As a resident artist and guest co-curator with the Walker Art Center’s Expanding the Frame Series, Valérie Déus has spent the past four months exploring films from around the world with specific relevance to the social and political movements of the year 1968. In April, the Walker will present Expanding the Frame: Imagination Is Power, four programs of short films presented in collaboration with Valérie and Coffee House Press. Valérie will share field notes from her residency here over the next several weeks.

Food: Leftover avocado rice plate with sesame oil Beverage: Guava juice Music:  “Vie Neg” by Skah-Shah, “David” by D.P. Express Poem: “Don’t Yuk My Yum” by Erica Hunt and Tracie Morris

Being on the radio is more intimate than I imagined. When I saw the call, I pictured it like playing music in my bedroom but that’s exactly what it’s not. I feel hesitant about this heart on your sleeve stuff—my butt-naked voice on the air without the help of facial expressions or hair (yes my hair, she’s very expressive) to enhance what I’m saying and also what’s said behind the words. My listeners get a curated audible experience created by how I experience the community.

A friend described my Project 35 art series as a love letter to south Minneapolis. I never thought of it that way, for me it was a way to learn about and understand my community through history and art. But with the addition of the radio show component on KRSM.org, I see more of the love aspect.

I see the love because the show is a weekly mixtape to south Minneapolis. It’s about me, my neighbors, my community and environment. I love sharing our stories in different mediums in multiple contexts. It’s all part of the conversation. Sometimes the conversation is in the lyrics, sometimes in the music and, sometimes, it’s how one piece carries the listener to the next.

From Rara to Kompa to Benga, I’m moved chapter to chapter, scene to scene, within the texture of the sounds and words. That’s part of the conversation I get into with my work.

Today was a…

“Violence I Know You” by Khadija Queen “Night” by Benga “Michael Brun X Lakou Mizik” by Gaya, feat J. Perry “Guede Zania” by Celia Cruz “River” by Ibeyi “Oh No” by Pat Lok “Vie Neg” by Skah-Shah “The Standstill World” by Akilah Oliver “Instrumental From Rara Se Male”

…type of day.

Announcing our next CHP In The Stacks residency

During October and November, Minneapolis-based poet Moheb Soliman will take part in a month-long residency inside the offices of the Mississippi Watershed Management Organization (MWMO) and at the site of a future park at historic Hall’s Island.

This spring, a particular project near the artist’s home in northeast Minneapolis caught Soliman’s eye. MWMO is partnering with the Minneapolis Park and Recreation Board (MPRB) on its effort to effort to turn the area known as Hall’s Island, which was augmented and connected to the river bank as industrial property in the 1960s, back into an island. The undertaking calls for excavating a new river channel and creating both a rich natural habitat and a public park. Among the proposed amenities are a beach, boat rental, and a cafe pavilion.

While much of Soliman’s recent creative work has revolved around themes of nature, identity, and modernity around the Great Lakes region, this will be his first project centered on the Mississippi River. He will spend time over five weeks in MWMO’s riverside office working alongside a team of engineers, planners, designers, and educators who will provide access to resources, including books, maps, digital archives, and more.

“My interest lies in the incredibly elaborate work we do in managing and shaping the natural world, and the intersections and tensions in our time between recreation and conservation,” said Soliman. The poet hopes to create new work from the residency to be presented in the future at the site and in collaboration with MWMO.

Poet Su Hwang was awarded a 2017 In The Stacks residency at Dickinson House, a space for writers and artists in East Flanders, Belgium. Over the next several weeks, she’ll share stories and photos from her time in residence. This is her fifth dispatch from Dickinson House.

For better or worse, a nemesis rooster turned unlikely muse has irrevocably changed the course of my first poetry collection. Yes, I know, you’re a freakin’ chicken is an actual line from the one and only poem I started writing toward the end of my residency at Dickinson House. The working title for my newly reimagined manuscript is ROOST (formerly, BODEGA).  Yes, I know, I may very well be off my rocker.

