Poems Are Only Mine to Give Away (Part II)

(read Part I here)

A poem is a gift. Ephemeral when spoken or recited aloud. Impossible to fully grasp, hold, or hoard.

The pleasure of poetry for me is in crafting a poem and giving it away. In the act of play and power that is putting words together on a line, breaking the line, listening to where the music of the language wants to take the poem. The pleasure is in letting go of linear logic to follow the associative wanderings of the poem, which is to say, following the subconscious and the divine. The pleasure is in landing on a phrase that sings, that evokes physical sensation in my body, that transforms me.

This is pleasure that cannot be bought or sold. Not in any meaningful way. This is why poets often give away their poems when they are young and have no reputation or social capital. Or, that’s why I did, and that’s why I think my friends did. Until, eventually, we tried to fit ourselves into the capitalist structure. We learned to sell our books and poems. We learned how to market ourselves, or we tried to.

Some poets in this age of social media have figured out how to do this well. They have reached an enormous audience and are making lots of money (and getting plenty of backlash from the literary establishment). But for many poets, trying to sell our work, craft our brand, spread the word about our latest endeavor—it doesn’t come easy or yield especially lucrative results. Speaking for myself, I know some of the discomfort comes from how I’ve been socialized as a multiracial woman: to not take up space, to not toot my own horn. But I work in the field of communications—I know the tools of marketing; I can put them to use to spread the word about my work. So, it’s more than my discomfort with taking up space. For me, there’s an underlying feeling I have about the fundamental misalignment between capitalism and poetry.

Perhaps poetry is just not meant to be bought and sold, in the same way that stones are not meant to be traded for money, nor sunflowers, nor water. Capitalism has found a way to turn all of these things into commodities, but that doesn’t mean it feels good or is sustainable.

~~~

When I was planning the launch of my second book of poetry, Last Days, I wanted to find a way to navigate the capitalist system that felt most aligned with my values. In conversation with my partner, a social justice organizer of 20 years, and influenced by Robin Wall Kimmerer’s discussion of the gift economy in her book, Braiding Sweetgrass, I developed a plan: an experiment in the gift economy.

I wrote Last Days inspired by, and for, the people in my life who are actively working to create change. Those doing the challenging and often unseen work of organizing their neighbors, pushing for progressive policy, challenging white supremacy and corporate power. The Black, Indigenous, people of color, queer folks, disabled people who lay the groundwork for what seem like huge and sudden shifts, whether in policy or public understanding. Those engaged through their organizing, cultural work, and healing practices in creating a better world for themselves and everyone else. These were the people who I wanted most to read Last Days, to see themselves and their work reflected in the poems.

So, I decided to find a way to give the book away to them.

I began by asking people I love and I admire—my family, friends, colleagues, other poets, organizers, strangers who believe in the power of the word and the power of art—to be part of this experiment. I asked them to send me a check or donate to my crowd-funding page so I could buy copies of my own book to give away. I raised $15,000 by asking for what I needed.

I also asked other poets and artists to be involved. Jess X Snow, whose gorgeous art is featured on the cover of Last Days, created a poster for this project. Gabrielle Civil, who astounds me with her performance art, agreed to let me send her new chapbook ( ghost gestures ) to organizers along with mine. Both of our presses were generous, selling us hundreds of copies of our books at our author’s rates. Several other poets and artists advised me and helped me spread the word about this project, as part of what I called the Catalyst Circle. I hired several poets and organizers at $25 an hour to help with all the logistics and outreach.

Over the course of several months, we reached out to organizations and people around the country to let them know about the project. And people started signing up to get our books and Jess’s poster. People working on racial justice, environmental and climate justice, reproductive justice signed up. Teachers, other artists, healers joined them. We closed the list at 260 people. And, in July, we sent them all out. I delighted in picturing hundreds of people all over the country finding a cardboard envelope in their mailbox one day, a little package of poetry and art, an offering, a gift.

This was a giant experiment in treating poetry not as a commodity but as something to be shared. I say it’s an experiment, but it’s really a return to how I first started sharing my poems. My hope is that this project inspires other poets and writers who don’t want to be bound to the rules of the marketplace and the literary establishment, and who are looking for alternative ways to get their work out into the world. There could be hundreds more experiments of sharing poetry that feel more aligned, more satisfying, or more meaningful. We will not overturn capitalism with our poetic practices alone, but we can start creating small pockets of resistance and alternatives, little ripples that may one day end up becoming part of a greater wave of change.