Something that struck me about our discussion the past week was when someone connected part of our dialogue following Borderlands to the concept of redlining. This was especially poignant to me, since I had done much research surrounding the topic for my own community over the summer. The fact that it could be connected back to the conversations, as well as how many other people could connect with their own perspectives of how these invisible borders have manifested within their own cities, brought another layer of clarity to the topic. It reminded me how borders and boundaries are not restricted to just the context of Anzaldua’s experience, but within everyone’s life as well.
In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes has been on my mind since the first read through. The sacrifices of immigrant parents stay with children as a central part of their lives. Corral wrote “He’s an illegal. I’m an illegal-American” perfectly encapsulates how many Americans will choose to ignore a persons constitutional right that states all persons born on U.S. soil are U.S. citizens and instead pick and choose who should be considered a “real” American. As I scroll pass increasingly conservative social media posts and see protestors in my home state still working against minorities I think back to examples like Corral’s poem and how well he depicts the way the status of immigrant permanently ingrains itself through generations.
The poem “La Mano” has been on my mind in the past week since I read it. Everything from the dedication to the imagery was beautiful, and using the idea of etymology as analysis, I think it would be very meaningful to do a closer read on this poem. There seems to be such intention and meaning behind every word of the poem, which eluded me the first time I read it – and I’m sure there are more meanings to the work I simply have not discovered. I’m looking forward to returning to it soon, and perhaps discussing it with some friends. At a time where I am missing home, the poem echoed my sadness and homesickness in a way that’s almost pointed. It was a beautiful read that is most definitely thought-provoking.
The thing that has been sticking with me most is the idea of intentionality: writing intentionally when it comes to poetry, but also slowing down my reading and thinking to match that intention. I usually read pretty quickly, and for novels or longer articles, this works well, because I feel like I need to see everything before I can go back and notice the details. That doesn’t work as well for poetry, and I’ve been trying to slow down my process as much as possible.
It’s been an interesting (and long) week, and one that has definitely made me appreciate the routine I’ve gotten into. I had a blast on Mountain Day, and I’m so grateful to my team for taking us to an apple orchard to frolic around and enjoy nature and the beautiful weather. However, it totally put a wrench in my homework and studying schedule, and I feel like I’ve been playing catch-up the rest of the week. I really appreciated going to the library on Thursday morning like I usually do on Tuesdays/Thursdays and then going to class. I enjoyed our discussion of campus cuisine, but on a more content-related note, it was good to brush up on how to get started on a close-read. I hope we can do more of them together as a class because I found it really helpful to bounce ideas off one another and expand on them and branch off as necessary.
The poem “Alabanza: In Praise of Local 100” has stood out to me this entire week. I have read and analyzed many poems throughout my education, but none of really stuck with me like this one. Where I think about the stanzas during my empty time, and really think about how I could one day hopefully make my work this powerful. It covers such a devastating event, however, is written so beautifully. “Where the gas burned blue on every stove”, “because another dishwasher could not stop coughing”, “smoke-beings flung in constellations across the night sky of this city and cities to come” were a few lines that I found really compelling.
I felt that yesterday marked a shift in the overall classroom atmosphere. The way we started class with an open discussion (of completely unrelated topics) made me feel very welcome and connected to everyone. Because of this warm feeling, I felt more confident and open to sharing my work and contributing to our academic analyses. I particularly enjoyed the idea of us all grabbing lunch together sometime after class; I feel that us bonding together will only lead to a more comfortable environment for collaboration and deeper discourse.
I really enjoyed the close we did in class. I haven’t read much poetry since the end of last school year, but this inspired me to pick up some poetry in a nonacademic setting. My intended major coming into Smith was History, but this is making me possibly look into taking more English classes and possibly doing an English minor.
I really enjoyed this week’s class. I felt like I was able to get more from the discussion because we were doing a closer reading and the text was shorter. I like being able to do very detailed analysis of a poem, it’s more interesting to me than trying to do overall thematic discussions because I feel I can learn more from less. I do need to start printing stuff out, my usual strategy of note taking on paper during discussion did not work well last class.
