Speak Poetry in San Mateo County

Jing Jing Yang

Jing Jing Yang is the first immigrant Cupertino Poet Laureate (2020 – 2022), a grand winner of the city-wide Celebrate Creativity Poetry Contest 2017, with her poem “Logograph” in memory of her grandfather, Yang Shuda (the master philologist of Chinese language and a mentor of Mao Zedong). Her English and Chinese writings have been featured in Celebrate Creativity Anthology, Redwood Forest, City Headline, Cupertino Scene, and Changsha Nightly Post. Born in Changsha, China, she lives in San Jose, California. Her first bilingual poetry collection, Flowers In My Dreams, is available through Amazon.

Poems on Belonging

LOGOGRAPH

A Tribute to my Grandpa - Yang, Shuda*
 
grab a handful of Chinese Characters
toss them into heat
erupt them into lava &
cast them into my poetry
black script on white paper
brewing & diffusing the steam
flaming in red hot orange
whilst
our ancestors sharpen the stone
paint their fairy tales
engrave their memory
on turtle shells
in cattle bones
scattered with sparkle splash
 
scripts started
before time
blistering
as blood and sweat
…
with a stem 
or a pebble
it rocks wolf skins 
'n' rolls into Human History

*YANG, SHUDA (1885-1956), a Chinese Language Philologist, Mao Zedong’s mentor, and friend. He devoted his life to pursuing academic service for his country. He read Oracle scripts on stone and bones. Today, his study is still the mastermind of Chinese writing exegetical, phonology, grammar, rhetoric, and so on.

中國字
 - 向祖父楊樹達¹先生致敬
 
抓一把中國字放進熔爐裡
烤成岩漿
把他們鑄進我的詩裡
黑字白底
紅通通的
冒著熱氣
就像
古人磨尖石頭
在龜殼上
在牛骨裡
火星四濺地
畫著她們的童話
刻著他們的記憶
 
文字
亙古以來
都是熱的 -
鮮血和汗水
...
一根樹枝
一塊石頭
歷史
搖滾
豺狼獸皮

楊樹達（1885年6月1日－1956年2月14日），字遇夫，號積微，男，湖南長沙人，中國語言文字學家。中華民國教育部部聘教授、中央研究院院士、中國科學院院士、甲骨文專家， 毛澤東的良師益友。 毛尊稱其為“遇夫先生”, 師生倆曾聯袂進京請願， 反對北洋政府。 解放後一直保持書信來往。

WHERE IS MY HOMETOWN

My heart is chasing my hometown
where I was born, raised, and moved around.
Now the skyscrapers are planted on the ground
near the Magnolia blossom in our backyard.
The neighbourhood aunties used to knock at our door
asking Grandma if they could have some.
The glorious petals and dark green leaves were placed
in the ceramic rice bowls, filled with
crisp, cold water from the community well.
The delicate fragrance makes my childhood memory profound.

Where is my hometown?
Where is that little wonton shop
Grandma used to walk her 3-inch-lotus feet with her cane,
the hand-made wonton soup she ordered.
was the yummiest treat!
Where is the “Dongsheng” Photo Shop Mom brought brother and me,
and where is the theatre Dad taking me
on his old “Phoenix” bicycle in the wicker seat?
He paddled all the way
through the northern district to the “Silver Palace” theatre
for us to see
Charlie Chaplin’s “Modern Time”.
Many years later
I rode my own bike with him
to see “Roman Holiday”,
that was the last time
we watched a movie together
in my hometown

Where is my hometown?
Where is my hometown?
The old streets and houses are erased by time.
My inheritance from Mom and Dad is my accent,
enduring like the Magnolia tree, still stands.
Their roots incubate courage, my strength expands.
Half of my life divided between the two countries,
my hometown seeded my identity
and my adopted homeland sprouted the liberty with one forever stamp.

H o m e
is where my heart is.
I carry it always
till the end of time.

