Canthius #10 : guest edited by Sanna Wani

 

I was going to rest my hands this afternoon

but they wanted to make something for you I was going to rest in the full sun fold myself into a neat nap shape always I asked for you ran ahead of you asking when if I held you again would I need anything that takes up more space than I could possibly live every time somehow I still ended up with more before I moved you could I wait for you to return to me I am not very patient (Emily Lu)

I’ve always enjoyed going through issues of Canthius: feminism & literary arts [although admittedly I haven’t offered a review of an issue of some time; see my review of issue two here and issue three here and issue seven here and even the interview I did with founding co-editor/publisher Claire Farley after the first issue landed here], and this new issue, guest edited by Sanna Wani with artwork by Eryn Lougheed, offers up an array of stunning new work by a mound of writers both new and familiar: Emily Lu, Sennah Yee, Chimwemwe Undi, M.A. Blanchard, Joanna Cleary, Terrence Abrahams, Jaeyun Yoo, nanya jhingran, Hua Xi, Elizabeth Mudenyo, Dessa Bayrock, Cecil Choi, Devon Rae, Akshi Chadha, Sarah Ghazal Ali, Lina Wu, Hadiyyah Kuma, I.S. Jones, Malvika Jolly, Cassandra Myers, emilie kneifel, Samantha Martin-Bird, Hajjar Baban, Sara Elkamel, Ryanne Kap, Victoria Mbabazi, Yi Wei, ava hofmann, Natalie Lim, Alyza Taguilaso, Conyer Clayton and Hajera Khaja. With a focus on emerging writers (it would seem), it is always interesting to see different writers expand their roles, so I’m appreciating Wani taking on such a project (although admittedly I’m surprised the issue doesn’t include a biography for her as well, to give a reader unfamiliar with her work the opportunity for context; it seems a bit of a disservice to her work as guest editor. I offer, instead, our recent ’12 or 20 questions’ interview). As she writes to open her ”Editor’s Note”:

When we began thinking about this issue, Leah, Ashley, and I agreed that we would forego a theme. We agreed that we wanted to see what came in—and what we loved—to find a theme by chance rather than call. To see what emerged, rather than to coax anything in particular out of the world. The chance to edit this issue was an enormous gift. You know that saying, how you read is how you write? I feel gifted with a new awareness of how to love poetry, which is in all writing, the particular quality of my love, of poetry’s music, and so the world’s, through these writers.

Part of what is interesting, as I move through this issue, is the number of short and uniquely sharp prose poems that appear here, including pieces by Emily Lu, Sennah Yee, Terrence Abrahams and Devon Rae, through her two poems “Conversation with My Lips” and “Conversation with My Tail.” As the latter reads in full: “you are stunted, cut short, hard nub. But sometimes, I sense a quiver, a kind of stirring. The unfurling of your shadow. I long to drape you over me, feather boa, to use tip to text the air. I long to speak through you, old tongue, ripped out.” I’m enjoying the thread that sits through the issue, of a handful of different poets offering short, lyric bursts of prose poems, and curious at how these particular submissions found themselves into and across this particular issue. Another highlight, in an issue of highlights, is Pakistan-born Afghan Kurdish poet Hajjar Baban, a 2021 PD Soros Fellow and MFA in Poetry candidate at the University of Virginia.

What I’ve Since Learned of Mountains

The language a sun unspoken. Hanging in the air,
my father’s brother’s death. The sword, a missed
prayer. Rocks and my instinct
against reason. Why a Kurdish joke
exists, a fire in the celebration. Those gowns
you’ll never wear. Lavender grown there. The distance,
the name of no country found.

Also, Eryn Lougheed’s artwork throughout the issue provides a fascinating counterpoint to the writing, setting lyric aside lyric, thematically linking to the conversations that guest editor Wani invites through her particular curation. As Wani asks near the end of her opening note: “What would you name the theme of this issue, dear reader? You are the you I am always chasing after all, inviting into these pages. I’ll let you have the last word. I’m interested to know what you choose.” So, basically: this is a journal you should be paying attention to. And you know they’ve a bunch of extra content online as well, yes?

A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001)

Forge, forget, lovely, lonely. I need my mind pure and my body expired. I want to devour this meal whole and not feel empty. I need to be better than real. I want you to look at me all the time. (Sennah Yee)

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Sennah Yee

Sennah Yee [photo credit: Alice Liu] is from Toronto. She writes poetry, writes about films, and writes poetry about films. Her debut poetry/non-fiction collection, How Do I Look?, was published by Metatron Press in 2017. She is currently pursuing her PhD in Cinema & Media Studies, focusing her research on gendered robot design in media and technology.

@sennahaha / www.sennahyee.com 

1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
My first book has connected me with more like-minded writers and people experiencing similar microaggressions and insecurities, remembering sneaky cheat codes on The Sims... it’s been surreal and affirming!

My two flash fiction chapbooks before this, The Aquarium and The Gl.a.de, have the same dry tone, but otherwise they feel so different from my writing now – the most obvious reason being that they were pure fiction, and my work is mostly non-fiction.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

I actually came to poetry last! Haha. I wrote short stories as a kid (mostly unintentional rip-offs/fan-fic of TV shows I was watching), then studied screenwriting in undergrad. I liked it, but I wasn't that great at it. I turned to poetry because I felt free to experiment without worrying about logistical things like film budget, location scouting, casting, etc.
 
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

When the mood strikes, I write VERY quickly, with minimal edits. But this burst is rare, and when it’s over, I don't write anything for a really long time. I need to do more casual free-writing, the way visual artists doodle for fun and practice.