I had never done a poem etymology assignment before and I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it. Althought I am not a history nerd by any means, I thought learning the complex history and how much a word has changed in meaning and connotation was fascinating.
I wanted to comment about my appreciation for the close read we did as a class of “Mexicans Begin Jogging” by Gary Soto. I found it helpful to listen to the class work together to open up this poem, and I feel more confident now that I could make these types of connections for another poem. Just like last week, I was really interested in hearing others’ ideas and how we are all interacting with the content.
I think Sin Nombre was so difficult for me to watch and process because it did such an effective job of illustrating the lack of freedom in gang culture and the inability to get out once you have made the choice to be a part of it. There are 2 options: become like them or die. Smiley did the first, and Willy did the second. It was heart-wrenching because we watched Smiley go from an innocent kid to a murderer so quickly and he is the one who ends up killing Willy in the end. It had to happen that way because the film was making the point that children are incredibly susceptible to manipulation and subsequent violence when they are exposed to it so young. Actually, rather than making the point, the film was illustrating the reality.
While watching Sin Nombre I was repeatedly drawn to an analysis of costuming choices for some of the main characters, such as the colors and cuts of Sayra’s and Smiley’s shirts, as reflections of their character development across the movie. For example, Smiley starts the film wearing a white shirt over his tank top, as if representing an extra layer of innocence, changes into a much darker colored shirt as he gained more exposure to La Mara’s violence, and finishes the movie in the white tank top characteristic of the other gang members, which parallels his journey joining the gang.
One of the poems we read this week, “Freeway 280” by Lorna Dee Cervantes, reminded me of my hometown, Syracuse. I don’t know if it’s just locally well-known or if people from elsewhere are aware of it (President Biden and Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg did visit the city about it), but there has been a lot of controversy concerning the location of Interstate 81 in Syracuse. Plans are in motion to turn the current, in-need-of-repair overpass into a community grid to try to revitalize the area; however, irreparable damage has already been done.
The neighborhood that was most affected by the construction of the overpass in the 1960s, called the 15th Ward, is a primarily Black neighborhood. The construction not only led to the demolition of many properties, but it also created a border that separated the neighborhood from the colleges and hospitals downtown, which caused the neighborhood’s property values to drop. What was once a vibrant, flourishing neighborhood was completely decimated. The community grid is an attempt to bring back the neighborhood to its former vibrance; however, this is impossible. Not only were many community members forced to relocate, but, for those who did stay, they will face yet another upending of their community as the community grid changes the economic and social workings of the neighborhood.
The situation in Syracuse serves as an interesting comparison to the one explored in “Freeway 280.” While both look at how roads function as borders in communities, their contrasting messages make me wonder: at what point does a border become so integrated into a community’s identity—for better or for worse—that its removal does more harm than good?
The movie we watched, Sin Nombre, was something I found really fascinating this week. I am really interested in language, and how we don’t need to be speaking the same words to understand the feelings and emotions someone is trying to convey. This movie was generally easy to understand even without the subtitles, based on the way the actors portrayed their characters, but even watching and just listening to the way they spoke conveyed so much.
I have studied Spanish for a long time (however I’m in no way fluent), so I also enjoyed picking up certain words and phrases that I understand and relating them back to the context of what I know is happening.
The etymology project is one of my favorite assignments I’ve done for a poetry-related class. As I mentioned in class, I am an etymology nerd, and will frequently pause conversations because I’m interested in the origin of a word that came up. This was one of the first times I took my interest in word origin and applied it to critical analysis of a text, and it was an experience I’m eager to repeat again independently in the future.
Although I’m not sure how it relates to the impact of the poem as the author intended it (unless that’s an area of interest for them, a writer generally isn’t thinking about the Proto-Indo-European roots of a term when they use a word, or even the formal definition, rather they use the word as they’ve heard it or wish to use it), I thought it was an interesting look into how sentiments around ideas (verbalized as words) change over time.
