Poetry Bulletin: April 2024

One opportunity this month.

Hey poets,

Have you also been witnessing the massacre at Al-Shifa?

I can’t find my own words. I don’t want to find my own words. I want to be with and for the words of Palestinians living this now:

every street, every house, every room, every window, every balcony, every wall, every stone, every sorrow, every word, every letter, every whisper, every touch, every glance, every kiss, every tree, every spear of grass, every tear, every scream, every air, every hope, every supplication, every secret, every well, every prayer, every song, every ballad, every book, every paper, every color, every ray, every cloud,

from “From the River to the Sea” by Samer Abu Hawwash, translated by Huda Fakhreddine

I don’t need to find my own words. Other, better poets have already shown the way. June Jordan loops in my mind these days: I SAID I LOVE YOU AND I WANTED GENOCIDE TO STOP.

What can National Poetry Month, here in the United States in April, do or give any of us as long as Israel is killing so many Palestinians with the support of our Nation?

I can’t locate myself in or ally with the National. There are so many voices excluded from it, terrorized by it now. And so many silences still running throughout the “community” of poetry. (Maybe National Poetry is exactly the right name.)

There is only one opportunity this month, one deadline, and it’s the one you keep with your own conscience, your own center as a writer. If you don’t want your silence to decide the kind of writer you are, then please say something. Do something. There are too many institutions still waiting for your message, your nudge, to come forward and stand with Palestinians.

There are too many organizations that offer workshops and promise creative freedom that have yet to say anything about whether and how Palestinian writers are safe, seen, and genuinely supported in their spaces. I’m still working with organizations I’m involved with to ask how they are showing up and to question why they are not—this work always feels imperfect and incomplete to me, but it matters. And I’m grateful for, and have learned so damn much from, other writers who are trying their own imperfect but honest actions.

You could follow and give to the Gaza Poets Society. You could read only the work of Palestinian writers and center their work in your posts. You could be invited to share your work but instead send or read or share or talk about the work of Palestinian writers. There are so many possible counterweights right now, so many potential refusals.

No business as usual during a genocide. No bulletin as usual. I refuse. * Love to the Palestinians in this community, especially as more of these images and these stories come out of Gaza, again and again and again. Love to all the writers rooted in courage and responding with purpose now.

emily

*only exception to refusal: If you’re a Palestinian writer sending out your work this month and would like support, please let me know. I can put together a list of upcoming deadlines, offer submission fee support, help with questions about the process, etc.