On my first morning in the bucolic Flemish countryside, I was brutally awakened at 5:30am by a rooster named Chickenleg, and I would soon learn that that was rather on the later side of things. I’m a city gal who needs at least eight hours of sleep (the sole night owl of the bunch), so having a rooster enter my life during the residency was part novelty/mostly a nightmare. My room was the only one facing the backyard (oh, the humanity!) and since we mostly kept to our rooms during the day to focus on our work, only I had the pleasure of communing with the sad, furious fowl––even borrowed earplugs from Asiya proved ineffective. My dubious relationship with the rooster became the punch line around the dining table when I’d come down for lunch (I never did make it down for breakfast) to play a recording of Chickenleg on my iPhone from earlier in the morning. Inadvertently, what started as a joke became an audio journal documenting Chickenleg’s emotional journey as I began to note the nuances of his different sounds.

Turns out Eireann’s two hens recently died of old age and two surrogate hens were returned to their owner the day we arrived; Chickenleg was basically freaking out. I found myself fixating on his incessant crowing from the break of dawn to around dinnertime––screaming, screeching, crying, wailing, weeping, sighing. I could hear him from every corner of the house and grounds. To cope, I started researching online what made a rooster a rooster. Why and what made him crow? How? What is a rooster’s function in our ecosystem beyond nature’s alarm bell? I was trying to exercise a little empathy, as ridiculous as that sounds.

For our last night, Eireann asked each of us to read something we wrote during our stay at Dickinson House. Because I had spent most of my time reading from her library or obsessing about Chickenleg, I was in a state of panic about our informal reading––I hadn’t written a single word in over a week! So I started writing what was going through my mind in that very moment and what came out were two pages of medium-length couplets about the damn bird.

The Rooster

Raised near New York City, taught to always look down, your presence reminds me I’ve been temporarily

transported to where the sun emerges before the ballet of manmade alarms, where green has a hundred different

definitions & congress of crows does not mean hordes of ornery white men lounging on baroque chairs, deciding

in the name of so-called chastity how to control our fearsome bodies. Tiding of magpies. Raft of loons. Bunch

of baloney. In that sense, you are also that––a metaphor for containment…..

The poem was strangely essayistic in fashion punctuated by dark (possibly dumb) humor––I mean, I was writing about a damn chicken after all. It was unlike anything I’d written before. After I read my poem out loud, Eireann replied without irony (Eireann doesn’t do irony…more on our incomparable host in my final dispatch): “That poem needs to be eighteen pages.” I snorted. I knew the poem wasn’t done since it ended on the word “suicide,” but was she insane? A long poem about a chicken? (The longest poem I’ve written to date is five pages and it’s broken up into sections.)  

It wasn’t until a few days later when I was driving up to Fergus Falls, MN for my next residency at Hinge Arts that I realized it would indeed be a long poem (not sure if it’ll be 18 pages but it will be of considerable length). In fact, my entire manuscript, the one I’ve been working on for over three years and the one that’s been a finalist for two major book prizes would need to change. Not a just makeover––we’re talking a complete overhaul. BODEGA examines race, identity, class, and the immigrant experience through the personal lens of a coming-of-age type narrative arc. The proposal regarding my second collection, for which I received the Dickinson House fellowship, was to be about the landscapes of non-motherhood. As I made my way through the farmlands of northwest Minnesota (eerily similar to the Flemish countryside), I had what you call an ah-ha moment: everything I’m writing about has to do with metaphors of containment!  The rooster poem is more or less outlining what needs to be unpacked in my first book: identity, race, politics, gender/roles, family, illness, death, the body, religion, memory, language, solitude, madness, borders, history, etc.

I’m not really sure where I'm going with this (yet), but I’m excited to explore the possibilities––thanks to a freakin’ chicken.  

Poet Su Hwang was awarded a 2017 In The Stacks residency at Dickinson House, a space for writers and artists in East Flanders, Belgium. Over the next several weeks, she’ll share stories and photos from her time in residence. This is her third dispatch from Dickinson House. 

