy, popular music, critical race studies, folkloric and Indigenous music, diaspora and migration, poetics and queerness, decoloniality, queer of color critique, U.S. Latinx studies, and Latin American, Bolivian, and Andean cultural studies.

Mishal Imaan Syed Mishal Imaan Syed is a freshman at UCLA studying English literature and cognitive science. She likes writing fantasy, memoirs, and occasionally poetry. During her "free" but not really free time, she plays Chopin on the piano and fluffs her hair.

Teri Anderson Teri Anderson creates work that looks into the idea of craft in art, textiles, installation and sculpture to create a linear or surreal environment which the audience have to inhabit. The work links to her heritage and how textiles were key in their family history including sample machinists and pattern cutters. Building on this Teri proposes an art practise which incorporates a craft based techniques into the art based discipline of installation.

Special Thanks Kaya Press UCLAPoem Westwind Journal of the Arts Austin Nguyen | Cynphnie Hsu Emily Hernandez | Jad Aazami | Matt Alecedo

Art by Teri Anderson