while in nyc this past weekend, my friends and i decided to check out the sulu series, a monthly showcase of Asian American talent at the Bowery Poetry Club.  this month, it was a benefit/fundraiser for the Sulu Artist Network resident photographer, derek srisaranard, who was hit by a car on his way home and is currently in a coma.  local and national artists came out to show their love and support.  that’s what community means.

the sounds of dj boo

ishle park starts off the night

heather park

koba

misnomer(s)

kevin so

cynthia lin

taiyo na

the night ended with the amazing kelly tsai.  i was captivated by her energy and words that i completely forgot to take a picture. 

before the end of the year, i’ll try to perform at sulu series.  but first, gotta write more and practice.

there was a period of time a few years ago when all i wrote were vignettes. trying hard to imitate sandra cisneros, i guess. in reading some of these pieces again, i had almost forgotten how they eased my ache and still continue to ring true sometimes. here’s a sample:

~ ~ ~

cards and dried flowers

he snuggled against her shoulder, recounting to her his past relationship. she didn’t dare move, nor breathe too deeply, afraid that she would shake the moment away. last night, he had wanted to kiss her, but she kissed his cheek instead.

“that was a year ago,” she heard him say. “but we’re still really good friends.” she nodded in response. for a brief moment, she wanted to kiss him, give him some reassurance that he wasn’t wasting his time. but she knew how much hurt it would bring. how sooner or later it would all end, and she’d be left with a pile of cards and dried flowers.

~ ~ ~

cup of tea

Sitting on these stained cushions, staring at the water in my cup, and letting the steam warm up my face, I almost wanted to talk to her. Share with her all the thoughts that ever crossed my mind since she left. Let go of all the things I should have a long time ago. And finally hide nothing. But I didn’t want to bore her.

“It’s wonderful to hear your laugh again,” she said and smiled. “It’s what I’ve missed the most.” Her smile was what killed me. Every time. It made me believe that she was happy with me. That she was content with what I allowed myself to give to her.

By the time she finished her tea, I had barely touched mine, entranced by the way her lips formed words and kissed the air. She’s flying back to San Francisco and she doesn’t know when she will see me again. But this is her number and email address and we should talk sometime. I stood up and hugged her, wished her a safe trip and promised to keep in touch. Then with a kiss on the cheek, she turned around and walked through the door.

She was gone again. All I was left with was the remnants from the tea leaves that already settled to the bottom of the cups. But even that will be thrown away.

~ ~ ~

she leaned against a wall of the room, her mind a spinning carousel. by this time, the air was drenched with alcohol. she didn’t realize how much she missed that alcoholic equilibrium. the feeling of having enough self control to preserve her dignity, yet acting completely unlike herself; tripping, laughing obnoxiously, and hugging random boys.

what a great excuse to get away from oneself, she thought. the time to be somebody else and no one will ever know the difference. she snickered to herself, half in delight and half in disgust at how she tricked people and how much she hated doing so. shrugging it aside, she walked over to the table and took another shot.

an hour later, she was left alone in the room, cleaning up the partially filled cups of beer sprinkled throughout the house. the alcohol buzz was fading away. another shot would do it. she stared at the bottle as if she could will it to walk over to her. it’s hopeless. just like yourself. here she was, standing in an empty room with cups of warm beer in her hand, testing out this type of life, willing it to suit her.

copyright 2003-2004 jenny c. lares.

some rough translations:

singkit = “slanted/slanty”
tatay = father
Kastila = of spanish descent
pandesal, Nido, and Ovaltine = a type of bread popular in the Philippines, powered milk, and Ovaltine

Singkit Eyes

You left two weeks before I was born
had no part in naming me
only signed your name on my birth certificate
in secret
because technically, you weren’t married yet
and immigration officials weren’t supposed to know
two daughters were waiting to see their father
in person
the youngest longing to be lifted into the air by you
the way her uncles did
how she called every man and boy she met
some version of dad, daddy, tatay
in search of you
how she looked for your singkit eyes and Kastila nose in her own face
proof that you couldn’t deny her existence.