I’m remiss to offer up a nod to the eponymous bestseller because I couldn’t stand the book, but admittedly it’s a catchy title and is Dickinson House in a nutshell. This is my first residency (and I suspect it will ruin me for all future ones) but it doesn’t take a seasoned detective to know we’re being spoiled rotten here. Beyond the obvious charms of the Flemish countryside with its much-heralded light, Eireann Lorsung, our dedicated host, has created a true haven for writers hungry for a place of total serenity, relaxation, and inspiration.

How on earth will I go back to my normal life?! (This is not a rhetorical question, I’m quite serious). So much of our daily lives as “functional” adults consist of running mind-numbing errands, answering endless streams of emails, dawdling on social media, and figuring out how to feed and clean up after ourselves––never mind make a living. Take these pesky things out of the equation and you are left with the priceless gift of time, oh glorious, elusive time!  Here, you are given as much time as you could possibly want or need. On top of that, Eireann prepares each and every delicious meal (including homemade desserts, honoring ALL dietary needs) using fresh ingredients from the most stunning garden! It’s really true: you are what you eat. Nourishing the body nourishes the mind, and here, it’s all about tending to the mind through your heart and stomach.

Like the meals, the library collection is thoughtful and personal. Eireann (writer, artist, publisher, teacher, chef, animal whisperer––just to name a few) has amassed an eclectic, intelligent, and engaging library that’s centrally located in the common area next to the dining table, which invites conversation, community, and communion. Each morning as we get coffee, we’re able to linger by the shelves, always finding armfuls of books to take up to our room (or to the couch or outside, etc.). It’s been an invaluable resource to have her and the other two poetry fellows here to bounce off book recommendations. The library feels alive, organic––like the vegetables! Ideas are free flowing, multi-directional like a vast and generous body of water. 

After receiving my first assignment and stack of books, I felt the need to immediately ground myself by reading as much as possible before writing a single word. Sure, I was suffering from imposter syndrome, but she also has so many books I’d been meaning/wanting to read. You take for granted what entering a safe space with someone else’s library can do to your senses––it’s pure magic. Think: a kid in a candy store and everything is complimentary and you’re allowed to try all different flavors. One morning, I woke up to find a book next to my coffee cup––hand selected by Eireann for me to devour––introducing me to a new poet and a new window from which to view my project. Mind blown, heart and belly full.

As a resident artist and guest co-curator with the Walker Art Center’s Expanding the Frame Series, Valérie Déus has spent the past four months exploring films from around the world with specific relevance to the social and political movements of the year 1968. In April, the Walker will present Expanding the Frame: Imagination Is Power, four programs of short films presented in collaboration with Valérie and Coffee House Press. Valérie will share field notes from her residency here over the next several weeks. 

There’s an outer space quality to the silence in the library.

I’m here alone or at least I feel alone. I might not be alone but this silence is heavy. It’s the kind of silence that strains your ear when you try to find any type of sound. I try to notice buzzing or flickering lights or maybe the sound of a vent. The only break in the silence is the vacuum-sealed rush when someone cracks open the door.

The feeling is not necessarily serene but this calmness feels restful and final.

I find my spot at the smooth table, near a light source.

Ok this lamp works and oh there’s an outlet.

Ruth Hodgins, Bentson Archivist/Assistant Curator and my co-curator on this project, left me some books to look through. I get lost in Film Manifestos and Global Cinema Cultures edited by Scott MacKenzie (University of California Press, 2014). The idea of a manifesto—of declaring this is who you are, the motives and intentions for your work or life—is a powerful idea.

I focused on manifestos from developing countries and connected with their ‘do the best you can with what you have’ goals. How to tell your story with what you have and with what’s left?

I’m most interested in the do-it-yourself manifestos, where you go out there and make something just because. The Jollywood manifesto, established by Haiti’s Cine Institute, is familiar to me. I visited the Cine Institute, located in the gorgeous seaside town of Jacmel, in 2014 and they really do live up to their manifesto. They focus on small budget local filmmaking to create a self-sufficient market.

