Remembering Voice

Yesterday, I found myself reciting this poem out loud in front of my bathroom mirror:

an_ounce
an ounce (c) O. Ayes, RHINO

My upcoming trip home is helping me revisit some of the cultural issues I’d focused on in my first manuscript. My contributor’s note for this poem read:

Being a Filipino immigrant, I wrote “an ounce” to highlight my insecurities with both my native language and American English, how I inadvertently neglected the former during my adolescent years in the U.S. so that when I returned home at the age of 19, even a simple word, paa, was erroneous. I wanted to see my guilt on paper for still fearing an exposed cover (in America), an identifiable accent—mainly the f/p and v/b sounds.

Reciting this yesterday, randomly, felt powerful. I’ve read this poem numerous times–at readings, to myself–and I appreciate the sound from my lungs every time. This was written fairly early on in my MFA program, and I can definitely feel the influence of my performance poetry days. I miss my genuine, simple sentimentality.

My current manuscript feels more cerebral, but it’s far from non-sentimental. I’m still calibrating my voice, in these languages, in these poems.

Choosing Humanities

Before my Technical Writing class today, I overheard two relatively young adjuncts having a familiar conversation:

“In grad school, no one told me the job prospects would be this slim. Sure, they said, you can teach, but no one said it would be at several campuses and that getting a full time position would be nearly impossible.”

“Yeah. I worked my butt off. I’m not lazy. I apply to things all the time, but there are so many people qualified for these positions.”

“I didn’t know I’d be an adjunct for several years.”

When we hear of a recent hire, we fume with envy. “So and so got lucky” or “so and so knew members of the hiring committee.” Often, we deem the unfairness of our situations as the end. We either surrender to the lack of appreciation or get out through some desperate means, forever questioning our worth because we failed to make it in our field.

It’s sad to see these individuals feeling trapped by the system of academia. Some accountability definitely falls on the institution that feeds on our naivete and idealism. But a lot of it falls on us and our individual choices and how we choose to perceive these choices. (I have to remind myself of this a lot.) We chose to pursue humanities for a reason: we are concerned about abstract ideas, humankind, the multitude of cultural/spiritual forces that connect us. We are concerned about processing our experiences and drawing meaning from it.

Society does not value what we do in a way that makes our survival easy, but we make a way. We are well-rounded generalists who can find use in the workplace. We live interesting lives as we find contentment in the simplest things. We are usually aware of our inner selves and larger trends in culture. We are driven to create. We are useful members of society, simply because our daily lives promote our ideals.

We must keep from being consumed by this animalistic drive for dominance and prestige. We must not let society consume our ideals. Easier said than done, but finding kindreds during our travels, in corners of book stores, at poetry readings and art galleries, even our neighborhood bar, usually help us cope along the way.