ElectricMari

Blurbs from my brain.

I love coffee. I love its taste – its earthiness- , its colour – its earthiness-, its taste – its earthiness.

When I smell it, I am enveloped by its warmth- its earthiness . When I see it, I'm enveloped by its warmth – its earthiness. When I taste it, my tongue is enveloped by its warmth – its earthiness.

And then...

my heart trembles, my hands tremble, my eye trembles, my feet tremble, my stomach trembles.

I'm violently attached to the earth and every part of me wants to escape the grip of its finiteness.

No coffee.

At times.

A few months ago I read “Ain't I a woman” by bell hooks. Although it was a difficult read for me (something about the book structure bugged me), it was nonetheless eye opening. It made me fully realize what one means when one talks about white feminism.

Why do we set the white man as a standard?

Well, I wanted to share some exerpts from the book, what I had underlined.


“When feminists acknowledge in one breath that black women are victimized and in the same breath emphasize their strength, they imply that though black women are oppressed they manage to circumvent the damaging impact of oppression by being strong—and that is simply not the case.”


“Contemporary black women could not join together to fight for women’s rights because we did not see “womanhood” as an important aspect of our identity. Racist, sexist socialization had conditioned us to devalue our femaleness and to regard race as the only relevant label of identification.”


“[...] the use of the word prostitution to describe mass sexual exploitation of enslaved black women by white men not only deflected attention away from the prevalence of forced sexual assault, it lent further credibility to the myth that black females were inherently wanton and therefore responsible for rape.”


“[...] American dream, which is in essence a masculine dream of dominance and success at the expense of others [...]”


“Conservative, reactionary white women, who increasingly represented a large majority of the participants [of the first feminist movements], were outspoken in their pronouncements that the issue of racism should not be considered worthy of attention. They did not want the issue of racism raised because they did not want to deflect attention away from their projection of the white woman as “good,” i.e., non-racist victim, and the white man as “bad,” i.e., racist oppressor. For them to have acknowledged woman’s active complicity in the perpetuation of imperialism, colonialism, racism, or sexism would have made the issue of women’s liberation far more complex.”


“Yet as they attempted to take feminism beyond the realm of radical rhetoric and into the realm of American life, they revealed that they had not changed, had not undone the sexist and racist brainwashing that had taught them to regard women unlike themselves as Others.”


“As they participated in the women’s movement they found, in their dialogues with white women in women’s groups, in women’s studies classes, at conferences, that their trust was betrayed. They found that white women had appropriated feminism to advance their own cause, i.e., their desire to enter the mainstream of American capitalism.”


“Black and white women have for so long allowed their idea of liberation to be formed by the existing status quo that they have not yet devised a strategy by which we can come together. They have had only a slave’s idea of freedom. And to the slave, the master’s way of life represents the ideal free lifestyle.”


“Feminism as a political ideology advocating social equality for all women was and is acceptable to many black women. They rejected the women’s movement when it became apparent that middle and upper class college-educated white women who were its majority participants were determined to shape the movement so that it would serve their own opportunistic ends.”


“The great majority of white women did not use their voting privileges to support women’s issues; they voted as their husbands, fathers, or brothers voted. The more militant white suffragists had hoped that women would use the vote to form their own party rather than supporting major parties that denied women social equality with men. Voting privileges for women changed in no fundamental way the lot of women in society, but they did enable women to help support and maintain the existing white racist imperialist patriarchal social order.”


“They measured black men against a standard set by white males. Since whites defined “achieving manhood” as the ability of a man to be a sole economic provider in a family, many black females tended to regard the black male as a “failed” man. In retaliation, black men openly asserted that they perceived white women as more feminine than black women. Both black females and males were uncertain about their womanhood and manhood. They were both striving to adapt themselves to standards set by the dominant white society.”


“Although white feminists denounced the white male, calling him an imperialist, capitalist, sexist, racist pig, they made women’s liberation synonymous with women obtaining the right to fully participate in the very system they identified as oppressive. Their anger was not merely a response to sexist oppression. It was an expression of their jealousy and envy of white men who held positions of power in the system while they were denied access to those positions.”


“Although the contemporary feminist movement was initially motivated by the sincere desire of women to eliminate sexist oppression, it takes place within the framework of a larger, more powerful cultural system that encourages women and men to place the fulfillment of individual aspirations above their desire for collective change.”


“A feminist ideology that mouths radical rhetoric about resistance and revolution while actively seeking to establish itself within the capitalist patriarchal system is essentially corrupt.”


