Trailblazer Contest, 2023

Honoured to have the following concrete work selected in the tanka/kyoka category as one of three finalists (longlisted from 99 entries) in this "contest without winners"! My thanks to the judging panel for their selection and insightful comments below...

Comments from the Judging Panel: Hemapriya Chellapan, Kat Lehmann, Shloka Shankar, Richa Sharma, and Robin Anna Smith

It would not be an understatement to note that this concrete tanka puzzled and intrigued us the most at first glance. We felt like detectives trying to piece together the almost asemic-like marks in red until one of the panelists pointed us in the right direction; the marks are commonly used in proofreading. Here, the marks denote:

INSERT / CAPITALIZE / CLOSE THE GAP / DELETE / LOWERCASE / NEW PARAGRAPH / TRANSPOSE

The shape of the tanka mimics that of welling cutting pliers, commonly used for marking and trimming the meat in livestock such as pigs, goats, and cattle. If the poem were to be presented in the traditional s/l/s/l/l format, it would look something like this:

welling cuts

there is nothing left

to say to her

that hasn't already

been said . . .

Instead, the poet has chosen to create clusters of two, three, and four lines respectively, to show the biting action of the "cuts." This could be interpreted as an abusive relationship, perhaps between a mother and a daughter, on the brink of a complete breakdown in communication. As another panelist noted, the marks add to the sense of panic or mental confusion experienced by the persona. In this context, it would be interesting to look at the wordplay of "welling," used as a noun and verb here, causing them to emotionally "well up." They are constantly walking on eggshells, trying to watch what they say, but it doesn't matter—everything they say is turned against them, leading to an impasse. When the same fights are picked or triggered repeatedly, the responses become verbatim and, unfortunately, one starts to predict the next likely barb coming one's way. The deliberate choice to place the ellipsis at the end and not after "welling cuts" shows the resignation of the poet's persona.

This was one of the stronger tanka entries we received and is trailblazing for the risks it takes, both visually and conceptually.

Interview with me:

What inspired the poem?

I am inspired to write experimental poems rooted in trauma-based life experiences and news events, and this kyoka/tanka is an example of that practice.

What was your process for writing it?

The poem revolves around word association and the asemic-like structure of proofreading marks. Their colour is reminiscent of welling blood, and the marks resemble the varied shapes of physical wounds and scars. I chose to use ragged lines to emphasize this aspect, and the uneven blocks of words represent the way humans are inclined to compartmentalize overwhelming emotions. I think we have a tendency to edit trauma into bite-sized portions so that it becomes more easily digestible. If one is repeatedly subjected to emotional or physical abuse, the senses often become numbed as a coping mechanism. The second block of words can be taken literally or metaphorically, and the third block is meant to be ambiguous. The ellipsis at the end of the poem indicates resignation and it is a concrete visualization of the knowledge that there are more "cuts" to come.

cuts 1: emotional abuse

• cutting comments meant to inflict maximum pain
• cutting people out of one's life
• cutting/ignoring others

cuts 2: physical abuse

• human-to-human: using torture during war, the escalation of world and domestic violence
• human-to-animal: using marking pliers to identify livestock, and the animal cruelty practices common in the production of our food
• human-to-self: I was reminded of a friend who slit her wrists and the fact that cutting is particularly prevalent among teen girls.

cuts 3: writers' tools

• cutting words: a short-form poetry technique
• cutting: editing a writer's work ("kill your darlings")

How do you think the poem helps to push the boundaries of or contributes to the genre?

I hope the content and shape of this poem might encourage other writers to incorporate non-conventional visuals into their work, thereby extending the limits of the form, and broadening our idea of what is deemed to be suitable content.

What other forms, formats, or iterations did you consider, and why do you think the poem had to be written this way?

Though the initial poem was written as presented in the commentary, I quickly realized that this format was not challenging enough, and that it did not contain the gravitas for which I was striving.

Is there anything else you want to share about the poem or your writing practice?

I'd like to thank the panel for selecting this poem and for their thought-provoking, astute, and encouraging commentary.

I make art and write a little something every day, whether my muse is visiting or not, because I know the process will ultimately be cathartic, healing, and inspirational for me! This daily practice is a vital tool in helping to mitigate the isolating effects of chronic illness.

I was also delighted to discover that the following concrete work was longlisted from 314 entries in the haiku/senryu category, even though it was not ultimately selected as one of the 13 finalists: