Poem of the Week: 7.13.23
"A favela no museu" by Ricky Novaes de Oliveira
A FAVELA NO MUSEU
by Ricky Novaes de Oliveira
At the museum, we are out of gestures Maintenance remains a sustainable catastrophe Landscapes a technicolor bay an empty stadium a favela behind a sturdy pane Whispers help me, tourist to die rich in peace It's the same—everything The present an open box bare, barren, bountiful The gift already opened coração—organ of order—cropped Curators and customers frame superior equaling the suffering people the withdrawn energy Justifications for the glass
Greetings from São Paulo, Brasil! 🇧🇷
I wrote this poem while visiting the Museu de Arte Contemporânea da Universidade de São Paulo (aka MAC-USP). Art museums are a place of inspiration for my writing; not only does the abundance of art fuel my creative process, but also there are plenty of words to steal.
Titles, texts, translations.
Signs, menus, diagrams.
And (my favorite) the overly-academic and all-too-artsy labels beside the artworks.
Art museums are second only to libraries in the volume of words they hold! (More or less.) Yet, these words are often glossed over, ignored in favor of the art on display. So I love to take these words, rearrange and reconfigure them, and produce poems that perhaps will move the represented ideas outside of the confines of the museum and into the outside world.
“A favela no museu” (or The slum in the museum) is a poem comprised of many words I found in and around MAC-USP. Some of the words are found within the artwork on display (“help me” and “tourist”). Some of the words were on the aforementioned labels (“coração” and “equaling”). Some of the words were translations but more probably mistranslations (my Portuguese is middle school at best). Put all this together and you get a poem that is part ekphrasis, and another part meditation on the museum as a liminal space between academia and action. And not quite either.
One technical aspect I’ll point out—the lack of punctuation. I generally don’t care for periods in a lot of my poetry: unless they are purposeful, periods are too final. On one hand, I did this to bolster a theme of free association, as that is what art inspires in me. On the other hand, I enjoy how the lack of punctuation removes the logic of ends and beginings from reading. One line feeds into the other, often demanding a rereading or loop-making. Similar to the feeling of gazing at contemporary art. There’s a criticism there, but it’s abstract; there may be beauty here, but it depends on how you look (and who is looking).
Before I sign off, thanks to everyone who helped me write last week’s poem! Version A had the most votes, and I received a lot of lovely comments (shoutout to SPH, HNDO, and KM) that are helping me to think through what is next for that poem. I endlessly appreciate everyone who reads, interacts, and perceives my writing. <3
Abraços, Ricky