“To me feminism is not simply a struggle to end male chauvinism or a movement to ensure that women will have equal rights with men; it is a commitment to eradicating the ideology of domination that permeates Western culture on various levels—sex, race, and class, to name a few—and a commitment to reorganizing U.S. society so that the self-development of people can take precedence over imperialism, economic expansion, and material desires.”

I'll talk about Gaspara Stampa a 16th century venetian female poet. An ode to my hometown.

I like working on my blog but I am aware that I haven't been doing my best.

I'm glad I'm able to read and to discover new things.

It has been very hard to work this past week.

I'm gonna try to finish my article on Qiu Jin today.

I'm in the process of choosing the next female poet for my series but I'm pretty sure I'll choose Chinese poet Qiu Jin (1875-1912).

As Sor Juana, she has quite an interesting life story and her work is deeply rooted in a feminist vision.

My choice further on – although I recognize the political choice I made when deciding on focusing on only female poets – will not be determined by the political implication of the chosen poet. Being a feminist, or having a feminist framework, is not what I look for when choosing my subject.

I leave you with this poem as translated from the Chinese by Yilin Wang.

Reflections

written during travels in Japan

The sun and moon without light. Sky and earth in darkness. Who can uplift the sinking world of women? I pawned my jewels to sail across the open seas, parting from my children as I left the border at Jade Gate. Unbinding my feet to pour out a millennium’s poisons, I arouse the spirit of women, hundreds of flowers, abloom. Oh, this poor handkerchief made of merfolk-woven silk, half stained with blood and half soaked in tears.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. “Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Emma Lazarus: Selected Poems and Other Writings (2002)

This weekend I will start working on a series for my “professional blog”, a series about female poets.

It feels a bit daunting, I have to admit, but it also feels exciting. Daunting because, as it turns out, many of these poets have not been translated to Italian (my blog is in Italian, since I want to try to make a translation portfolio). Exciting because I've been finding out about many female poets whose stories and poems are fascinating and intriguing.

I've been debating wether I will be translating those poems, especially since, at times, I will be able to translate only through another translation. I mean, it has been done in the history of literature but not in recent times, when we can find many different translators?

Anyways, my first episode will focus on Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, a mexican religious woman from the XVII century.

Will keep posted with my decision.

Picture of a beach with sand, the sea and a blue sky with some clouds

Yesterday, my boyfriend took me to the sea. The hour long drive to the beach (and the return one) reminded me of a famous scene in the French film “Bienvenue chez les ch'tis” where the protagonist, forced to move from the South of France to the gloomy North, while passing this imaginary line dividing these two sections of the hexagone, passes from a glaring sun to darkness and deluge. Only this time it was reversed.

I cannot tell you how good it was to finally warm my bones, cold from many rainy days, to the light of the sun. How sweet it was, for someone like me, who was born near the sea, to smell it again. How refreshing and calming it was to listen to the sound of the waves and not as the soundtrack of my meditation app.

I normally cannot stay still in one place without distractions (thanks, anxiety), but I could've stand still, laying on our old Decathlon rug, for the whole day.

As for the tiramisù, we had no luck. As restaurants here in France will be able to be open to the public only from today, it seems like yesterday they were all preparing for the big day. Which weirdly didn't coincide with my birthday. (I think there might have been a misunderstanding with Macron.)

Well, the pizzeria near our place usually sells tiramisù (my angel boyfriend called them and they confirmed), so we decided to order some tonight and that my birthday will last two days. The tradition continues...

A cup with some tea and a blanket

Well, had a weird weekend. We went to visit my boyfriend's dad, a 3 hours drive from here.

And it rained 99% of the time.

Why had I stuck in my head that may should be a warm month? I always chanted that May was the best month of the year: the best flowers are blooming (hell, all nature is blooming) – cough, roses – the temperatures are getting higher and nicer... It's the Holy Mary's month (tell us you're Italian, without telling us you're Italian, am I right?)!

Why have we turned the radiators back on? Why didn't I have a pic nic, yet?

It makes me think about my birthdays and the times when we would make a small party by the beach... Hell, I'm in the south of France and I still wore my winter pjs yesterday night!

I guess I'll have to listen to what my weekly meditation said: don't make a fuss about things that you cannot change. Like the weather. It cannot rain forever and I'll be waiting for my flowers and my pic nics, I'll try to savour these times when I can still oder a hot chocolate without looking like an idiot because it's 30° outside.