我的家鄉在哪裡

我的心一直在追蹤家鄉
我出生，成長和几次搬遷的故园
遍地摩天大樓耸立 离我家咫尺之遠
那是當年街坊唯一白色玉蘭盛开的地方
隔壁常伯媽曾敲响我家的大门 跟奶奶討要
绿叶簇拥着潔白的花瓣
浸泡在盛着井水的陶瓷饭碗
幽幽的清香环绕着我的童年

我的家鄉在哪裡
营盘街口上小小的餛饨店上哪兒了
奶奶曾拄着拐杖踮著三寸金蓮帶我去逛街
祖孙俩总是兴致勃勃大快朵颐唆完最后一口汤
和她老人家在一起的美滋美味让我终身难忘
那个東昇照相館呢
每逢节假日生日媽媽總帶著我和弟弟去照相
還有那兩間戲院-
小時候我坐在爸爸單車前一個藤編小座椅裡
他踏著那輛老鳳凰載著我 穿梭大街小巷
去城北銀宮看卓別林的“摩登時代”
十多年後我們興致勃勃各蹬各的自行車
奔向“羅馬假日”
那是我們父女俩在家
觀看的最後一場電影

我的家鄉在哪裡
我的家鄉在哪裡
雖然老街舊房紛紛消逝
但爸媽我留給我的一口鄉音
象那棵純正挺立 不朽的玉蘭
他們的根基給我勇氣去陌生國度闖蕩
前半輩子我分別居住在兩大國度 -
桑梓故土播種了我血肉
移植家園給我萌芽的自由蓋上永遠的郵章

我親愛的家鄉
妳在哪裡啊在哪裡
其實 妳一直
宿在我心裡
守在我身邊
地老天荒
海枯石爛

09/27/2019

Amy Glynn

Amy Glynn is an award-winning poet and essayist whose work appears widely in journals and anthologies including The Best American Poetry. Her first poetry collection, A Modern Herbal, was published in 2013 by Measure Press; her second, Romance Language, is forthcoming in early 2020. She has received the Carolyn Kizer Award from Poetry Northwest, the SPUR Award of the Association of Western Writers, two James Merrill House fellowships, and scholarships from the Bread Loaf and Sewanee Writers’ Conferences. She currently serves as Poet Laureate for the cities of Lafayette and Orinda, CA.

Amy featured in the Bay Area Poets Laureate Gathering & Public Reading on September 21, 2019, hosted by the San Mateo County Arts Commission and the San Mateo County Libraries.

Elise Kazanjian

Elise Kazanjian is a San Francisco poet/writer who spent her childhood in Tian Jin, China. Her poems and essays have appeared in Fog And Light: San Francisco Through The Eyes of the Poets Who Live Here (2021); Marin Poetry Center 2021 Anthology; New Millennium Writings; and the San Francisco Examiner among others. She has worked at Sunset Magazine; J.W. Thompson Advertising; KQED; CCTV, in Beijing, China; and as a pawnbroker. She is a judge, Prose Poem, Soul-Making Keats Literary Competition. She has a collection of over 100 fountain pens and mechanical pencils.

Poems on Belonging

NINE REASONS MY MOTHER INSISTED WE CARRY HANDKERCHIEFS

Because she wanted to protect us. 
Because to her they were suits of armor. 
Because they reminded of a time past.
Because they were pretty.

Old world romantic thinking fused her life, 
European customs instilled deep in memory.
She was in her early twenties when she married,
uprooted, moved to a foreign country. 

She brought familiar items with her to China, 
like handkerchiefs.  Because they must have given confidence 
coping with the unknown, a new language, 
new customs, new faces, new life.

She learned the language,
the customs, acquired new friends, 
adapted to what was required,
all under her code of decorum.

She asked the same thing every time we went out. 
Do you have a clean handkerchief?

My sister and I always said, Yes, knowing
she trusted us would never ask for proof.

Why was it so important? 
Because a handkerchief was 
a talisman akin to St. George’s shield,
no modern dragons could harm us if we had one.
 
Because handkerchiefs were the compass 
to navigate the hard times, provide solace
through despair, through bends in the road
when daily life was at sixes and sevens. 