Something that struck me about our discussion the past week was when someone connected part of our dialogue following Borderlands to the concept of redlining. This was especially poignant to me, since I had done much research surrounding the topic for my own community over the summer. The fact that it could be connected back to the conversations, as well as how many other people could connect with their own perspectives of how these invisible borders have manifested within their own cities, brought another layer of clarity to the topic. It reminded me how borders and boundaries are not restricted to just the context of Anzaldua’s experience, but within everyone’s life as well.
In Colorado My Father Scoured and Stacked Dishes has been on my mind since the first read through. The sacrifices of immigrant parents stay with children as a central part of their lives. Corral wrote “He’s an illegal. I’m an illegal-American” perfectly encapsulates how many Americans will choose to ignore a persons constitutional right that states all persons born on U.S. soil are U.S. citizens and instead pick and choose who should be considered a “real” American. As I scroll pass increasingly conservative social media posts and see protestors in my home state still working against minorities I think back to examples like Corral’s poem and how well he depicts the way the status of immigrant permanently ingrains itself through generations.
The poem “La Mano” has been on my mind in the past week since I read it. Everything from the dedication to the imagery was beautiful, and using the idea of etymology as analysis, I think it would be very meaningful to do a closer read on this poem. There seems to be such intention and meaning behind every word of the poem, which eluded me the first time I read it – and I’m sure there are more meanings to the work I simply have not discovered. I’m looking forward to returning to it soon, and perhaps discussing it with some friends. At a time where I am missing home, the poem echoed my sadness and homesickness in a way that’s almost pointed. It was a beautiful read that is most definitely thought-provoking.
The thing that has been sticking with me most is the idea of intentionality: writing intentionally when it comes to poetry, but also slowing down my reading and thinking to match that intention. I usually read pretty quickly, and for novels or longer articles, this works well, because I feel like I need to see everything before I can go back and notice the details. That doesn’t work as well for poetry, and I’ve been trying to slow down my process as much as possible.
It’s been an interesting (and long) week, and one that has definitely made me appreciate the routine I’ve gotten into. I had a blast on Mountain Day, and I’m so grateful to my team for taking us to an apple orchard to frolic around and enjoy nature and the beautiful weather. However, it totally put a wrench in my homework and studying schedule, and I feel like I’ve been playing catch-up the rest of the week. I really appreciated going to the library on Thursday morning like I usually do on Tuesdays/Thursdays and then going to class. I enjoyed our discussion of campus cuisine, but on a more content-related note, it was good to brush up on how to get started on a close-read. I hope we can do more of them together as a class because I found it really helpful to bounce ideas off one another and expand on them and branch off as necessary.
The poem “Alabanza: In Praise of Local 100” has stood out to me this entire week. I have read and analyzed many poems throughout my education, but none of really stuck with me like this one. Where I think about the stanzas during my empty time, and really think about how I could one day hopefully make my work this powerful. It covers such a devastating event, however, is written so beautifully. “Where the gas burned blue on every stove”, “because another dishwasher could not stop coughing”, “smoke-beings flung in constellations across the night sky of this city and cities to come” were a few lines that I found really compelling.
I felt that yesterday marked a shift in the overall classroom atmosphere. The way we started class with an open discussion (of completely unrelated topics) made me feel very welcome and connected to everyone. Because of this warm feeling, I felt more confident and open to sharing my work and contributing to our academic analyses. I particularly enjoyed the idea of us all grabbing lunch together sometime after class; I feel that us bonding together will only lead to a more comfortable environment for collaboration and deeper discourse.
I really enjoyed the close we did in class. I haven’t read much poetry since the end of last school year, but this inspired me to pick up some poetry in a nonacademic setting. My intended major coming into Smith was History, but this is making me possibly look into taking more English classes and possibly doing an English minor.
I really enjoyed this week’s class. I felt like I was able to get more from the discussion because we were doing a closer reading and the text was shorter. I like being able to do very detailed analysis of a poem, it’s more interesting to me than trying to do overall thematic discussions because I feel I can learn more from less. I do need to start printing stuff out, my usual strategy of note taking on paper during discussion did not work well last class.
I had never done a poem etymology assignment before and I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it. Althought I am not a history nerd by any means, I thought learning the complex history and how much a word has changed in meaning and connotation was fascinating.