Here it is:

1. We create simple local stories set in everyday life. 2. We tell our stories with images. We do not heavily rely on dialogue. 3. We recognize and use local resources. 4. We use non professional actors. We cast our friends, family, neighbors and associates. 5. We use a small cast and crew. 6. We use natural light. 7. We credit every person who assists in making a film. 8. We are honest and transparent. We are respectful with our cast, crew and community. 9. We are rebranding Haiti and showing the world the richness of our country. 10. We work within a cultural context and for the good of humanity. 11. We are active, and work together to accomplish a better reality for all Haitians. 12. We are active, and we work together to accomplish a better reality for all of us.

Saying everything with little access or means is always more interesting than having everything and saying nothing.

Image 1: Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston (Photo by Valérie Déus) Image 2: Still from A Place to Live, by Department of Urban Renewal City of Chicago and DeWitt Beall, 1968, USA.Courtesy of Chicago Film Archives

Poet Su Hwang was awarded a 2017 In The Stacks residency at Dickinson House, a space for writers and artists in East Flanders, Belgium. Over the next several weeks, she’ll share stories and photos from her time in residence. This is her final dispatch from Dickinson House.

Eireann Lorsung, gracious and super talented host of Dickinson House, defies categorization though let me try: poet, essayist, novelist, MFA and PhD, professor, teacher, visual artist, master chef & baker, seamstress, gardener, animal whisperer, publisher of MIEL (a micropress that creates gorgeous chapbooks), editor, singer & songwriter, devoted partner, and generous friend to all those who have had the distinct pleasure of orbiting her intricate universe, even for a fortnight. Simply put: she contains multitudes.

Originally from Minnesota and an alumna of my MFA Program at the University of Minnesota, Eireann has been living abroad for almost a decade with her longtime partner (whose childhood home was transformed into Dickinson House in East Flanders, Belgium in November 2014). Eireann, who fiercely guards her privacy (so I won’t be posting her picture here), is perhaps one of the most fascinating and inspiring people I’ve ever met. Though elfin in stature, her powerful presence/intellect immediately fills the room. Eireann is incredibly direct and full of purpose––she doesn’t mince words––and that is why I did my very best to take note of all she said and recommended during my residency. I knew I had a lot to learn from her––and I certainly did! I learned by observation that art is not about outside validation but by the day-to-day process and the community you build and nurture. It is work, but joyful work.

It only came to my attention after leaving Belgium that she was in fact going through a personal crisis during our residency. Ali Gharavi, the husband of her close friend, was taken into custody by the Turkish government on trumped-up charges for his humanitarian work and is still being held along with several others. I know Eireann would much rather use this platform to shed light on Ali’s dire situation and seek his release, so if you’re reading this far, please go and sign a petition to help seek justice: Skrivunder.com/free_ali_gharavi

Poetry can make the world feel small. Turns out, Ali Gharavi was part of the Loft Literary Center’s Loft Mentor Series. The Loft recently posted this message on social media: 

“We are saddened to learn that former Loft Mentor Series participant Ali Gharavi is one of six human rights activists being held by Turkish authorities. The Loft believes that free speech is vital to a just world and we join the chorus of voices across the globe asking for their release.”  

You can read more about Ali’s plight here: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/jul/18/turkey-holds-six-rights-activists-on-charges-of-aiding-terror-group

Poet Su Hwang was awarded a 2017 In The Stacks residency at Dickinson House, a space for writers and artists in East Flanders, Belgium. Over the next several weeks, she’ll share stories and photos from her time in residence. This is her fourth dispatch from Dickinson House.

Every creative friend who’s been at a residency over the years has said that group chemistry can make or break a residency experience, even with all the fixings and prestige up the wazoo. It’s essentially online dating for artists and writers to form fruitful communities, but what are the chances/algorithm of a perfect match? This means some group dynamics can be pretty awful––from annoying to awkward to atomic. Some can leave you feeling absolutely nothing, nada, and sometimes, that’s even worse. Then there’s the fairy tale, the stuff of fiction: something that can take your breath away. With larger residencies, you can sidestep cliquey baloney by disappearing into a work-wormhole or letting your introvert flag fly really high (both tactics at my disposal), but at Dickinson House or other intimate, personal residencies with only three of you or less, it’s really luck of the draw, or rather, flip of a Flemish coin. And because of these odds, I’m grateful for the serendipitous outcome of having Asiya and Arra share this amazing experience with me. It was truly poet-love at first sight.

