 Hello, my name is Ed Barrett, and I direct the William Corbett Poetry Series at MIT, sponsored by the Comparative Media Studies and Writing Program at MIT. And tonight, we are here to happily celebrate a new anthology of poems by six current and former MIT women students entitled, Our Ancestors Did Not Breathe This Air. Our guest host for this evening is Indran Amirthana Yagam. Indran is a multilingual poet, essayist, translator, author of over 20 books of poetry, and editor of the Beltway Poetry Quarterly. Indran worked with the six poets you will hear tonight as they put together the anthology of their poems, which we're very, very happily celebrating. Indran, welcome, and I will now turn the screen and the evening over to you and the readers. Thank you so much. What an honour and a pleasure it is tonight and a thrill to introduce these poets. This is a much loved book, and it's about to appear. It's a first book. This evening is the first on many levels. I mean, the first time these poets from MIT will read together on literally a world stage through this Zoom platform. It's the first time that Beltway Editions will publish a book, poems, our first book, so we're thrilled to Sarah Kaye, Hill Baron, and I, the core publishers of Beltway. It's the first time also that I have the pleasure to present really some of my favourite new poets in America, and as a migrant also to this country, thrilled also again. To celebrate this welcome addition to the poetry of migration. I wrote this small poem some weeks ago when the dummy for the book arrived, it's called to the poets of our ancestors, did not breathe this air from their publisher. This pivot into publishing is pure pleasure pirouette, satisfaction limitless, and roaring in the book fair marketplace going head to heel against the marketing team of the beer moth as we the small press Beltway Editions arm ourselves with a potent book of charged lyric poetry written by six young women who believe still in honour and truth while we snot and snarl and believe too as if for the first time in verses that will make all the difference in lives of men and women, not only at funerals, not only during moments of melodically before the mountain of debt of uncertain resolutions, but just shift the mountain with breath felicitous melody, listen to the chanting, listen to the charming committed voices of these youth, they wake up hope, they unleash the song in waves and waves, and this show, this air will never again be ignorant of their breath, blowing here now, infusing the lines, these United States. Welcome, welcome to this very special evening. There are six points, which is a lucky number, multiplication of three. And the first, who will read tonight, a very special role she has played in this book, not only writing her poems and contributing to the dialogue with all the others, but also contributing some amazing designs, which you will see when you get the book. Afifa Ghazi Sahib was born and raised in the DFW, that's Dallas Fort Worth Metroplex, but has always called two places home, the suburbs of Texas and her grandparents home in southern India. After studying biological engineering with a minor in urban studies at MIT, Afifa finds herself on a new journey as a first year medical student at UT Southwestern. She attributes her love for writing and storytelling to her grandparents bedtime stories, and the many writing mentors she has found throughout her life, from high school English teachers to other immigrant writers. Afifa views poetry as a deeply personal exchange of experiences and stories. Please go ahead, Afifa Ghazi Sahib. Thank you so much for that introduction, Indran. It's been such an honor for all of us to be working with you and Sarah, and also just writing in the same era in space as you, so it's really our honor. I have two poems for you all today, and I'll go right in, so the first one is called Parachute. Every time I settle at your feet with a bowl of coconut oil and hands whirled and warmed for exactly 15 seconds in the microwave, I feel generations. The hands of each and every one of them must have also moved like yours, working through knots of carelessness and exhaustion. The wrinkles on your fingers must have been passed down through hidden battles I will never know of, and this massage routine must have grown in perfection through centuries of amees and nannies and daddies. When you neatly fold my hair into your signature braid, something tells me these words have been said before. When will you start taking care of yourself? I answer by asking you the same. So for this poem, something that's really common in Indian cultural or South Asian culture is hair oil massages. One is really good for your hair health, but it's also just a way for mothers and daughters and sisters to come together, let their hair loose and just pamper each other and really focus on each other's company. And so really this poem is a note to that tradition and to my mother and my grandmothers and the mothers that came before that. Now I will now read my second poem titled Dear Kashmir. You and I, we are not that different. The color of our skin traverses across the same paint palette at home depot. October sky to dark camel and every shade that falls in between. You wake up to the warmth of sunshine. I wake up to the warmth of sunshine but yours fights through the Coon Loon mountains and mine through the Boston skyline. We both know the smell of the air just before it's about to snow. But you know other smells too. Of sweaty crowds chanting in the streets of mortal shells dissolving into thin air of flesh losing its meaning beyond this nationalist land. And the moments before I go to sleep at night the breeze of my ceiling fan reminds me of my on the grandmother and the coolness of her morning terrace. Somewhere in the middle of the night it hits me that I have such fond memories of a place that takes away yours. It leaves me with nightmares of patterns of electric fences striped border so held up by the you and I they forget Azadi is what keeps us alive. I am suspended in the paradox of my homeland. The sun sends to you it's warm from 92.96 million miles away. We have forgotten to do the same from a stone's throw away. And so that poem is really an ode to the Kashmiri people who's culture and tradition and entity is often shadowed by the ongoing conflict for the region between India and China and Pakistan. And so it's just really re-centering that Kashmiri identity. That's all I have. Thank you. Bravo. Thank you. Thank you so much. It is good to know that the to know the conflicts that are taking place on the planet. You know, not only I mean all over and we need to know and remind it of the things that we have to to work on and correct. Alina Shavir was born in Queens, New York and has lived in New York