RogueAgent

Noeme Grace C. Tabor-Farjani talks about embodiment
and writing The Gospel of Grace

Please describe your journey toward writing poetry that reflects on the experience of living in the body. Have you always written this way, or did you come to it over time?

I think as we continue writing, we evolve along with our awareness of the self and our connection to our surroundings. My writings have always been an outpouring of everything that is contained in the self, or this body per se— memory, mainly and my abstractions of it. Although I noticed lately that my poems have more depth now as compared to my previous works as friends noticed it too. Maybe it goes with age and experience, but I have also discovered when I compared my process then and now is that writing poetry involves more than just metaphors of memory slithering through our hands that write. I mean, it was only when I learned to reconcile memory with presence—and I think that is total embodiment, where the relived experience is felt by the body, in the body, and made more real through the body in the present moment— I am able to produce poetry that is genuinely liberating, for me, that is. And I think that is how writing poetry becomes a redemptive act. We shift our awareness back to our body because everything— memory, even the forgetting and imagining, creating and recreating new realities occur here.

One of my favorite poems in the book is “Survival Guide,” a poem very much located in the body. Please say more about that particular poem—the process of writing it, what it means to you, anything you like.

“Survival Guide” is a product from my journal written back in 2014 during the second civil war in Libya. I polished it into a poem four years later, having gained a clearer perspective on that traumatic experience. It was first published in Hair-Raising, a charity anthology for MacMillan Cancer Support by Nine Pens Press, UK. It's quite remarkable that the title Hair-Raising which refers to the purpose of the anthology to raise hair for cancer patients, also points to the hair-raising experience that leads to the production of this poem.  

When we are engulfed by terror and the possibility of being killed, the senses heighten but are usually directed only to the body. Being on the verge of death made me more aware of my aliveness through my body and what I attach to it, in order to survive. That time, it was the head scarf. I wrote the story of our escape two days after we arrived in my sister in law's house in Zliten, a two-hour drive from Tripoli where the war was taking place. I never thought that the things my friend, Chris, said about checkpoints and hijab would actually happen to me (she actually said it as a joke while we're talking about the news and the unrest in the streets). The terror that I felt as I, my husband and our four small children then ages 8,7,4 and 10 months old drove away from the bombings and shelling and through checkpoints, was no joke. I had flashbacks of war movies I used to watch, and as I clung to my hijab which my infant kept on tugging, I remembered what Chris said.

I reread my journal five months after we arrived in my home country and started writing "the five phases of hijab". When there is nowhere to run to, when we are gripped with dread, the only thing one can do is to be still and confront the self. Someone said (I could not remember who exactly) that in order to win a war, one must surrender to a battle within. Three years later, I turned that narrative into a poem after realizing that despite the security my family's enjoying after fleeing that war, there are still inner conflicts that I must confront. So that piece speaks also of the battles we fight, for society and ourselves. The effects of our conformity or non-conformity to norms are manifested through our movements and choices. After all, survival depends upon the "self" that lives and moves and have its being through the body.

SURVIVAL GUIDE

Chris said, “When out in a Christian checkpoint, just make the
sign of the cross, with your hijab off, hanging just around the neck, but when nearing
a Muslim checkpoint, hurriedly put on hijab and say, “Assalamu Alaikum.”
In my head, I came up with “Five Phases of Hijab for non-Muslim Women”
in order to journey on smoothly and live. The first phase is the neck point
that is to be worn like a fashionable scarf around the neck. The second phase
is the half-head point, where it is worn lightly hanging over the head showing
strands of hair and/or ears, as preferred. Both “neck point” and “half-head point”
are not the prescribed hijab for Muslim women but a non-Muslim woman can
wear the hijab these ways in order to identify as non-Muslim in a moderately
conservative Muslim country. The third phase is the full-head point worn as a
hijab, covering the entire head and neck; the fourth phase is the face-point where
a niqab is worn covering the nose to mouth but eye area is clear. And the last and
final phase, is the sack-point where a burka is worn, a woman loosely mummified
in black, the eye area covered with mesh screen to see through. There are two
parts of the third phase: all black and colored. Married women in a conservative
area wear all-black while in cities and urbanized areas, the women can play
around with colors and textile designs. I wore the all-black hijab, travelling
to Zliten, almost wanting to go face-point because of fear.

Your work frequently references concepts like stillness, surrender, and flow. In what ways do you think this ability for the body to be still and surrender allows the creative process to emerge? What are some challenges you face in your creative process, and how do you get past them?

Whether it comes like an unexpected guest, or a memory that tugs at my sleeves, or children's footsteps in my head or I have to summon it out of the blank sheet that has been staring at me for the entire morning, the process always involves presence. This is the only way to be still, to surrender and then enter flow. I have to sit there and allow what needs to be birthed through me.

I learned stillness and surrender through a mindfulness practice that includes body movement, breathing exercises and meditation. It's amazing what "going inside" does to my entire being. It provides clarity through a sense of knowing the authentic self and that as a writer, I am conduit and container that needs cleaning every now and then. And for ideas to flow through me, I need to be still, unmoved by my surroundings while my contents (thought/memory) are being processed until it's ready to be solidified into the page. It is almost a meditative practice, but more fun because the mind gets to recreate realities and recycle trashy experiences into a treasury of wisdom.

I used to have no schedule for writing and just depend on the "muse" but inspiration can be tricky, like a line or thought appears when your hands could not write (dripping with soap suds or full of sticky bread dough). Sometimes I really have to stop what I am doing and then grab a pen or my phone and write the idea down. And there are times when I could not just do it. So, I decided to set a schedule: sleep early and wake up at 4, meditate and summon the words, the story, the poem. They always come, something always gets written because the first line, regardless of its quality, is the pathway for next lines. Part of "summoning" is creating that pathway. That means I simply must write. However, consistency is still a challenge, especially when it comes to editing, rewriting or revising. But writing is just like a day job. Nothing gets done if we don't show up. If I cannot write a poem, I write on my journal. Every single day. And I still call it work.

Please share with our readers a list of 5-10 books you think we should read right now.

These are a few books in my shelves (not all poetry) that I keep rereading for enjoyment, inspiration, and guidance:

1. Bright Dead Things- Ada Limon

2. Pain Woman Takes Your Keys and Other Essays- Sonya Huber

3. Night Sky with Exit Wounds- Ocean Vuong

4. Dear Ghosts, - Tess Gallagher

5. The Essential Rumi- translations by Coleman Barks w/John Moyne

6. Big Magic- Elizabeth Gilbert

7. Dusk, Night, Dawn- Anne Lamott (and many other Anne Lamott books)

Some Rogue Agent fans are just beginning to explore what making poetry about the body would look like for them. What advice would you give to someone looking for new ways to imagine embodiment, beyond the literally described experience of the body?

Our body is all we have and ever need in order to create, so the first advise I would give is to take good care of it. Make sure you are well and whole— body, mind and soul. Eat well, exercise, meditate, get sunlight, moonlight, consume healthy literature and do things that make you feel good. Then show up. Just write. And stick to a schedule that includes time for self-reflection and reading. Also, try to master the ego that wants perfection and control. Lastly, make friends with your body and get to know what the self is saying or wants to express through its parts- hair, wrinkles, liver spots, etc. and what the self wants you to remember through its movements— the kneeling, walking, seeing, cooking, scrubbing, etc. Pay attention and be gracious.

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