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

I definitely write a bunch of short pieces that end up coming together into something bigger. I didn't think any of the pieces in my book were linked until my wonderful editor, Jay Ritchie, pointed out common themes and patterns.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I always get sick with anxiety before reading, but I still love doing them! I like meeting people and seeing who connects to what. But most of all, I love listening to others read their work. Maybe I’ve just been lucky to attend some really magical and moving readings, but lately I’ve been getting even more out of hearing others read than reading their work on my own!
 
6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I’m still navigating how I choose to balance the important parts of my identity so that they are acknowledged and validated, and yet also not wanting myself or my writing to be reduced to those parts. As for the kinds of questions that I am trying to answer with my work: Who/what has control over how I look at myself/the world? In what ways can I return this gaze and reclaim this control? On a larger scale, the question of “who gets to tell stories?” is often brought up in the community – I think this is an important question, but even more important is who is listening to these stories? Who is elevating them and giving them the space to grow and be heard?

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Does s/he even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

Writing is a tool of empathy for me. You can rock people’s worldviews or just get your reader to laugh with you about a bad Tinder date you had. I love that it can do either and both of those things – teach, entertain. I’m not one to tell writers who or what they should be, but I do think that they should be aware of the kinds of power and influence that they can have.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

If we’re on the same page, it’s so easy and essential to me! I thrive on feedback, prompts, and deadlines. I was so lucky to have Jay as my editor for my first book; he made the whole process was a breeze.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

In the words of Uncle Ben from Spider-Man, “with great power comes great responsibility.” Hehe, but seriously. That and pay artists for their work, and get paid for your own work.

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

Sadly I don’t have a writing routine – I mostly write when I'm supposed to be doing something else! A typical day for me is going to school, doing readings, refreshing Twitter on my phone in front of an open Twitter tab on my computer, and Netflix.

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

Movies! They're both my procrastination and inspiration, which is a bit dangerous.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Cat litter.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

As I said earlier, movies for sure are a huge influence on my work – not just the narratives and visuals, but also the art of screenwriting. I love how screenwriting aims to communicate as much information as possible in the most visual, succinct way. It's very poetic!

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

Mitski, Jenny Zhang, Ocean Vuong, and Claudia Rankine come to mind instantly. Their work is so gut-wrenching and beautiful. Phoebe Wang’s poetry is also stunning; she has also been an incredible mentor to me and to so many other young writers of colour. Last but not least, the Metatron family are crucial to both my work and my life outside of it! The first Metatron book I read was Pony Castle by Sofia Banzhaf, which I inhaled and knew immediately after that I had to find out more about the press. Ashley has created this incredible community that is so inspiring and supportive; I am forever grateful.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Write a novella! Something that is soft sci-fi.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I wouldn’t mind being an editor – I liked story editing screenplays a lot during undergrad. I’m currently Interim Arts Editor at Shameless, a volunteer-run magazine for young women and trans youth. It’d be amazing to do something that strengthens the community like that full-time.

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

It is the only way that I can make sense of things that move me and affect me, for better or for worse.  

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Book: Death by Sex Machine by Franny Choi

Film: The Square directed by Ruben Östlund

19 - What are you currently working on?

My homework! Ho hum.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Sennah Yee, How Do I Look?

PROM

I bought us pearl earrings for $5 from an elderly vendor in Chinatown. I told him how neither of us had ever owned anything pearl before. He knew they were fake, and so did I, and so did you, but it didn’t matter. Later, you spilled Smirnoff all over the gown you borrowed from your sister. I tried not to stare at the lace and sequins of your bra seeping through the soaked fabric. Having eyes only for you is just a glamorous way of saying that I am blind.

Following the release of two poetry chapbooks through American chapbook publisher Dancing Girl Press – THE AQUARIUM (2014) and THE GL.A.DE (2017) – Toronto poet Sennah Yee’s first full-length collection is How Do I Look? (Montreal QC: Metatron Press, 2017). How Do I Look? is a collection of short, self-contained, observational prose-poems, a number of which reference a variety of degrees of sexual and racial violence, from microagressions and offhanded comments to far, far worse, and the ways in which women are required to constantly be on guard. The short poem “MEDUSA,” for example, that opens the collection, reads:

Beauty, power, and confidence without gaze. Then, a man holds up a mirror and kills her. There is nothing mythical about that.

Utilizing a series of pop culture references, including an array of film titles as poem titles, the poems in Yee’s How Do I Look? are smart, wonderfully playful, precise and straightforward, all the while shining a spotlight on some rather dark corners of how people insist on treating each other. “I want to cry when locals ask me where I’m from,” she writes, in the poem “SIEM REAP,” composing out a short tourist scene from Angkor Wat, “because I know they are trying to bring me closer, not push me away.” In a 2016 interview over at Speaking of Marvels, she writes:

My writing’s evolved closer to creative non-fiction, focusing on racism and sexism. I used to be too shy to write about myself. Now I see value in narrativizing life events, even and perhaps especially the ones that make me feel weak and/ or ugly. Being openly vulnerable can feel very brave and strong. I feel like my writing’s become a more accurate reflection of my identity. I was terrified at first to share my short piece for Poor Claudia’s 10 Sources series about micro-aggressions and anxieties as a Chinese-Canadian woman, but the response was touching and validating. It made me want to write pieces that are more powerful and political in their honesty and anger. I want my writing to wake people up.

The poems in this collection feel intensely personal, and exist as a combination of lyric essay, observational moment and condenced scene-study, and her writing very much has the potential to do something absolutely incredible. I want to see where else she goes.