Friday, November 26, 2010

FOOL ME NICE: THOUGHTS ON THE GENTLE ART OF MISDIRECTION.


FOOL ME NICE: THOUGHTS ON THE GENTLE ART OF MISDIRECTION.



(This was delivered at the first Symposion Arcanus on November 23, 2010 at the Bordello Bar in Los Angeles. It's my notes to a spoken performance, so it's not properly formatted for any sort of formal publication, but I thought I'd share.)

No one appreciates being lied to. But today I’m not focused on lying. I’m discussing misdirection. I mention lying, because misdirection is often tossed into the same karmic dumpster as lying. This is not only wrong, but unfortunate.

Lying depends upon subverting honesty and goodwill through persuasion and manipulation. Misdirection, often considered an obstruction to honesty, can actually bypass preconceptions to allow a deeper connection to truth.

Lying makes us feel tired and jaded, while being fooled can fill us with wonder, even innocence. I think we have a sense of this. Being lied to by a friend or a salesperson pisses us off. However, magicians who make rabbits disappear, or cards come out of our ears, amaze and entertain us.

Think of the first (or last) of the Major Arcana, the Fool, clever and gullible, with all the wisdom and ignorance of a child. We understand on some level that that innocence and wisdom are one and the same.   

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Getting ready for UC Davis--Rough Sketch

Hi All,
I have the honor of giving the keynote at UC Davis' Trans Action Week this Nov 17.  I am working on what to say right now. :)

Speeches and keynotes are wonderful and challenging. I write something fresh for every occasion because the world is different, the times are different, and I am different. Words that might have been vital last year need to be replaced with new insights, new developments. I owe the audience my truth and my immediate presence. For now, what has driven me is twofold. First, how does one deal with bullying and a culture where compassion is equated with weakness? Second, how do we truly nurture each other, rather than simply use each other,  in our social and political activities?

So much to think about... And I so thank the people at UC Davis for letting me share. :)
Ryka

PS--plus I probably will do a poem or two if they let me!

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Writing Erotica

So I am writing an erotica story right now. It is a process; most of my work hasn't been overtly, or covertly, or gee, even tangentially erotic. Much of that has to do with my own self image, and the need to shut down my own sexuality and eros--not necessarily because of Sin...but because of abuse.
   I learned to keep valuable parts of myself away from where my parents could get to them. Unfortunately, now, when I have a bit more safety than before, many of these part are still hidden. At my age, maybe it's time to air this all out--and, writing has always been how I process--so there you go.
   It's a little strange that the protagonist here still lives with her parents, but perhaps that's because part of me is still that little girl trapped in a building that feels like it will burn and shake and smother her.
  What releases her? Desire. How? Ah! That's the story...

  Wish me luck!

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Many Mountains Moving! :)

Good things sometimes happen without warning. This past weekend, Debra Bokur, one of the poetry editors of Many Mountains Moving emailed me to say she was in town and would like to have tea with me. She also asked if I could bring some of my work. Any poet trying to publish knows it's not supposed to work that way. It's usually all about postage and stamps and cover letters and the whole process can get pretty faceless.

We had the most wonderful afternoon at Zen Zoo yesterday talking about everything from poetry to health spas to Los Angeles. And yes, she wants two of my pieces. I asked why she contacted me, and she said I made a good impression on her at the AWP Conference! Later, she looked at my Web site (which was on the card I gave her), and found stuff she liked. Wow...

Ms. Bokur is the type of poetry editor one hopes is actually reading work. She reads carefully, but with enthusiasm and passion. She has experience both in and out of the poetry community, and looks to poetry not as a commodity or tool, but as a vital art form just as capable as ever of enlightening and healing the reader.

I was thrilled. And yet, I was also proud. Proud because the AWP Conference scared me, but I went, anyway, met some great people and was prepared with cards. Making my Web site current was and is difficult, but I am on it. And poetry continues to be a challenge and often so lonely, but I am writing consistently and also reading great work, working through my insecurity the whole way.

Writing is a journey. Sometimes hard, sometimes cold, always demanding...but just like any journey, occasionally the wind is at your back and you meet people who remind you that you have direction, and you there is nothing you would rather be doing than what you are doing right here, right now, today! :)

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Long Poems...Gee...

