Above: JT's "IM ALL ARMS IM ALL IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS IM ALL ARMS"
I've probably attended about 500 poetry readings in my life. One of the most memorable was given by writer/performer Jennifer Tamayo while wearing a paper glazed donut mask over her entire face. By "glazed," I mean she had poured some super-gross viscous material all over it. She read from her book, Poems Are The Only Real Bodies, which the publisher, Bloof Books, describes as: "A collection of letters to the historical object, Harriet Tubman (aka Araminta Ross/The Conductor/Moses) the sequence considers the pleasures and difficulties of what it means to encounter and experience a radiant historical figure—how do subjectivities collide? How does poetry service the body? Most of the chapbook was written in situ at the Harriet Tubman Memorial Triangle in Harlem, the neighborhood in which Tamayo both lives and works." The magenta and orange colors on the cover "are inspired by a popular fast-food chain located in the same plaza," which is Dunkin Donuts— thus, her donut mask. The combination of her mask, her strong stage presence, and addressing the revered subject of her book—Harriet Tubman—in a mode at once modern, profane, self-indicting, and sincere was like nothing I'd ever seen. Now I am reminded of the Flamenco dance class scene from Happy Go Lucky. It made me feel...not entirely comfortable...but good.
Her poems are like a brass band on speedballs: visceral, funny, bawdy, unpretentious, honest, twisted, and, most important to me, open. Her work wants to communicate—not just babble into its belly button—and it wants to communicate with me! She burrows deep into her subjects—whatever they are—seeking the end of separation and the subjective. Which is impossible, but I understand the impulse. Is it not love for the entire world? A voracity to know it intimately? I'm rarely moved by poems that require special knowledge of a theory or their construction to enjoy them—I appreciate, and have been deeply impressed by, but am rarely moved, which is entrely a matter of taste. I love Jennifer's work right out of the gate. I may not know the holiday, but I know a party when I see one.
She is the author Red Missed Aches Read Missed Aches Red Mistakes Read Mistakes (Switchback Books, 2011) and POEMS ARE THE ONLY REAL BODIES (Bloof Books, 2013). Her second full length collection of work, YOU DA ONE, will be published by Coconut in 2014. Recent or forthcoming work can be found in POETRY, Angels of the Americlypse: New Latin@ Writing (Counterpath, 2014) and Best American Experimental Writing (Omnidawn, 2014). JT lives in Brooklyn and serves as the Managing Editor at Futurepoem. Video and writing can be found at jennifertamayo.com.
You can see her read (though probably without the dounut mask):
* May 27, 5:30 p.m. at the Elizabeth Street Garden for the McNally Jackson Summer Series
* July 4th weekend at the East Bay Poetry Summit for the Manifest reading series
[The poem below was posted to her blog on New Year's Eve. The video's a slice of heaven: watch it all the way to the end.]
#top10/bottom10
BOTTOM 10
1. depression, again depression. & the return to my cognitive behavioral therapy worksheets cuz i gotta live.
2. acting like an animal. a bad one; stealing good things from good people.
3. when i let you down and we had to deal with the let down but you did it so gracefully because you are a kind human being who i love who loves me.
4. crying at The West after a birds LLC reading and too much champagne cuz i was full of love and full of fear and full of champagne and then i cried at Dan Magers for 45 minutes and he told me all about heartbreak and I meant to write him an email but didn't cuz i was embarrassed.
5. living solo in BK in my dungeon. when you smoke in the tub alone and you say what do you want and you have no answer. and maybe you scream it a little and still nothing because desire was dead.
6. when i stole a dog.
7. deaths
8. July 18th- san francisco. losing.
9. all the Trailer Park in Chelsea moments of my pathetic life. when i got dragged out of the bar. i want to speak to the manager plz.
10. to step into that sleep in Baton Rouge in October and feeling like to change my life was to accept a death. to write and find nothing in the writing. to hate writing. & having to be okay with a dying. sitting in a fear. touching all the books so i could live a little more. falling asleep afraid. being a coward. being a coward.
TOP 10
1. MEGA GRILS BRUNCH. AA. ROOF TOP. SUMMER TIME SADNESS. finally, after two years, friends here in this newish place.
2. YEEZUS on the train after three Manhattans; crying.
3. DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD DANA WARD
4. living solo in bk in my castle. cuz loneliness is just a fucking thing that passes through a human body. i am just a bunch of holes.
5. thanksgiving cuz i was grateful really grateful for my two best friends. watching edward scissorshands. mistake deserts.
6. my white jazz summer
7. POEMS ARE THE ONLY REAL BODIES. BLOOF. cuz hurryet tubman cuz dd cuz e-pistols. <3
8. carina called me a bitch.
9. all my time with Sean. cuz Sean. cuz light. cuz friendship. cuz failure is good next to someone who is okay watching you fail.
10. listening to the ________________ right now. now. now. fuck you 2013. you didn't kill me.
Comments