Because the world would recognize the value
of what the French call politesse, 
on our collective journey through graciousness 
sailing through life unscathed. 
  
Because delicately embroidered violets on lace-embossed 
squares of dainty linen reminded her of an age
when honor, respect, dignity, 
were the essential cornerstones of society.        
.

TO AN UNKNOWN GRANDMOTHER

(For Elise Zadeyan Artinian)

You smile on the sepia photo, promise secrets unknown.
Elegant, slender, calm, you zero into my very being
your ample hair piled high frames a beautiful face, 
your long stylish dress adorned with French lace,
I can almost reach out and touch you. 

Born more than a century ago,
your name is gifted to me.
You are etched in my cells, in my blood.	
I strain to hear your voice
whispering through halls of memory.

Moved by art, literature, European culture,
ridiculed by your stern husband’s jealous sisters
underestimated in your acquired family
you never complained. Your quest for
knowledge, beauty never waned.

Talk to me, I beg. Tell me 
about those nine short years 
you had with my mother
before death claimed you at thirty three
pulled from the child you loved.

Talk to me, I beg. Tell me
all the things a grandmother knows.
Tell me what books you read, how you felt,
what you wrote, tell me about your life
in Istanbul, the city you called Constantinople.

Softly I dream your name.
Elise Zadeyan Artinian, a gentle benediction 
that blesses me and my Armenian soul.
Allow me entry into the rooms of your past.
Your shadowy-embrace nurtures my 86 years.
		
Take me on a journey, reminisce with me.
I want to try on your life like a new dress.
I want to savor you like a splendid dish,
and sate myself knowing I will 
never be lonely again.

Zoe Dorado

Zoe Dorado, hailing from Castro Valley, CA, is a 16-year-old spoken word poet and musician. Having played the drums for over eight years — exploring jazz, funk, and Afro-Cuban styles — she is interested in how rhythm and meter unfold themselves into poetry and the way storytelling integrates itself into different art forms. She is part of the Bayanihan Youth Group of Filipino Advocates for Justice, SPOKES — the youth advisory board of Youth Speaks, and is the 2021 Inaugural Youth Poet Laureate of Alameda County. As a poet, she has collaborated with the SEIU-UHW, creating poetry for healthcare workers; led poetry workshops for youth at the Filipinx Bay Area Cooperative Sama Sama; and has performed in San Francisco’s City Hall to her Lola’s kitchen. Her most recent work can be found in Brenda Art Magazine as well as in the Bigger Picture Project’s “Survival Pending Revolution” campaign — a poetry film collaboration between Youth Speaks and the UCSF Center for Vulnerable Populations advocating for vaccination in the fight against COVID-19, as well as the structural violence that allows this virus to disproportionately impact Filipino nurses like her mom and the health of our communities. As a Filipina-American, Zoe is excited to learn more about literature and music beyond the canon.

Poem on Belonging

IN A PARALLEL

After a conversation with Dad
where he tells me why he never learned Tagalog.

Maybe I imagined it before it happened 
Through the car ride back home

Homebody who traces the map back to wherever it came from 
As in I left this place but here I am

In the backseat
On a banka resting in some ocean

On the back of a tongue forgetting itself 
An itch that is given to you

Because how else to teach the kid 
You only have one in your mouth

What we spill is the shadow:
I don’t call him Tatay, just Dad

Remember though — the tension 
What’s needed to make a taut lineage

A rope to weave through a bloodline 
Thick enough to call itself here

Thin enough to apologize and say thank you 
As in I name myself an undoing

A mathematical proof 
Instinctive like

I am getting inside the car to reach something familiar 
The humming of a radio from another country

Remembered only because we keep trying to mimic its movement 
How waves can be more than just water

This string accelerated through the air by a hand 
Not mine

I don’t know which country I am referring to 
We are both becoming the spectacle stared at

A funhouse, really
A mirror doesn’t have to be poetic

I’m only looking out of habit 
Dad in the front seat

I am just the passenger
The third object is not the road

Not thinking about the time it took us to get here 
I am moving through this mythos

The body remembers
Because we’ve driven home before.