When you first saw her, gently kissed her cheek
welcomed her to America
she stared back blankly, yet calmly sat down on your lap.
I can imagine the smile you must’ve had on your face
to finally hold the daughter you never held as a baby
whose first word, first step, first birthday
you missed
who now can’t distinguish your face from uncles, cousins, neighbors
the pseudo-fathers she accumulated over seven years.

You were beaming with pride.
The family was finally complete.
No more letters and tape recordings of
I miss you, I love you, when are you coming back
evidence of long distance love affairs.
Your decade long promise was fulfilled.
Yet how awkward it must have been to introduce
cereal and fresh milk to children
who survived on pandesal, Nido, and Ovaltine
to explain the mechanics of flushing toilets and showerheads
to assure us that we’ll never run out of toothpaste
and I won’t have to brush my teeth with salt anymore.

How awkward it must have been to affirm your place as our father
when women raised us in your absence.
The distance never really undone by the flight across oceans.
The decisions never really regretted but understood.
The little girl, twenty-four years later, still in search of your singkit eyes.

(c) 2008. jenny c. lares.

haydee, minh, and i decided that before i leave ohio that we had to drive around cleveland and take pictures for my next chapbook and to further develop haydee’s art direction skills. what you see below are only a few highlights from the day (we took over 400 pictures with 2 cameras).

[ note: this was actually a month ago, just didn't have time to blog about it. ]

we began the day at the West Side Market, off 25th Street. we were greeted with this:

MEAT! huge slabs of M-E-A-T.

gigantic caramel apples!

480 lbs. the combined weight of our intellectual power.

we then proceeded to browse through the local used book store and sat down to eat our healthy marshmallows covered in chocolate snacks that we got for 50 cents each. we looked behind us and there’s a brick wall! with a random door somewhat tagged. the perfect wall for our ipod (poser) pics.

here’s minh:

and haydee:

haydee says that this should be the cover for the next book. maybe?

oh and don’t forget monkey reppin oberlin

we tried to get into some abandoned buildings, but were unsuccessful. damn locks! but all that walking around made us hungry. so we headed east to “asia town” to get some #1 pho.

was it #1?

i think that face just about answers the question.

we drove back to oberlin, hoping to take pictures in cornfields, but decided that 3 people of color in a random ohio cornfield might create some suspicion. we settled for taking pictures with the rabbit.

this wasn’t my idea.

even though we were fighting the food coma from #1 pho, we went to the arb to take pictures in nature. you know for that contrast between abandoned buildings (man) and…trees (nature).

and that wraps up the day of photos. needless to say, we all went home and took naps.

work and making plans to move to nj have kept me busy, but now that the semester is over, i have a bit more time to write and work on this blog. within the next week, i’ll upload either a video or a new poem or both…

finally got the courage to upload videos on youtube. this video is of my performance of “because i was not meant to survive” at soul session this past saturday. the video itself is a bit dark–but that’s ok. as long as you can hear me. (and i’m partially kidding about that whole bring-me-back-to-oberlin-and-pay-me deal). now comment away!

oberlin will always be with me, as it was the site of my chapbook launch. i’ll probably never perform in front of a crowd as “diverse” in every sense of the word as the one at the launch performance. thanks, oberlin, for all of the love and support. i’ll be performing new pieces at these open mics (rock out with no apologies!) and may even upload videos afterwards.

as i am open mic.
friday, may 2 @ 10 pm
third world house lounge

soul session.
saturday, may 3 @ 10 pm
lord lounge, afrikan heritage house

last night, Yellow Rage performed at the Cat in the Cream. it was exactly what my soul needed. although, wish i could’ve engaged with them more. but i didn’t know what to say. “hey, i write poetry too. you want my chapbook?” or “i want to be you, but not. well, really, the next generation of yellow rage, or something like that.” haha. that would’ve been awkward. anyway, check out the pics from the night.

“i’m a woman not a flavor” (got myself a tshirt, yeahhh)

check out the hot silkscreens!

fierce.

silly picture.

what a great way to begin this blog. so i’m thinking i’ll post poetry and prose and videos of performances and pictures relating to my attempts at being a spoken word artist, whatever that means. and you lucky people get it for free!