#hidden #piece #paper #Conversation #poet #Lubi #Barri #Article
Poet, writer and curator Lubi Barre was born in Paris, spent her childhood in Somalia and the United States of America (USA). Her works are included in the anthology “My Old Man” published by “Cannongate Books”, her poetry has been published in German in the poetry collection “Here and There” by “Punctum Verlag”, as well as in the anthology “Kontinentaldrift: Das Schwarze Europa”. Barre will visit Latvia from April 24 to 27, at the third international poetry festival “Page Break”, which will take place in Jelgava. A conversation with the writer about belonging, motherhood and independent thinking.
Zane Kazbuće: What prompted you to start writing?
Likes Barre: I think it was the language for me. English is not my native language – it is a language I learned as a third language while living in Somalia. It gave me the freedom to express myself outside of my culture. Often the native language has limitations, so everything is viewed through the prism of that culture.
And as a young girl, I was very curious about what was outside of those cultural parameters. Learning English made me feel like I could dream and think in my own voice. In a voice that was not nurtured in my culture. My culture defined how a young girl should live and be. I found a kind of escape in another language and just fell in love with it. It was very surprising because the English language itself is very flexible – it allows anyone from anywhere to manipulate it and use it in their own unique way. I believe that this is exactly how this language works in my case – as a portal to myself and a connection to the world that was outside the one in which I lived and was born.
In a way, I started writing to write a way out for myself.
In your work, you address themes such as family, belonging and identity. Can you talk more about these aspects and why these topics are relevant to you?
My whole life is about trying to understand myself and others – and understanding others in order to understand myself. I have a strong cultural “wound” of sorts, probably from my upbringing. I’m privileged but traumatized at the same time, which I think is a rare combination because it’s usually one or the other, or maybe people don’t tend to make that connection. I come from East Africa – Somalia, where people are like “ethnic islands in a sea of differences”. Everyone around us is very different, heterogeneous, but we are homogeneous – with one language, religion and even a similar appearance. Everyone is the same, and therefore everyone has only one way to be, but I wanted to explore what it was like to be outside of that heavy uniformity. It has a lot to do with family and belonging.
Family is a huge heavy stone, just like culture – it offers a community, but what if you don’t feel like you belong to this community?
I started thinking about having kids later in life and how to teach them something I’m still trying to understand, like who am I? And how to teach children something that I don’t feel like myself? And then I understood the meaning of breaking the generational trauma – to break everything that has hurt my generational line and do things differently. This is something I was not taught and am still learning. And these are questions that I solve not only with myself, but also with my children.
All your works are very personal. So I want to ask – what do you learn from writing?
I learn everything. I learn in the truest way because no human being, even a friend you trust deeply, can provide feedback like a piece of paper can. You can’t hide anything from it – it’s just there, it’s your truest mirror, and no one but children can imitate it. If I have doubts, I write them down on paper and come back to them later. Thus, I grow because I see what I have thought, how I have felt and what happened. You have to be honest, you shouldn’t self-edit yourself. People sometimes lie to themselves, but when it happens, the paper shows it because the questions arise – “Did I really think that? Why did I write it that way?”
If you are honest on the page, if you write all your worst things, your deepest fears, your biggest truths, it will answer all you need.
And I think that as much as I love my friends and family, they can’t give me that kind of feedback, they can give me something else that’s valuable, and they can provide a filter through their own experiences, which is also very important . But they cannot give me the mirror and the lessons that I need to learn for myself. A sheet of paper can do this.
Thus, this piece of paper also gives some freedom.
And courage. Courage gives me freedom, it gives me creativity and imagination. But freedom is still the right word, because I can think as wide or as narrow as I want, and I can imagine what I want, and no one criticizes me, no one tries to push or push me in a different way. Freedom is what I have longed for since childhood. I was raised in one particular way. Can you imagine your curiosity being viewed as a negative thing instead of a form of intelligence? Because curiosity is the killer of homogeneity – “you shouldn’t be curious, you should follow what everyone is doing or saying”.
