|
| 2007 Beyond Margins Awards |
On October 15, 2007 PEN American Center hosted a special evening to honor Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Ernest Hardy, Harryette Mullen, and Alberto Ríos,
recipients of this year’s PEN/Beyond Margins Award. The works of this
year’s recipients span an impressive range, touching upon themes of
deconstruction, regeneration, and the recycling of narratives and
cultural detritus to create artwork of exceptional power and beauty.
Presented in this month’s feature are audio recordings and photos from
the event, excerpts from the winners’ works, and exclusive online
conversations between Harryette Mullen and Erica Hunt, and Elizabeth
Nunez and M.G. Vassanji.
|
|
|
|
 |
|
Blood Beats: Vol. 1
by Ernest Hardy
When you are the one marginalized and you struggle to represent self
and experiences, you can either do so by funneling your shit through
the vocab and paradigms that have been historically set in place and
elevated (and, in doing so, you effectively reinforce the primacy and
superiority of the dominant/ established order) or you struggle to
create new models, thereby not only challenging but even mocking or
dismissing the accepted model which likewise dismisses you. You may not
create beauty, you may not create lasting “art” but you forge a new
tongue, force a new way of looking and interpreting—a new value
system. [More]
The Theater of Night
by Alberto Ríos
I saw Clemente this morning in a dream.
It was him, Clemente, but when he was young.
I knew the hard, animal bones of his face.
I went to school with a boy like that and I have an uncle, too.
You’ve seen them, people with so much horse in them still
Even after centuries, so much horse and donkey
In the strong ones, so much spider
In the skinny ones, the way their thin fingers
Move over a piece of chicken. . . .
[More]
|
|
|
|
|
Recyclopedia
by Harryette Mullen
Kill bugs dead. Redundancy is syntactical overkill. A pinprick of peace
at the end of the tunnel of a nightmare night in a roach motel. Their
noise infects the dream. In black kitchens they foul the food, walk on
our bodies as we sleep over oceans of pirate flags. Skull and crossbones, they crunch like candy. When we die they will eat
us, unless we kill them first. Invest in better mousetraps. Take no
prisoners on board ship, to rock the boat, to violate our beds with
pestilence. We dream the dream of extirpation. Wipe out a species, with
God at our side. Annihilate the insects. Sterilize the filthy vermin. [More]
Half of a Yellow Sun
by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Master was a little crazy; he had spent too many years reading books
overseas, talked to himself in his office, did not always return
greetings, and had too much hair. Ugwu's aunty said this in a low voice
as they walked on the path. "But he is a good man," she added. "And as
long as you work well, you will eat well. You will even eat meat every
day." She stopped to spit; the saliva left her mouth with a sucking
sound and landed on the grass. [More] | |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