It’s like we read each other’s minds from the moment we first arrived in East Flanders. Conversation was easy and natural––unpacking could wait. That said, we immediately respected each other’s need for solitude to think, rest, and get our work done during the day (in whatever capacity) yet each night we lingered after dinner over a bottle of wine to chat about the poetry of H.D. or Edna St. Vincent Millay with Eireann, the wonders and perils of love, or the state of our messed up world. We took bike rides to nearby villages for supplies which also included detours for cold Belgian brews, or a daytrip to the delightful city of Ghent where they were such great sports about letting me make them stand in front of random doorways and pose for pictures, etc., etc. These are independent, passionate, driven women we’re talking about!

Asiya’s debut collection

crosslight for youngbird

 will be published by Nightboat Press early next year. Originally from Washington DC, she is currently based in Brooklyn, NY but also has roots in the Bay Area. A Stanford and UC Berkeley grad with a Masters in Urban Planning, Asiya came to poetry “late” like me, but has bloomed like nothing/no one else. She received a prestigious grant from the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council and is one of a select few writers awarded a studio on Governor’s Island this year. She has always been a voracious reader and is one of those naturally gifted people in whatever she puts her mind to, having traveled to Europe and Africa for past humanitarian projects, and is you know, training for some big race, among a million other worthwhile things. And of course, she happens to be the raddest, sweetest, coolest human on earth. She is currently writing about bodies of water as metaphor for the heartbreaking refugee crisis gripping Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, and is hoping to work with a forensic scientist based in Milan who is attempting to identify the remains of those found in the water. Asiya’s sparkling mind and generous spirit struck me right away, and the more time I spent with her, the more in awe I became. She is a fearless, spectacular poet, and there isn’t anything Asiya can’t master.

Arra’s beautiful first book Seedlip and Sweet Apple was published by Milkweed Editions, which involved extensive research and gorgeous leaps of the imagination. I’ve come to really admire her precision of language and powerful images. Arra is currently juggling several ambitious projects while she balances teaching a full load of creative writing classes at Saginaw Valley State University in central Michigan. She organizes the Voices in the Valley Reading Series (that has brought writers like Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith), and tends to her fixer upper home and gardens with her husband, nine-year-old son, a new puppy named Warrior and two cats. Arra, who has a PhD from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, is a Minnesota native and still has familial ties to my adopted home state. A bit shy at the outset, it didn’t take long for Arra to come out of her shell, and oh what an inner life! Her compassion with her stark honesty about herself and the world around her is something I value and respect so much. Not only that, she is truly a gifted poet. While at Dickinson House, she completed her longstanding project in which she studied the very specific and complex form in John Berryman’s seminal long poem, “Homage to Mistress Bradstreet.” This project about the very real highs and very real lows of motherhood ends with 99 eight-line stanzas (that’s 792 lines, and Berryman only got to 59!). Simply mind-blowing!

I can write a novel about Asiya and Arra, but I’m bound to a certain word count here, so I’ll just add links to their fellowship proposals for Dickinson house and you can find out more about how awesome they are! We came hungry for adventure, openness, time to work on our writing, and fun! We left with meaningful friendships. Asiya Wadud and Arra Lynn Ross––remember these names––I’ll never forget them. (I hope to have them come to the Twin Cities in the fall for a reading/panel discussion, stay tuned!)

http://dickinsonhouse.be/possibility/meet-our-2017-fellows-asiya-wadud/

http://dickinsonhouse.be/possibility/meet-our-2017-fellows-arra-lynn-ross/

Heading to next week’s Minnesota Library Association conference? Don’t miss our Thursday morning Featured Speaker session, “Residency Programs that Connect Writers and Readers.” You’ll hear from a children’s author, a playwright, and a librarian who've participated in the program. Explore how In The Stacks can activate the materials in your collection and encourage the general public to think about all types of libraries as creative spaces.