Socialist and feminist culture
by Elizabeth Catlett
"What is Activism?" by June Jordan
Harlem-born poet (1936-2002) active in civil rights, feminist, antiwar, and gay and lesbian rights movements.
Activism is not issue-specific.
It's a moral posture that, steady state,
propels you forward, from one hard
hour to the next.
Believing that you can do something
to make things better, you do
something, rather than nothing.
You assume responsibility for the
privilege of your abilities.
You do whatever you can.
You reach beyond yourself in your
imagination, and in your wish for
Understanding, and for change.
You admit the limitations of individual
perspectives.
You trust somebody else.
You do not turn away.
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"Women of the World," by Nellie Wong
Women who plant rice
Women who sew pants
Women who weave rugs
Women who compose songs
Women who launder, who wash and wash
Women who clean rooms, who dig ditches
Women who agitate for a living wage
Women who give their bodies
Women who invent
Women who dance
Women who work
And all women work
Women who sacrifice sleep
Women who weld, who paint, who doctor
Women who see with their ears, hear with their eyes
Women who resist, their brains and bodies in united fronts
Women who build coalitions
Women who organize, strategize, materialize
Women who teach, who learn
Women who are migrants, refugees escaping violence
against their bodies, their children’s lives
Women who fight against sexual slavery
Women who abort, who choose
Women who act for clean water, clear skies
For education for all
Women who lead
To end wars that promulgate profits, destruction
Women who cross borders
Women she they we
Women of the world unite
We are waves, rivers, mountains
We who cover the earth
Fighting to be free.
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"Mountain Moving Day," by Yosano Akkiko
Japanese poet, author, and activist, 1878-1942
The mountain-moving
day is coming.
I say so, yet others doubt.
Only a
while the mountain sleeps.
In the past
All mountains
moved in fire,
Yet you may not believe it.
Oh man,
this alone believe,
All sleeping women
Now will
awake and move.
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“The Ballad of Paragraph 218,” by Bertolt Brecht
Published in “Bertolt Brecht Poems 1913-1956”
Please, doctor. I've missed my monthly . . .
Why, this is simply great. If I may put it bluntly
You're raising our birthrate.
Please, doctor, now we're homeless . . .
But you'll have a bed somewhere
So best put your feet up, moan less
And force yourself to grin and bear.
You'll make a simply splendid little mummy
Producing cannon-fodder from your tummy
That's what your body's for, and you know it, what's more
And it's laid down by law
And now get this straight:
You'll soon be a mother, just wait.
But, doctor, no job or dwelling:
My man would find kids the last straw . . .
No, rather a new compelling
Objective to work for.
But, doctor. . . Really, Frau Griebel
I ask myself what this means
You see, our State needs people
To operate our machines.
You'll make a simply splendid little mummy
Producing factory fodder from your tummy
That's what your body's for, and you know it, what's more
And it's laid down by law
And now get this straight:
You'll soon be a mother, just wait.
But, doctor, there's such unemployment. . .
I can't follow what you say.
You're all out for enjoyment
Then grumble at having to pay.
If we make a prohibition
You bet we've a purpose in mind.
Better recognize your condition
And once you've agreed to put yourself in our hands, you'll find
You're a simply splendid little mummy
Producing cannon fodder from your tummy
That's what your body's for, and you know it, what's more.
And it's laid down by law
And now get this straight:
You'll soon be a mother, just wait.
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Meagan Murphy
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“Canción Sin Miedo/Song without Fear” Vivir Quintana & Mon Laferte
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“It Pleases Me,” by Tatiana Lobo
Costa Rican poet born in Chile
It pleases me that they tell me I'm
hysterical because then I can
throw dishes at anyone's head who
tries to harm me.
I like that they call me "witch" because
I can burn the bed
where they rape me.
I like that they call me weak,
because it reminds me that unity makes strength.
I like that they call me gossipy,
because nothing human will be alien to me.
But what I'm most thankful for, what
pleases me the most, what I like
the most and what makes me happiest is
that they call me crazy,
because then no liberty will be denied to me.
It pleases me to know that my brain is
smaller than a man's brain,
because then my brain fits everywhere.
It pleases me that they tell me I lack logic,
because then I can create a logic
that's less cold and more vital.
It pleases me that they tell me
I'm vain, because I can look at myself in the mirror
without feeling guilty.
It pleases me that they tell me I'm emotional
because I can cry and laugh as I please.