Freedom and independence are very strong values for me. And that’s what I get out of writing.
What is it that has influenced your creativity and left an imprint on your writing?
When I was young, I was not in tune with myself and did everything to avoid introspection – even when I was writing. I was closely connected with others, and in a way I grew up through others. I studied anthropology because I really like people, cultures and languages and I always wanted to see a different perspective because the world is so big and yet we are so connected. And as cliché as it sounds, I am inspired by my children. I have a very close relationship with my children, and I try very hard to keep it that way, because I myself did not have such a close relationship with my parents. I write a lot through the perspective of my children. I tell them about how I grew up, and it’s like a piece of paper – they only have what I tell them. It’s like my inner child is talking to them.
And that’s what parenting is all about, if you’re brave enough. You sit at the table between your real child and your inner child and discuss topics such as healing and growth.
And you, as a parent, are just trying to keep the conversation going. That’s why my children are a huge source of inspiration – to understand and pay attention to your own inner child for the first time in your life. As a writer, I am very preoccupied with the past, and it is important for me to grow.
He likes barre
Photo: Nico Scagliarini
You said you write through the perspective of your children. Can you elaborate on how this happens?
I go back to who I was as a child and who I have been for the last 40 years through my children’s view of me. We have a lot of discussions and even though they are young they are able to sit and talk. Sometimes these are deliberate conversations, but more often when we do something together. For example, I have read to them since birth and reading is a big and very important part – I read them stories every night. And once I realized that I don’t remember that anyone had ever read me a story from a book. And when I said it out loud, they were shocked, because they never see me without a book, they said, “What? That’s strange! How can that be?” Because ours [somāliešu] culture is an oral culture, and we have stories, after all, we are called a nation of poets. We talk and tell stories all the time, but it’s never been like sitting down with a book, looking at pictures, and reading. I remember reading to myself alone and then gradually to others. In this way, returning to my childhood and thinking about what it means, I work on my stories. I seem to have found a way to access my past in an interesting way, as I try to change my present and future, and I do it with my children.
An aspect of your personal life like becoming a mother has given you a whole new perspective.
Yes, and of course it is also a big challenge. One of my children is very, very sensitive. It’s hard for me to deal with at times because I get offended by simple things like crying. And then I realize that I have to apologize to him and tell him that I reacted the wrong way, and it’s because I kept quiet all my childhood. I talked back but never showed any emotion.
Showing emotions is not allowed in our culture. The only ones allowed are joy and maybe anger, but sadness – it could only be expressed behind closed doors – it was something I did in the shower.
I never needed anyone, or maybe I hid it so well and was afraid to show it because I knew my emotional needs wouldn’t be heard. And I have a child who is the complete opposite – free to be who he is and safe enough to be. I should have been like that too, but that’s the result of upbringing. Such things are very interesting to study. I take being a mother very seriously – I’m not the best, and my children know it, I’m only human – I’m not afraid to cry in front of them. They need to understand that I am not superhuman. Stories and awareness like this take a lot of time and a lot of me because it’s like real-time healing in a way, and when you have kids, you have to deal with that all the time. And then you see how easy it is to not work on anything and just follow the given rules. That’s what my parents did, and that’s the culture. But everyone has to think for themselves, and that’s what I teach my children. I asked them, “What are you thinking? What are you feeling?” It’s so important to hear that voice inside, but I, for one, was told to suppress it. That’s what I always stand for in any society and culture – let people think for themselves. In both religious and political cultures, independent thinking is the enemy. If I were to say, for example, that I’m not a religious person in my culture, I would be condemned – it’s a way to suppress and make everyone the same. It really worries me because if I think for myself and come to the same decision, that’s fine, but give me a chance, let me. Why should there be such resistance?
Do you think motherhood is talked about enough, and is it something a woman can be ready for?
I think women are never ready for that.
Culture and religion tell us about motherhood, but no one tells us what it really means – how much it shakes up your life and how opposite it is to what you were taught to be.
