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Melissa Ferrer Civil performs "We, The People" | Black Queer Voices in Spoken Word
June 20, 2024
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<p class="text-size-medium">In recognition and celebration of both Pride Month and Juneteenth, FAI spotlights the work of three black, queer poets and spoken-word artists: Fanta Ballo (she/her), Melissa Ferrer Civil (she/they), and Win Frederick (she/they).</p>
<p class="text-size-medium">Today, we listen to "We, The People" by Melissa Ferrer Civil.</p>
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<h2 class="heading-style-h4">What is Spoken Word?</h2>
Poetry and spoken word traditions are as ancient as storytelling itself, but modern spoken word comes from the 50’s Beat Generation poets and the 60’s Black Arts Movement (see these great articles from Smithsonian Folkways and FolkWorks for more history), with vocal cadences and rhythmic conventions rooted in African musical tradition. And like the banjo, rock n roll, jazz, rap, and so many of our global musical traditions and cultural staples, we must continue to acknowledge and honor historically erased African roots.
So, what sets the art of spoken word apart from poetry? Spoken word is spoken, of course! The rhythm and energy of each performance transforms the feeling of the writing, the same way phrasing, dynamics, and melody change the feeling of a song.
We’ve asked each writer to perform a work of their choice. Check out each performance, read about their process and experience below, and support and connect!
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We, The People
for Palestine, for Haiti, for The Congo, for Sudan, etc ….
Captivity reaches
its peak
in the mountains and foothills.
The buyers lust
after blood.
So we keep up.
How many deaths
to feel fed?
We rest
on our new technologies
our chocolate, our cards,
our cocaine. We
require experimentation,
vetoed bodies.
The rot
in our smiles stink
We dry
our tears with soft linen.
Our bellies
jiggle
with our sobs. We wail
for reasons
and come up invisible before the mirror
of this world.
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Q&A
<p class="text-style-muted text-size-medium">Can you tell us, who are you, where are you from, what do you do?</p>
Hey! My name is Melissa Ferrer Civil and I’m the first poet laureate of Kansas City, MO. I go by she/they pronouns. And I’m obsessed with finding home. Not just for myself but for those outliers, outcasts, and exiles. To that end, in addition to writing and performing, I also run an arts and organizing publicly funded event series called A Nation In Exile. We put on arts experiences in partnership with social justice and community building organizations in order to call people home — right where they are! Coming home is a labor of love, a journey that I believe that we all must take.
<p class="text-style-muted text-size-medium">Can you describe your writing process for us?</p>
My writing process is more like spiritual possession. Lol. I get moved by a notion, a line, an experience that feels profound, like it has multiple layers — like the ground — and then the poetry just comes flowing out. Just begging to be witnessed. And then I spend sometime in the playground of language — crafting the poem's intricacies as I am invited deeper into its profundity through the process of revision!
<p class="text-style-muted text-size-medium">Do you have any new projects or work you’d like to share with us?</p>
Hmm. New projects. Earnestly each day is a new project. The work of life itself is a creative one of exploration, curiosity and discovery. And I love to share it with anyone who I meet! In addition to that abstraction lol, ANIE (A Nation In Exile) has a month-long arts exhibit with five nights of programming coming up! The exhibit (and programming) will feature art from currently and formerly incarcerated artists and their loved ones. With this event we are looking to have discussions surrounding exile from the perspective of incarcerated individuals and dream up new worlds free from carcerality and inundated with restoration.
<p class="text-style-muted text-size-medium">Who should we be listening to or paying attention to right now?</p>
Ooooh! I love the question of recommendations. There are two novels that just came out that everyone should read: MARTYR by Kaveh Akbar and OURS by Phillip B. Williams. If you are looking to change your perspective on what’s possible I highly recommend these novels. I’m currently reading SEE NO STRANGER: A MEMOIR AND MANIFESTO OF REVOLUTIONARY LOVE by Valarie Kaur and that book is transforming me from the inside out. I have a personal playlist that can be found on Spotify called “Sharing The Medicine” and I curate this playlist to have an archive of songs that heal. So definitely look into that—it’s got a little bit of everything! 😊 and if you haven’t watched the TV show “This Is Us” yet. I recommend you get on that for healthy dose of a reminder of the human experience.