One and a thousand times the inquisition burned me
and I learned to rise from the ashes.
They locked me in a harem,
and locked up I didn't stop laughing.
They put me in a chastity belt
and I acquired the arts of a locksmith.
I loaded bundles of firewood
and it made me strong.
They put a veil on my face
and I learned to watch without being seen.
The kids woke me up in the middle of the night
and I learned to keep myself in wakefulness.
They didn't send me to the university
and I learned to think on my own.
I transported pitchers of water
and learned to keep my balance.
They removed my clitoris
and I learned to enjoy with all of my body.
I spent days embroidering and weaving
and my hands learned to be more
exact than those of a surgeon.
I harvested wheat and I harvested corn, but they
took away my food
And with hunger I learned to live.
They sacrificed me to the gods and to the men
And I returned to live.
They hit me and I lost my teeth
And I returned to live.
They assassinated me and defiled me
And I returned to live.
They took away my children and in the crying
I returned to life.
I'm thankful to be an animal because
men have put the survival of
the planet in danger.
I'm thankful to be a woman, because the man
is not the center of the universe,
rather just another link in the chain of life.
I'm thankful that they tell me I'm
irrational, because reason
has led to the worst acts of barbarity.
I'm thankful not to have invented technology,
because technology has poisoned the water and the ozone.
I'm thankful that they have placed me
closer to nature,
because I will never be alone.
I'm thankful they have confined me to the home and the family,
because I can do everything on earth, which is my home and family.
I'm happy that they call me housewife
because I can get hold of all my things.
I am happy I'm not competitive
because then I will be supportive.
I'm happy to repose with the warrior
because I can cut his hair while he sleeps.
I am happy they excluded me from the battlefield,
because death is not indifferent to me.
I am happy to have been excluded from this patriarchal power,
because far from this, I am further from ambition and greed.
I am happy that they excluded me from art and science,
because I can invent them again.
With so many accumulated strengths,
With so many abilities and learned skills,
Woman, if you try, you can turn
the world upside down.
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“Me Agrada,” por Tatiana Lobo
poetisa costarricense de origen chileno
Me agrada que me digan que soy
histérica porque entonces puedo
lanzar los platos a la cabeza de quien
intenta hacerme daño.
Me gusta que me llamen bruja porque
puedo quemar el lecho
donde me abusan.
Me gusta que me llamen débil,
porque me recuerdan que la unión hace la fuerza.
Me gusta que me digan chismosa,
porque nada de lo humano me será ajeno.
Pero lo que más agradezco, lo que mas
me agrada, lo que mas
me gusta y lo que me hace más feliz es
que me digan loca,
porque entonces ninguna libertad me será negada.
Me agrada saber que mi cerebro es mas
pequeño que el cerebro del hombre,
porque entonces mi cerebro cabe en todas partes.
Me agrada que me digan que carezco de lógica,
porque entonces puedo crear una lógica
menos fría y más vital.
Me agrada que me digan que soy
vanidosa, porque puedo mirarme al espejo
sin sentirme culpable.
Me agrada que me digan que soy emocional
porque puedo llorar y reír a gusto.
Una y mil veces me quemo la Inquisición
y aprendí a nacer de las cenizas.
Me encerraron en un harem
y encerrada no deje de reír.
Me pusieron un cinturón de castidad
y adquirí las artes de un cerrajero.
Cargue fardos de leña
y me hice fuerte.
Me pusieron velos en la cara
y aprendí a mirar sin ser vista.
Me despertaron los niños a medianoche
y aprendí a mantenerme en vigilia.
No me enviaron a la Universidad
y aprendí a pensar por mi cuenta.
Transporte cantaros de agua
y supe mantener el equilibrio.
Me extirparon el clítoris
y aprendí a gozar con todo el cuerpo.
Pase días bordando y tejiendo
y mis manos aprendieron a ser mas
exactas que las de un cirujano.
Segué trigo y coseche maíz, pero me
quitaron la comida
Y con hambre aprendí a vivir.
Me sacrificaron a los dioses y a los hombres
Y volví a vivir.
Me golpearon y perdí los dientes
Y volví a vivir.
Me asesinaron y ultrajaron
Y volví a vivir.
Me quitaron a mis hijos y en el llanto
volví a la vida.
Agradezco ser un animal porque los
hombres han puesto en peligro
la supervivencia del planeta.
Agradezco ser hembra, porque el hombre
No es el centro del universo,
sino apenas un eslabón más en la cadena de la vida.