My father always told me to be independent and not rely on him, but when you get married and have children, they actually tell you that you should still rely on your husband and do this and that. And where is what I was taught – what is the opposite of motherhood? And I think we as women need to talk about it. That’s why I’m very honest with people who don’t have children. I tell them there isn’t just one way to be a mother. I don’t believe in the nuclear family because historically that’s not how we’ve raised children. A family where there is a man and a woman and all the pressure is on these two people is something that has developed over the last 100 years. And no matter how independent you are and what you think, the moment you get married and have kids, you fall into these gender roles because that’s what society and the government have set, and what your friends have set up. But historically we have always raised our children in communities and groups, it has not been the responsibility of two people separated from the family. And it is often the case that in this nuclear family, the woman is the one who remains in the role of loser.
I am a single mother, and when I chose to divorce and become one, it was the first time in my life that I gained autonomy and independence.
As hard as it is, it’s my decision and I can’t see it any other way. But that would be another separate conversation.
I want to ask about another aspect of your activity – you are a co-organizer of reading cycles in which international poets, writers and artists participate. And you’ve talked about the language challenges that English speakers face living in Germany. Can you tell us a little bit more about that?
Germany presents itself as a country with no migrant history – it is supposedly hidden through language, culture and rules, but in reality it is full of immigrants and was built with the help of migrants. In this country, everyone must speak German. If you’re a refugee and you come here, you can’t work until you learn the language, which is good in some ways, but at the same time, language can be learned in the workplace and learned by using it. People should not be allowed to sit idle for three to six months while they learn a language so different from their own. And because I’m an English-speaking person in Germany, everything I do in my work – I open doors for people who speak other languages, especially English. I create a series of readings where I also include English-speaking artists and writers to make these readings more diverse.
Diversity in Germany is simply a sticker. They like to brag that they support diversity and inclusion, but they really don’t.
They want diversity only for appearance, and for that purpose they hire you in institutions, and for the very same thing they hire you for, they condemn you for it. And once you’re there, you better act like everyone else in this institution, because they don’t want to change anything, they just want you there. I have lived in different cultures and countries, this is my fourth, so I live and breathe diversity in everything I do. It is very important to me and I talk about it all the time, but the institutions here are very old and they are not interested in changing them. They teach children here the same way they taught 70 years ago. How can you be proud of that? And, for example, a small aspect like the use of slang – I see that people of my generation, who are a little older than me, have used the same slang that my children use. This means there is no movement or growth. For example, slang in the US is huge and it changes very fast – new words have appeared in six months and I don’t understand what young people are saying anymore. This is an indicator of a dynamic and open culture.
How are you looking forward to visiting Latvia?
I am very happy about the opportunity to come to Latvia, I have never been to the Baltic countries, so I am pleasantly excited. I will be very curious – I will want to get to know everyone, talk, talk about thoughts and feelings, and how you make coffee and tea. I am extremely grateful to have been invited and look forward to this trip.
I met a Latvian woman in London, and I’m still looking for her. Her name is Krista Vanamolder. Maybe you can post this and if she is around I would love to meet her.
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CONTEXT:
From April 24 to 27, the 3rd international poetry festival “Page Break” will be held in Jelgava, gathering authors known in the international poetry scene and offering a wide range of poetry events.
The festival will start on April 24 at 19.00 with a poetry walk in the city – poetry readings will be held at Jelgava St. In the courtyard of the Trinity Church, Post Island and at the Lookout Tower on Castle Island.
Poetry readings will take place on April 25 and 26 at 6 p.m. at the Jelgava House of Culture, while on April 26 at 4 p.m. those interested in poetry are invited to a round table discussion at the Jelgava House of Culture.
The festival will end on April 27, when at 18.00 there will be a poetry concert in the Jelgava Culture House, with the participation of all festival participants. This event will mix poetry readings with contemporary jazz music improvisations performed by Sven Wilson (guitar), Tom Mikal (keyboards), Tom Posch (bass) and Rudolf Dankfeld (percussion).
All mentioned festival events can be visited without entrance fee.
