Review of new poetry collection<\/p>\n

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In summonings<\/em>, Indian American author Raena Shirali describes violence against women in rural India as \u201ccurrent & real.\u201d Her collection of docu-poems searches for the truth about modern-day witch hunts. She bases her poetry on actual events detailed in news and legal reports, first-person accounts, and nonfiction publications.  <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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The book focuses on occurrences within migrant communities on tea plantations. Colonial owners don\u2019t provide adequate living conditions and healthcare, so it works to their advantage when workers are distracted by beliefs that females contain destructive evil spirits that harm them. Droughts, illness, hunger? A witch must have created their misfortune.  <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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The village men complain that with the tea plantation system, they are \u201cnot in charge of much else.\u201d They feed on stories of evil female spirits with backward feet chewing out the hearts of husbands. Perhaps burning witches is an Indian male\u2019s version of cutting oneself to release emotional pain. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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What ties these acts of violence to women is that they are \u201cgrounded in profound misogyny.\u201d The parallels between India\u2019s and America\u2019s cultural norms and violent narratives fascinate the writer. In both democracies, which supposedly value equality, gang rape cases surge and men abuse women to maintain patriarchal order. Global experts identify India as the country where women are most at risk of sexual violence. The U.S. ranks third. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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The book opens with a poem in the voice of a murdered daayan<\/em>, an accused witch, in a community shuttered with superstition. About India, the author says, \u201chere, men wield village secrets \/ like weapons, catapult accusations \/ through the field. When children get sick, famine and floods strike, cattle die, the well dries up, men attack women.  <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Shirali sees herself, a single Indian American woman, telling a story \u201c\u2026to which I\u2019ll never know an end.\u201d She laments that women never teach each other how to escape from the accusations by the Ojhas<\/em>, community religious leaders with the power to trap daayan<\/em>.  <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Childless widows are most at risk; after their deaths, their land passes on to their closest male relative. In \u201cdaayan, feet facing forward,\u201d the poet writes from the point of view of an accused widow savoring life and determined not to die: \u201cthere\u2019s too much else out here \/ to love: the air smells bright; shells of pepper \/ twirl with abandon\u2026.\u201d Being alone means being in danger. The writer says, \u201cwithout warning, we turn on ourselves.\u201d She adds, \u201cI\u2019m telling you \/ all she did   was exist.\u201d  <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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The author speaks to women, asking them to resist destruction as a group and to remember the fallen. In \u201cthe voice of the accused,\u201d she says, \u201co goddess of lust & violence, I tire of trying to find peace. \/ I want to unleash. To unearth \/ rage, kali, we lived & our bodies were \/ trespassed. release us from this cage.\u201d Her anger rises like the mist over the tea fields. Shirali says, \u201ceven in such \/ privileged space \/ I\u2019ve seen \/ what men can do.\u201d  <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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In \u201cone red thread through the middle,\u201d the writer laments \u201cgovernments fully in the know \/ passing laws for the cow & laws for their gods \/ no space in between for a woman.\u201d She continues, \u201cI declare I\u2019m here \/ to investigate   but this field is one of ash….\u201d  <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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One section of the book is written as correspondence, addressed to others by their first initial or a blank. In the letters, the author wrestles with nightmares, mourns the women, and struggles to understand the brutality. Her obsession with the ghosts and her desire to understand where she fits on the continuum of witches drive her reflections. She wonders, \u201cwho is free\u2014& where\u2014to speak.\u201d Later Shirali says, I don\u2019t know why \/ my story matters, I don\u2019t know \/ why this story.\u201d She\u2019s not fully at home in either country, and she admits, \u201cpeace is illusion \/ everywhere\u201d but \u201cwomen are worth\u201d our own saving. The author is told to go home, that she\u2019s not safe in India, but she recognizes she\u2019s also not safe in America. \u201cI am foreign & so nothing has ever made sense. I\u2019m domestic & so expected to understand.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Unexpected imagery enhances her poems, like when she describes village men as a \u201cloose crescent approaching.\u201d Some of her repeated images are of fire, mud, sharp teeth, and white painted faces (the Hindu color of mourning). She also uses shifts in point of view, all-lowercase words, and placement of words on white space with great skill. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Throughout the collection, brackets indicate language from anthropological research, which can occasionally be intrusive. At the back of the book, summonings<\/em> contains end notes. They require much flipping back and forth from poetry to end pages, especially for readers unfamiliar with the culture; it would be helpful to include that information next to the poems. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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The end notes also include an extensive list of resources. The glossary was helpful, but a number of words unfamiliar to English-speaking readers were not included. Even English words may have multiple meanings. \u201cAuspicious,\u201d a word defined as \u201cfavorable or being given a sign of success,\u201d may have another layer of meaning in India, one we can\u2019t fully translate, as suggested when the author says, \u201causpicious, auspicious \/ that the sun won\u2019t come.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Anger fuels Shirali\u2019s words in \u201ccoldplay goes to india during holi.\u201d Cultural appropriation in a world where Indians are in the background, \u201can extra in someone else\u2019s weekend,\u201d infuriates her. Her last line reads, \u201cromance something of your own.\u201d She admits, \u201canger is a form of grief.\u201d In her final poem, the author says, \u201cI won\u2019t rid this book \/ of our lives, this poem is about \/ recognition.\u201d She hopes for a world where \u201cno one follows us home.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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