Well, I am back from the "Sometimes Too Hot the Eye of Heaven Shines" (which will go on sale right here in August) party! It was so wonderful to meet the RADAR staff, and Diane DiPrima, and Justin Chin. I will probably take a little time time to process over the next few entries.

I am trying to figure out how to organize my writing blog and blog blog. I had originally thought to focus this space on writing samples, with my blog blog about everything else, but I think instead that everything about the process of writing or composition will be here, including entries like this.

After coming home, two (of many, but these are the first) things struck me... First, not only how many lives Eli Coppola had touched, but the quality of people... David West, (whom I finally found online,) handed me an envelope with chapbooks and pictures, and an earring... Jen Joseph cried onstage. For all who might have doubts from time to time (put me on this list, especially when my bike gets stolen), poetry matters. It matters a lot.

The second thing off the top of my head is how beautiful the right words can be. Justin Chin. Holy shit, how beautiful is his work. It's so careful and that care is not ponderous or overworked. Its freeing and affirming and so very right. One gets the feeling that Chin tosses away lines many of us would use, looking only for the best ones to serve on his page. The result is that even his lighter verse has this amazing completeness, this seamless engulfing music that fills you with tears and makes you glad for them.

When I came home, I looked at my latest long poem, "As Little as the Things We Be." It's gone through many revisions, but truth be told, I still have some work to do. I have been sort of dreading this, as I there are deadlines and publications and I still want to win a Pulitzer Prize blah blah blah...

But after hearing Chin, I just looked at my latest work and asked myself am I proud to show this? As proud as I was of "Sometimes Too Hot the Eye of Heaven Shines?"

No.

So it's back to the notepad. There is SO MUCH good with this poem; I think it can be something beautiful...  Patience, perseverance...

At the last AWP Dan Albergotti wrote me in his book (his The Boatloads is another book with the same care for detail), "perseverance is omnipotent." After hearing Chin's work, I was reminded that it can also be transcendent.

Time to write.

:)
Ryka

PS--I am always looking for writers to bounce ideas with. :)

Monday, July 12, 2010

If you missed my readings, my chapbook is now at Modern Times! :)


If you missed my readings, my chapbook is now at Modern Times! :)
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(from RADAR, Friday, July 9)
RADAR Productions If you missed last night's poetry reading, we're sad for you. But we want you to know you can pick up a copy of the beautiful chapbook "Sometimes Too Hot the Eye of Heaven Shines" by Ryka Aoki at Modern Times Bookstore for just $7. Get one while supplies last.

http://www.mtbs.com/

I love this poem like a drowning girl loves her life jacket. Thank you to RADAR, Inconvenient Press and especially to Eli Coppola.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Death of the Postcolonial Man


The light at my back
            keeps me from whistling at the moonbeams
and her legs. 
The Chinese girl with the waterfall hair
            hides herself behind sleepy clouds.

If I died today,
            my blood would pour into the sea
and the sea would still be clear.

For God filled the Earth with Chinese girls.

The air collapses in a billion
            pairs of hands.  A cup of jasmine tea spills
through a knothole in the floor. 


(This is an older poem I kinda like...)

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

A short excerpt from "Sometimes too Hot the Eye of Heaven Shines"

I am thrilled to have won the first Eli Coppola Memorial Chapbook contest. Please come to my reading and/or release party in July (see "Performances" for details).

Here's a brief excerpt from the chapbook:

Child, I shall never compare you
to a summer’s day.
Sister, I do not commute by Gold Line or Red.
I do not park my Honda overnight, in an indoor lot,
with car wash, security, and valet.
Brother, I abuse a substance from which I never wake.
Restless and empty, when the Black Lite closes,
I chase the dragon in a strange and cold backseat.
Father, the sunrise writhes in the rearview
like the anonymous poet
to whom I kneel and confess I have no friends,
beside the Western off ramp—
sirens, helicopters, drivers waving over here babe.
Mother, I won’t come home tonight
for I am only junk mail and a lost credit card
without the lights, camera, action

Monday, March 22, 2010

Teeny Excerpt from "He Mele a Hilo"

Nona Watanabe stepped onto the stage, all radiant in her purple and orange and green, sharkbait skin and all....

Something about her just stopped everything. Folks actually stopped eating, mid bite, and she paused for a second, looking, it seemed, into each one of them. And then she smiled, and was like one pure hit of aloha...

Just be yourself, Nona, the old lady in red had said. That’s all you ever had to be.

Tears were pouring down Noelani’s face, and she didn’t care. As she watched her dancers working together, Nona Watanabe in the front, she felt all her work, all her time finally being realized, with Ku’uipo, it just hit her Aunty Kahakunoe and yes, even Jesus, who after all this time, she had tried and tried, but never truly either understood or forsook.

These ARE the ancient times---and these are modern times as well. In the sphere of eternity, distinctions between one time and another are arbitrary--even now, Lo’ihi is being born under the sea--who will write the ancient chants for her?

Who will dance the dances that will be remembered only in part, scraps handed down from generation to generation, revered almost as much for what is lost as what is retained?

Are the ships and airplanes now any different from the outriggers in days past? Are the stars not the same, the sunset the same color? Don’t the rains make the same sound as they fall onto the forest canopy?

When the kahiko dances--or the roots of these dances were first composed, were they not science? Weren’t the kahuna the most modern minds of their day? It was not superstition, it wasn’t even religion or mythology. It was science, as real as those damned telescopes up on top of Mauna Kea, which started off so wonderfully--to view the clearest heavens, but now fallen victim to the same arrogance as the astronomers now try to keep the area all kapu to themselves...

One generation’s observatory becomes another’s, as the days and years pass, and parents change like seasons.

And for Nona Watanabe, she understood finally what it meant to simply be. For in her purples were all the colors of the sky and ocean at night. In her oranges and reds, the color of the sun, setting and rising. In her shimmering greens, the color of the forest, and sugarcane, and yes, even more ocean, the honu, and in her smile, the radiance of the sun itself. With the music and the dance, people, every one of them, felt yes, this is our song.

And then it was over. And for a few seconds, the audience was silent, as if it was waking up from a dream...

Then the thunder came....

Friday, March 19, 2010

Wow. My work was in a sermon.

In my darker times, I wonder if anyone is listening to my words. Then, I realize that these words and this work matters


This was preached at First Unitarian Church of Toledo on February 6th, 2010.


http://gqminister.livejournal.com/2822.html


Thank you, to Sunshine Jeremiah Wolfe. 


*hug*
ryka

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Eli Coppola Memorial Chapbook Contest

I just found out yesterday that I won the first Eli Coppola Memorial Chapbook Contest... I am still in a bit of shock--it has been disappointment after disappointment with publishers, and I have seriously been wondering if I was ever going to get published as a poet again.

Being trans queer is a weird double-edged sword. I have been remarkably fortunate. I have toured and performed and spoken and met some of the best people a girl could ever dream of meeting. I have worked with musicians and filmmakers, and dancers, and wow... I was even picked up for a reading in a limousine.

But, at the risk of sounding ungrateful, I want more than that. I write poetry not just for trans people, but for myself and anyone, trans, or queer, or not. And, I wonder how my work actually fares when placed next to the poets and artists--trans, queer, or not--who inspire me. I want to believe that my work is good on its own, and not just included because I happen to ID a certain way.

Up until now, maintaining that belief has been difficult. As Ryka, I have only been published as a poet once in a non-trans setting, and never in a non lgbt setting. I was doubting myself, and any fringes of talent I was supposed to have retained. But thanks to some weird determination and the help of some very close friends... I have been able to write and take myself seriously.

I was in a 24 hr Post Office kiosk at 2 am to get this manuscript in. I was tired and sad and depressed. But I forced myself to complete the manuscript and put it in an envelope and rewrite the mailing label twice because I kept fucking up the spelling...

When I got an email back, I thought, "great! I wonder who won?" Then I read "congratulations" and I was like, "Huh? What does that mean?" Then I shouted. Then I cried...

Then my friend told me about Eli Coppola, showed me some of her work...and I am even more honored and grateful.  Wow.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

A Poem a Day :)

 Thank you for adding me to this wonderful list. This is "Before the Last Dance." It was originally in "Lodestar Quarterly," but I like it here. Thank you, exceptindreams...

Wednesday, February 3, 2010