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Photo credit: Martin Bentsen as posted on https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/aimee-nezhukumatathil
Aimee Nezhukumatathil was born in Chicago to a Filipina mother and South Indian father. She draws upon her Filipina and Malayali Indian background to give her perspective on love, loss, and land. She earned her BA and MFA from the Ohio State University and was a Diane Middlebrook Poetry Fellow at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. She is the author of Miracle Fruit (2003), winner of the ForeWord Magazine Poetry Book of the Year and the Global Filipino Literary Award; At the Drive-In Volcano (2007), winner of the Balcones Prize; Lucky Fish (2011); and Oceanic (2018).
Live Readings
Live Readings
Poems
Poems
I Could Be a Whale Shark
Bolinao, Philippines
I am worried about tentacles.How you can still get stungeven if the jelly arm disconnectsfrom the bell. My husbandswims without me—fartherout to sea than I would like,buoyed by salt and rind of kelp.I am worried if I step too farinto the China Sea, my babywill slow the beautiful kickshe has just begun since we landed.The quickening, they call it, but all I am is slow, a moon jellyfloating like a bag in the sea.Or a whale shark. Yes—I could bea whale shark, newly spottedwith moles from the pregnancy—my wide mouth always opento eat and eat with a look that saysSurprise! Did I eat that much?When I sleep, I am a flutefish,just lying there, swaying backand forth among the kelpy messof sheets. You can see the wetof my dark eye awake, awake. My husband is a pale blur near the horizon, full of adoboand not waiting thirty minutes before swimming. He is freeand waves at me as he backstrokespast. This is how he preparesfor fatherhood. Such tendernessstill lingers in the air: the Romanpoet Virgil gave his pet flythe most lavish funeral, completewith meat feast and barrels of oaky wine. You can never knowwhere or why you heara humming on this soft earth.-from Oceanic (2018)
Bolinao, Philippines
I am worried about tentacles.How you can still get stungeven if the jelly arm disconnectsfrom the bell. My husbandswims without me—fartherout to sea than I would like,buoyed by salt and rind of kelp.I am worried if I step too farinto the China Sea, my babywill slow the beautiful kickshe has just begun since we landed.The quickening, they call it, but all I am is slow, a moon jellyfloating like a bag in the sea.Or a whale shark. Yes—I could bea whale shark, newly spottedwith moles from the pregnancy—my wide mouth always opento eat and eat with a look that saysSurprise! Did I eat that much?When I sleep, I am a flutefish,just lying there, swaying backand forth among the kelpy messof sheets. You can see the wetof my dark eye awake, awake. My husband is a pale blur near the horizon, full of adoboand not waiting thirty minutes before swimming. He is freeand waves at me as he backstrokespast. This is how he preparesfor fatherhood. Such tendernessstill lingers in the air: the Romanpoet Virgil gave his pet flythe most lavish funeral, completewith meat feast and barrels of oaky wine. You can never knowwhere or why you heara humming on this soft earth.-from Oceanic (2018)
Dear Amy Nehzooukammyatootill,
(a found poem, composed entirely of e-mails from various high school students)
If I were to ask you a question about your bookand sum it up into one word it would be, Why?I think I like Walt Whitman better than you. I just don'tget literature, but for a fast hour and a half read, your book takes the cake. I like how you organized the linesin that one poem to represent a growing twisting bonsai tree.Are you going to get a rude reaction when you meetthat one guy in that one poem? I guess you never know. You are very young to be a poet. I also like how your poems takeup an entire page (it makes our reading assignment go faster).In class we spend so much time dissecting your poemsand then deeply analyzing them. I think I like Walt Whitman better than you, but don’t take offense—you are very good too!You are young, You are young and pure and really just wantto have a good time. Thank you we have taken a debateand you are a far better poet than Walt Whitman. And I loved how your poems were easy to read and understand. Hellomy name is Alicia. We read you book and I just loved it.We also read Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. Therewas no competition there. I liked your book a whole lot better. It was an easy read. But poetry is not my favorite typeof literature. Sometimes I am offered drinks and guystry to talk to me but I too just brush it off and keep dancing.Every once and a while the creepy mean guys try to offer you things and then they say something. What would you do?Lastly, I was wondering if you ever wrote a poem that reallydidn’t have a deeper meaning but everyone still triedto give it one anyways? Walt Whitman is better than you.
-from Lucky Fish (2011)
(a found poem, composed entirely of e-mails from various high school students)
If I were to ask you a question about your bookand sum it up into one word it would be, Why?I think I like Walt Whitman better than you. I just don'tget literature, but for a fast hour and a half read, your book takes the cake. I like how you organized the linesin that one poem to represent a growing twisting bonsai tree.Are you going to get a rude reaction when you meetthat one guy in that one poem? I guess you never know. You are very young to be a poet. I also like how your poems takeup an entire page (it makes our reading assignment go faster).In class we spend so much time dissecting your poemsand then deeply analyzing them. I think I like Walt Whitman better than you, but don’t take offense—you are very good too!You are young, You are young and pure and really just wantto have a good time. Thank you we have taken a debateand you are a far better poet than Walt Whitman. And I loved how your poems were easy to read and understand. Hellomy name is Alicia. We read you book and I just loved it.We also read Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. Therewas no competition there. I liked your book a whole lot better. It was an easy read. But poetry is not my favorite typeof literature. Sometimes I am offered drinks and guystry to talk to me but I too just brush it off and keep dancing.Every once and a while the creepy mean guys try to offer you things and then they say something. What would you do?Lastly, I was wondering if you ever wrote a poem that reallydidn’t have a deeper meaning but everyone still triedto give it one anyways? Walt Whitman is better than you.
-from Lucky Fish (2011)
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