<p class="text-style-muted text-size-medium">I’ve had the pleasure of hearing you read IRL, and I can’t help but hear your voice even reading it alone. The rhythm that drives your delivery and tone is such a special part of experiencing your work. Most of our community is made up of singer-songwriters, and you’re probably familiar with this idea – there’s always a part of the song that’s so important to nail, or that you treat with sensitivity: the high notes, the build up, the emotional climax, the end. “We, The People” has no shortage of impactful moments. But I wonder, is there a spot where your delivery feels especially important when you’re performing?</p>
Yeah, that’s a really good question. In poetry we call that spot “the heat” of the poem. And for me, in the midst of all the imagery that this poem contains, I think the heat really lives in the line: “So we keep up.” I think it’s important for me to deliver that line in a way that is cutting and succinct because in this poem I’m truly bringing an indictment upon the reader, and myself, as speaker of the poem. It’s a call to accountability — and a deeply revelatory statement about how we live our lives and what guides our collective decisions. It’s a commitment to never become comfortable with ourselves, even as we make sustainable life choices, because the truth is we are still complicit in a violent society and institution.
<p class="text-style-muted text-size-medium">This year, you were named Kansas City’s first poet laureate. The title of poet laureate is is an official designation that holds great historic significance: it’s a recognition, by a government or institution, of poetic excellence, importance, achievement. It’s also a centuries-old tradition. This piece (correct me if I’m wrong), speaks to violence carried out by governments – not unlike so many great works before it, especially in folk. But what is it like to hold this official designation while at the same time writing work like this?</p>
😅 This question is getting to a tension that I continually hold every time I make a public appearance, post-appointment. Somewhere, whether in the air or in myself, there is always the invitation to compromise my sincere and honest perspective for the sake of what is more palatable as a public figure. But to be a true servant of the people, one must stay rooted in the truth. We know this as we learn to love the people in our lives. No one grows well from dishonesty. Your silence can be the greatest violence. You need to tell your loved one about the booger in their nose, the spinach in their teeth, and the crooked crown atop their head. Truly, my role as the poet laureate, is only a confirmation of the work I’ve been doing as a poet — which is simply telling the truth. And uncovering the hidden places that make us unwell — to let the light do it’s healing work. If I abandon that because of this appointment — well I don’t deserve it in the first place.
<p class="text-style-muted text-size-medium">My favorite lines from this piece: “We require experimentation, vetoed bodies.” and “The rot in our smiles stink.” Can you uncover a bit about these lines (or any from this piece)? Not just their meaning, but how you’re crafting them? Do you remember any edits or intentions that had a great impact on their feel?</p>
Oh yes! Those lines are some of my favorite as well! I actually had my mentor, the great Angel Nafis, help me to pack the tension in these lines through the process of cutting away. This may be telling on myself 😅 haha, but I honestly have a problem with over explaining things in my poems and Angel and I have worked the deep spiritual work of getting to the root of that problem. The reason the lines hit so hard is because I let the images live on their own without any qualifiers for what they mean. You don’t know what the rot in our smiles stink of but you can smell it and get a sense of what it’s alluding to. In this way, writing and editing this poem was a practice in learning to trust my reader to be able pick up what I’m laying down without holding their hand the whole way there.
The lines “we / require experimentation, / vetoed bodies” is actually alluding to some research that I’ve been doing. I read this book of poems last year called “MEND” by Kwoya Fagin Maples (look it up) and I was struck by the harsh reality that almost every “innovative” discovery we’ve made in this society came at the cost of human life and human suffering. That discovery stands to be foundational for my rejection of the empire and it’s high cost that it takes to continue. Which is what this whole poem is about. Do you know how many people are suffering so that we can live a life of convenience? Do you know how our souls are suffering due to that convenient life we live?
Support and Connect!
You can find Melissa Ferrer Civil through the links below:
Website • Instagram • YouTube • SoundCloud • Twitter/X • LinkedIn
