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How do we continue to center and publish the narratives of women?
The sex worker, the homeless woman asking for change, the woman asking for everything, the woman in prison, the woman with a child in prison, the woman facing addiction, the woman at the abortion clinic, the woman who won’t leave her abuser, the woman who left her abuser, the woman we want to leave the room, the woman cleaning the floors, the woman in the mirror.
How do cisgender women editors confront our gender essentialism?
Not every woman has a vagina and breasts; embracing that reality contains promise and freedom for each of us.
Grace Bauer & Julie Kane (Lost Horse Press, 2017) Bodies, beauty, sisterhood, sex, and sexism are only a few of the subjects pursued from their historical and mythological roots to their many modern iterations in this hard-hitting volume, which is at once profoundly political and inextricably personal.
takes its title from the televised words of a prominent political figure (“whose name,” Bauer and Kane say, “we shall not utter here”), an act of reclamation and affirmation that is echoed by the talented voices and moving verse within.
One of feminist poetry’s most poignant functions names support’s necessity by calling out its absence. I read this book after attending the Florida March for Black Women, which filled Miami’s streets.
The anthology includes work from Kim Addonizio, Jan Beatty, Kelly Cherry, Annie Finch, Alice Friman, Allison Joseph, Marilyn Kallet, Melissa Kwasny, Shirley Geok-lin Lim, Jessica Mehta, Lesléa Newman, Nuala O’Connor, Alicia Suskin Ostriker, Melinda Palacio, Jennifer Perrine, Marge Piercy, Lucinda Roy, Maureen Seaton, Rochelle Spencer, A. Stallings, Stacey Waite, Diane Wakoski, Müesser Yeniay, and a fabulous coven of other women’s voices.I was surprised by the amount of highly structured verse in this book. Readers will find poems that break traditional rules such as Jan Beatty’s controversial and exquisitely skillful “The Shooter” from her 2008 collection One of the few poems I’ve ever seen that effectively incorporates hashtags and even emoji is Nordette N. “Fuck you, Bukowski,” Katie Bickham writes in “To Charles Bukowski, From a Young Southern Girl with Nice Manners.” Alice Friman writes in “The Poet,” “. This nod to the feminist anthologies of the 1970s is a beautiful opportunity to reflect on the ways that feminism and our society at large has progressed alongside the ways we have stagnated and regressed.It finally occurred to me that this formality reflects the ways women are told that we must stay in our female boxes. Adams’s “Digital Anthropologists Find Our Hashtags,” a careful reflection on police murders that invokes a major feminist issue: racist violence. Dear #Mother Emmanuel AME, I will rememb— Dear #Nimali Henry and #Freddie Gray, I believe that it . In light of the disturbing reality that 53% of white women voted for Trump, how do white feminists recommit to a relentless interrogation of whiteness?Contributor Susan Nguyen’s poem “All The Good Women are Gone” is one example: This is when you are driving west and you ask your phone: Does coffee make anxiety worse? I read this book when I should have been working and read this book when I should have been reading other works. if you think nothing &/ no one can / listen I love you joy is coming” (Kim Addonizio, “To The Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall”). Shedding light on the nastiness of oppression, on the nasty messiness of pride and triumph, Amy Miller writes in “I Am Over Here Sobbing”: and I am over here sobbing at the history writing itself and for once I am singing the national anthem, that part at the baseball game where I normally lower my eyes in silence, my hand nowhere near my heart, as I try not to think of bursting or rockets or bombs but instead rest my eyes on the grass with its millions of green blades patiently growing We need this anthology for the world we live in.I read this book as students filed into class, one wearing a t-shirt with the word “FEMINIST” written across the front, another sporting heels and a Milo Yiannopoulos book. Unexpected harmonies arise in echoing the music of resistance at the 2017 Women’s March. Each is named after a popular song from the last several decades. I can’t help but think of the NFL, paragon of male supremacy and the capitalist objectification of black bodies, and Colin Kaepernick’s kneel that rocked the country, the president calling him a “son of a bitch,” Kaep’s mother tweeting “Guess that I’m a proud bitch!
How do we center our differences in our journeys towards inclusivity and equity?