Agradezco que me digan que soy
irracional, porque la razón
Ha conducido a los peores actos de barbarie.
Agradezco no haber inventado la Tecnología,
Porque la tecnología ha envenenado el agua y el ozono.
Agradezco que me hayan colocado mas
cerca de la naturaleza,
porque nunca estaré sola.
Agradezco que me hayan confinado al hogar y la familia,
porque puedo hacer de toda la tierra, mi hogar y mi familia.
Estoy feliz que me llamen ama de casa
porque puedo apoderarme de la mía.
Estoy feliz de no ser competitiva
porque entonces seré solidaria.
Estoy feliz de ser el reposo del guerrero,
porque puedo cortarle el pelo mientras duerme.
Estoy feliz de que me hayan excluido del campo de batalla,
porque la muerte no me es indiferente.
Estoy feliz de haber sido excluida de este poder patriarcal,
Porque lejos de este, me alejo de la ambición y de la codicia.
Estoy feliz de que me hayan excluido del arte y la ciencia,
porque los puedo inventar de nuevo.
Con tantas fortalezas acumuladas,
con tantas habilidades y destrezas aprendidas,
Mujer, si lo intentas, puedes volver el mundo al revés.
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“Jelly Beans,” by Merle Woo
from Yellow Woman Speaks
The harmony of a million languages —
Colors never before seen;
People with
Cultures so many so rich always changing
Each with a sense of place
Not ownership.
And also,
We began to see people
Becoming tangible and real,
Becoming their potential.
A thousand-fold of gender expressions —
A wild flourishing of sexualities —
The nuclear family unit had
Dis appeared,
Because everyone had everything
Collectively
Males and females were equal
Children were no longer
Blue and pink incipient workers.
It didn’t matter anymore if you
Were mannish or womanish —
Why, you could be
Two spirits, three spirits, four —
Fluid, changing by choice
Or desire,
Merging
Interpenetration of sexualities —
And genders —
For some
Clearly male and female for others —
So many expressions
And speakings out
We no longer laughed at
But admired
The chick who kept her dick —
The tomboy who grew up to be a man,
The tomboy who grew up to be a lesbian,
The tomboy who grew up to be a woman —
The girlboygirl who is still changing
The girl man who is trying to find
The boy he had lost.
We decided that gender expressions
Like racial expressions
Were like jelly beans —
One alone is pretty enough
But one among many
Multi-flavored, multi-colored
Jelly beans
Is
Ecstasy!
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"The life and times of Claudia Jones, early Marxist feminist and race liberator,” by Muffy Sunde
“Black women—as workers, as Blacks, and as women—are the most oppressed stratum of the whole population… The super-exploitation of the Black woman worker is thus revealed not only in that she receives as woman, less than equal pay for equal work with men, but in that the majority of Black women get less than half the pay of white women.” – Claudia Jones, 1939 more...
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“Sickness Slept In Us,” by Karen Brodine
from the poem series “No One Immune” (1985)
It was a time when sickness slept in us waiting
It was a time when birds dove through slick oil
and came up without feathers
a time when no one was immune
Are you now
or have you ever been
a member of those
who face the days with no natural defense?
who face a slow and certain death?
diagnosed, the new lepers
under wrath of god.
Can they lock us all up?
Meagan Murphy
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“We Eat Chicken Feet and We Are Not Dead,” by Nellie Wong
We eat chicken feet and we are not dead
Our bowls are rimmed with bats and fire flies
Our feet pedal sewing machines making blue denim jeans
We march in Chinatown protesting discrimination
Corona virus has no yellow skin nor brown eyes
We are delivery workers, doctors, dancers, actors
Our ancestors memorized the number of doors and windows in the home village, whether our fathers had more than one wife
Our foremothers sold their bodies to feed their children
Ah Bing cultivated wild and sweet cherries in Oregon, disappeared in China
We make masks and we don't hide
We fight for Asian American Studies
Agitating for inclusion is a political act
We strike for higher wages, rest periods for our aching backs
We are immigrants at home all over the world
We are natives, born in Eureka, Augusta, Oakland, Phoenix, Flushing
We dispense herbs, make soup to heal our bodies
Harvest chrysanthemums, grapes, pea shoots, taro
Oh yeah, we yakety yack, we jitterbug and jive, play flutes and drums
We dream and we braise and steam and we write
We eat chicken feet and we are not dead.
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