Though sometimes, a child pretends to be asleep 
I just want to be held

Though the driver does too, I think 
As in I’m sorry I keep you awake

But how else can I get you to not look away 
You know how this goes

Because we’ve driven home before 
The body remembers

I am moving through this mythos
Not thinking about the time it took us to get here

The third object is not the road 
I am just the passenger

Dad in the front seat
I’m only looking at you out of habit

A mirror doesn’t have to be poetic 
A funhouse

Really, we are both becoming the spectacle stared at 
I don’t know which country I am referring to

Not mine
This string accelerated through the air by a hand

How waves can be more than just water
Remembered only because we keep trying to mimic its movement

The humming of a radio from another country
I am getting inside the car to reach something familiar

Instinctive like
A mathematical proof

As in I name myself an undoing
Thin enough to apologize and say thank you

But thick enough to call itself here 
A rope to weave through a bloodline

What’s needed to make a taut lineage 
Remember though — the tension

I don’t call him Tatay, just Dad 
What we spill is the shadow:

You only have one in your mouth 
Because how else to teach the kid

The itch that is given to you
On the back of a tongue forgetting itself

On a banka resting in some ocean 
In the backseat

As in I left this place but here I am
Homebody who traces the map back to wherever it came from

Through the car ride back home
Maybe you imagined it before it happened

Watch Zoe perform her poem, “In a Parallel”.

Marta Olson

Marta Olson won first place in the Housing Leadership Council’s 2021 Youth Poetry Competition (6-12 category).

Poems on Belonging

IN THE PARK, 3 BLOCKS AWAY

The grass is wet under our feet as we run 
And it’s dark, so dark
We cannot see
Without the light of the absent moon

At the crest of the hill
We fall to the ground
Starfish on top of the world
Sweat and dew soaking our clothes

Everything is clean and crisp and clear 
The cold sinking into our bones
Deep enough to almost numb
But we’ve never felt so alive

The stars are barely visible
It’s never the perfect night
But you brought bread and apples 
A feast for us alone

We should have been home an hour ago 
But we’ve found a new one
In the park just up the street
Held fast in each other's arms

So we look down on the glowing city 
Ours that glitters in the night
We swear to never leave this home 
And wish to never grow up

THURSDAYS

The morning brings the chirp of keyboards and the clack of birds 
And my family of 5 to the kitchen for breakfast

The fridge is still broken and the milk is gone sour again 
So we celebrate with toast instead of cereal

And then off to work divided into rooms
Where we can still hear each other, just a little less

And it's perfect in an imperfect kind of way 
A house, alive, turned to a home.

NEIGHBORS

Sidewalks aren’t wide enough 
To stay distanced
So I usually walk in the street

And you would think 
All this extra space 
Would drive us apart

But I get more nods than I used to 
An occasional “hello”
A pleasant “Good afternoon!”

A small acknowledgment
That we are all in this together 
Holding on till summer

Now
When I leave my house 
It feels like home too

Julia Santos

Julia Santos is a finalist in the Housing Leadership Council’s 2021 Youth Poetry Competition (6-12 category).

Poem on Belonging

WHERE I’M FROM

I am from a two story pink house
From a place where there’s no neighbors and the lots filled with grass 
I am from a house filled with joy and happiness
And from a house full of adventures and challenges

I am from my lolo and lola
From where I learned to never hold grudges
I am from a place where I learned to always forgive
I am from a place that taught me to never be
scared and never give up
From where I learned na wag ka tumingin sa likod at baka ikaw ay matapilok.

I am from a house that taught me to be always happy.
I am from a place where A celebration to last throughout the years. 
From where I learned to always smile and laugh
at those moments where you felt down.

I am from a place where I learned to respect and love myself first
From a place that taught me to always put yourself first 
I am from a house where I learned that
You can’t love and respect someone 
if you can’t love and respect yourself
I am from a Filipino house.