I wanted to comment about my appreciation for the close read we did as a class of “Mexicans Begin Jogging” by Gary Soto. I found it helpful to listen to the class work together to open up this poem, and I feel more confident now that I could make these types of connections for another poem. Just like last week, I was really interested in hearing others’ ideas and how we are all interacting with the content.
I think Sin Nombre was so difficult for me to watch and process because it did such an effective job of illustrating the lack of freedom in gang culture and the inability to get out once you have made the choice to be a part of it. There are 2 options: become like them or die. Smiley did the first, and Willy did the second. It was heart-wrenching because we watched Smiley go from an innocent kid to a murderer so quickly and he is the one who ends up killing Willy in the end. It had to happen that way because the film was making the point that children are incredibly susceptible to manipulation and subsequent violence when they are exposed to it so young. Actually, rather than making the point, the film was illustrating the reality.
While watching Sin Nombre I was repeatedly drawn to an analysis of costuming choices for some of the main characters, such as the colors and cuts of Sayra’s and Smiley’s shirts, as reflections of their character development across the movie. For example, Smiley starts the film wearing a white shirt over his tank top, as if representing an extra layer of innocence, changes into a much darker colored shirt as he gained more exposure to La Mara’s violence, and finishes the movie in the white tank top characteristic of the other gang members, which parallels his journey joining the gang.
One of the poems we read this week, “Freeway 280” by Lorna Dee Cervantes, reminded me of my hometown, Syracuse. I don’t know if it’s just locally well-known or if people from elsewhere are aware of it (President Biden and Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg did visit the city about it), but there has been a lot of controversy concerning the location of Interstate 81 in Syracuse. Plans are in motion to turn the current, in-need-of-repair overpass into a community grid to try to revitalize the area; however, irreparable damage has already been done.
The neighborhood that was most affected by the construction of the overpass in the 1960s, called the 15th Ward, is a primarily Black neighborhood. The construction not only led to the demolition of many properties, but it also created a border that separated the neighborhood from the colleges and hospitals downtown, which caused the neighborhood’s property values to drop. What was once a vibrant, flourishing neighborhood was completely decimated. The community grid is an attempt to bring back the neighborhood to its former vibrance; however, this is impossible. Not only were many community members forced to relocate, but, for those who did stay, they will face yet another upending of their community as the community grid changes the economic and social workings of the neighborhood.
The situation in Syracuse serves as an interesting comparison to the one explored in “Freeway 280.” While both look at how roads function as borders in communities, their contrasting messages make me wonder: at what point does a border become so integrated into a community’s identity—for better or for worse—that its removal does more harm than good?
Source: Zarroli, Jim. “I-81 is Crumbling and Hated in Syracuse, But Removal Is Complicated.” The New York Times, 3 June 2023, https://www.nytimes.com/2023/06/03/nyregion/syracuse-interstate-81.html. Accessed 22 September 2023.
The movie we watched, Sin Nombre, was something I found really fascinating this week. I am really interested in language, and how we don’t need to be speaking the same words to understand the feelings and emotions someone is trying to convey. This movie was generally easy to understand even without the subtitles, based on the way the actors portrayed their characters, but even watching and just listening to the way they spoke conveyed so much.
I have studied Spanish for a long time (however I’m in no way fluent), so I also enjoyed picking up certain words and phrases that I understand and relating them back to the context of what I know is happening.
The etymology project is one of my favorite assignments I’ve done for a poetry-related class. As I mentioned in class, I am an etymology nerd, and will frequently pause conversations because I’m interested in the origin of a word that came up. This was one of the first times I took my interest in word origin and applied it to critical analysis of a text, and it was an experience I’m eager to repeat again independently in the future.
Although I’m not sure how it relates to the impact of the poem as the author intended it (unless that’s an area of interest for them, a writer generally isn’t thinking about the Proto-Indo-European roots of a term when they use a word, or even the formal definition, rather they use the word as they’ve heard it or wish to use it), I thought it was an interesting look into how sentiments around ideas (verbalized as words) change over time.