Sunday, January 10, 2016

January 2016

FEATURED POET:

These next two months we are privileged to feature student poets from the Stories of Arrival: Refugee and Immigrant Youth Voices Poetry Project.  

Check them out Here

 Dal Lam Kang (Kang Pu) was born in a small village called Tuimang, part of the Zogam region. He is sixteen years old and he has three brothers and one sister. They are still in Burma. He grew up knowing all about farming because that was his dad’s work. Kang Pu speaks five languages including Zomi, Mizo, Burma, Malaysian and English. He lived in Tuimang for thirteen years and then moved to Malaysia in 2011. Kang Pu could not get a good quality education in his country, because his family didn’t have enough money to pay for school. When he was ten years old his mom passed away. After that, he wanted to start to find money; that’s why he went to Malaysia. In Malaysia, Kang Pu got a job at Pat Kin Pat Sun Cafe Chinese Restaurant. During that time he was only thirteen years old. It was truly hard for him to depart from his family, because he is the only one who went to Malaysia by himself. Kang Pu came to the United States in 2014, with his uncle. His memories of foods from Burma are corn, vegetables and potatoes. Foods that he always remembers remind him of his country and his mom. Kang Pu often thinks of his mom when he feels hungry, but he knows he cannot let those memories make him too sad. In the future he wants to become a businessman to help his family, and to help his country to become a peaceful country. Kang Pu is thankful for the government in the U.S., because he can get a free education. He really wants to achieve his goals. He believes that his father’s vege porridge was amazing; it brought all of his family together at meal times. Kang Pu can’t forget his country’s food and traditions because his cultural foods are already in his blood. Also, food can save people and food reminds him to honor and keep his culture. Kang Pu believes everyone can do one thing in their life that they dream of, because everybody matters and everybody has different skills.





My Mother’s Kitchen
Kang Pu

When my mom cooked it smelled of sweet wintertime cherries,
of a solitary forest with rain falling
and it smelled like the murmur of a lonely bird, singing.
I picture the spherical smoke rising from her kitchen
it was like the sound of sleep at night,
it was like arriving home safe and sound
the sounds of her kitchen were peaceful
I still long for the laughter of those family meals
we all waited for that table, my mom’s table
how she prepared every family meal
this is what I still long for
so often I remember my mother
nothing can take her memory away from me
it is truly difficult that I have departed
from my motherland

and from my mother’s kitchen. 

Three Countries Home
Kang Pu

In my life
I have called
three countries home
Burma, where meat is fresh
from the forest
where the hunter focuses on his target
not for sport, but for survival .

Fruit, we only ate after
we pulled it gently from the tree,
the spots covering its flesh,
holding it together,
vegetables were from the garden
with the redness of the soil,
like before the sunset,

when mom came back
from the garden
before she arrived
I knew she was on her way
as the winds called
the smells of basil (Leemmui)
and the strong smell of earth’s spices
around my home.
I felt mom’s love,
I put my worries
into her pocket
to rest my love
in her heart.

In my new city in Malaysia 
meat was not fresh
just pushed into refrigerators,
cooked, it was covered with sauce
but the blood still showed,
thick like syrup
so I recoiled
I didn’t know
how I could eat it,
it reminded me of war victims .


WRITE YOUR POEM

We live in a modern era where Billy Collins or others can gain national attention and get national awards.  We have university programs dedicated to different styles.  Those pressures 

But we live in the tradition of Emily Dickinson.  We live in the tradition of Han Shan (Cold Mountain)  Poetry for them was about clarifying their interior worlds with a few words on the page or on a cave wall.

They were arriving at a new place and documenting that important fact.  In the end we are all students arriving.  Write about food.  Write about arriving.  Write your poem

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