Lena Hui

Lena Hui is a finalist in the Housing Leadership Council’s 2021 Youth Poetry Competition (6-12 category).

Poem on Belonging

COMING HOME

Home, sweet home
Trace the footsteps of those before.
Walk down the beaten road of the El Camino.
Think of those who fought for their freedom. 
Nourishing at home, the farmers marched for a day, 
hoping for a better generation, a better future.

Home, the sound of home
It empowers who fight for the freedom of home.
Walk the bridges of Golden and Bay,
Collecting the whispering words of those in Angel Island. 
Stitching the pieces of shattered dreams,
Quilt them back together with hopes and dreams.

Home, California dreamin’
Feel the pain of those striped their homes away
Walk the modern shopping mall of Tanforan
Let’s save souls of boys and girls waiting for a train to the camp 
Running away together for a world,
Build a strong community where people keep and protect their dignity

Home, oh, the guiding light
Let our souls fly free
Walk into the long narrow underground tunnel
Where people come together.
Looking up the North Star, they searched for the sign of hope 
Shared hopes and dreams make us stronger.

Working for the future generation to have a better home, a better world.

With our healed dreams, let us walk from San Diego to Sonoma. 
Our hearts, beating as one.

Hope to experience the freedom of Home.

Sarah Hansen

Sarah Hansen is an incoming junior who enjoys writing poetry in her free time. She also enjoys baking and playing with her dog. She was a featured reader in the 2019 Poetry & Community Concert at Burlingame Library. Her work has appeared in the Speak Poetry Vol. 1 anthology.

Poem on Belonging

POETRY IS SAN MATEO COUNTY

San Mateo County is poetry
San Mateo County writes poetry
speaks poetry
sings poetry
seeps poetry

San Mateo County is Brought
alive,
by poetry
because poetry is life
poetry is heart
and soul
poetry is passion
poetry is power
of words
poetry is spoken art
art, of words
of movements
Poetry is San Mateo County

Finley Brownstein

Finley Brownstein is a finalist in the Housing Leadership Council of San Mateo County’s 2021 Youth Poetry Competition (K-5), for his poem, “What Home Means To Me.”

Poem on Belonging

WHAT HOME MEANS TO ME

I have troubles and struggles during my day, but there is somewhere I know I can go, my home, a house is nice with air conditioning, a TV and other luxuries, some people just can’t wait to get home and get on their phone. But to me, a home isn't like that. To me, it’s not just the four walls and a roof, not the soft carpet and somewhere to rest, it's the people that live there, my family, and they are not just the people that make me feel better, they are my home, they are the brick and mortar the roof over my head, they are my resting place, when a member is out it's like a hole in the roof, one less shingle to block out the rain. One less person to ease my pain. When I fail to keep the house in tact, the walls crumble, but that's the time when I become their home, and apologize for the hurt I made them feel, I become the roof over their heads, I protect them, I block out the lightning and hail, I hold up my family, my roof, until they are strong, and together we work as a family, forming a home, a barrier blocking out the discomforts of the world.

Rachel Cronin

Rachel Cronin won first place in the Housing Leadership Council’s 2021 Youth Poetry Competition, K-5 category, for her poem, “All That Matters.”

Poem on Belonging

ALL THAT MATTERS

Home.
What is the meaning of home?
It’s a place where
you can Connect
you can Laugh
you can Express
you can Cry.
Home is the deepness in your heart
The shallows of your emotions
The positive thought of always belonging.
Your home holds your true self.
Your home holds your companions,
the companions that will stay with you for the rest of your life
whether you are close or far.
Home will leave joy.
Home will leave hope.
Home will leave fear.
Home will leave adventure.
Home will leave love.
Home is where you’ll want to go at the end of the day.
No matter what you are feeling or experiencing,
It will all flush away as you enter the comforting environment of home. Your home may be big
Your home may be small
But whether it’s a shack or a mansion
or even a place in your heart
all that matters is what it means to you.

Poems on Belonging

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Rachel is a contributor to the collaborative poem, “The Many Voices Word Karaoke”.