ever since. As a Pakistani US American, she cherishes connecting with a multitude of cultures in addition to her own roots. Many years after the minor poetry lesson she had taken in elementary school. Alina found a community with these fellow poets who have taught her how to express herself creatively and comfortably. She is forever grateful for them and their care. Having studied data science and operations research in different fields of applied mathematics. Alina hopes to one day work in policy development with a quantitative background. Alina usually enjoys reading anything to do with nature, traveling and pursuing adrenaline inducing experiences. I would add in writing marvelous poems. Go ahead Alina. Thank you very much Indran and thank you very much Afifa for reading your poems. Just to touch on Afifa's poem I think that it's a testament to this natural compassion and good hardness that we as humans have and can feel and that is such a uniting force that allows us to stand up against like different oppressive things around us regardless of how we identify or what nationalities we may have. And I would just like to say like me, Kashmir and all countries who are undergoing similar struggles be free from these limited and binding forces and be able and have its citizens be able to live freely and happily. So I would like to read two poems. My first poem called is 2009. And this was a poem that was inspired by my first experience in like a summer camp that opened up my eyes to a whole bunch of different things. Whether it be friendship or creativity, I just found it to be one of the most inspiring times in my life. So 2009. 930 to 11 a.m. our house. I miss the simplicity of these times, the abundance of laughter, endless smiles and sunshine, the small shed filled to the brim with paint and clay. Tables and kilns scattered, drinking gallons of juice every morning as motivation to finish our pottery. Music from the radio numbing our thoughts, the camaraderie, our special glue. 11 a.m. to 12 30, Franklin's Field. When I smashed the dodgeball on your face during all sports, we always take ourselves far too seriously and dump coolers of water onto the losing team jumping to heights we didn't know existed. 130 to 3 p.m. computer lab. How about a break from the outdoors? Something a little more tame. Just kidding. Nerdy kids thirsting for a Pulitzer. Writing our own stories and reports, weekly editions of our own little fun. 3 p.m. to 4 30 p.m. Room 4 16. Always saving the best for last, right? How could I forget about you? Surrounded by teenage testosterone, the only girl for three weeks, building robots that come to life, soldering friendship through metal and care. August 11th, August 11th, my heart. Not a goodbye but a see you later. I never felt yearning with that before. Marking my calendar for the next year, praying for a full day of life that I could walk around the sun. And the next poem that I would like to share is called live thoughts as I'm skydiving. And this poem is kind of. Kind of like a streamlined of my direct thoughts the very first time I went skydiving, which was very fun only left in Switzerland where it's right now. So very slightly jealous. life thoughts as I'm scouting diving. I love the adrenaline, the thrill of adventure coursing inside. Scared out of my mind. I'm all over the place. Impulsive decisions are my strongest vice. Up until I'm actually out of my comfort zone. Arms filling, deeply sinking, the wind whipping in my face, the lakes beneath me, blue, so beautifully different from the skies. I never imagined I'd find it so ugly from up here. I hate this while I'm having the time of my life. Talk about a panorama. But did I just swallow a fly? Time seems more meaningful up here. I feel like I'm looking at a board game, everything a 10th of its size. We get closer. The distance between us smaller. But my fear more real. What looks so tiny, now giant, daunting. I push my legs out, ready to come back. And it's the ass landing that grounds me again. And I'm thankful to the sky. I see things differently now. Thank you. Thank you so much. I before we go to next point, I just want to read you a few comments people have sent in about this book. Nehan Shujat writes, a timeless collection that tells the story of all. I find myself reading our ancestors did not read this air. Anytime I want to feel connected with my ancestors, and myself. Survive Web, who is the residence scholar, the Islamic Center NYU writes, through a rich journey of thought and ideas, each poet captures highly personal imagery that none of us can afford to ignore. I strongly encourage the reading and studying of this vital work. And Professor Sana Ayer, who wrote Indians in Kenya, the politics of diaspora adds a moving collection from a new generation of young Muslim women, who bring not only a fresh voice to these issues, but a poignancy that is both lyrical and urgent. This is a community enterprise. And the next point, besides being an excellent lyricist, is was is also a speaker of Spanish and the book designer for Beltway Jorge, writer, Sandoval. She served as a bridge on some of the zoom conversations as as the as the design was being developed. So thank you for that. I say Angela Gvenilia was born in Austin, into a family with a Turkish father, a Venezuelan mother, and three older brothers. Growing up in Texas, France and various parts of upstate New York, I see as always, use reading and writing for connection, reflection and relaxation, as she moved from place to place. She sees poetry in particular as a form of writing that can surpass the bounds of what words are expected to be, in turn, connecting her with others. I see got her bachelor's degree in biological engineering, with a minor in creative writing from MIT, and is currently a master student of the bio mechatronics group at the MIT Media Lab. Through her work, I see aims to emphasize empathize, educate and inspire the way that the works of others have always done for her. Please go ahead. I see. Thank you so much and drawn for that lovely introduction. And before I go on and talk a little, say two of my own poems, I wanted to comment a little bit on Alina's. And I just wanted to say that I love how 2009 really takes me back to childhood summers. And I also love how life, life, life thoughts on skydiving always reminds me to have perspective. And it also gives me a little bit of a laugh. So that's, that's always great as well. So the first poem that I'm going to read from the collection is called a sampling of my favorite lullaby. I'm going to jump right in. A sampling of my favorite lullaby. Knowing my Fatiha and ABCs, tracing them in a book you drew for me. Los pojitos dicen, looking for you through the cafeteria doors to plant a lipstick kiss on the cheek. I would not wipe away. Pio, pio, pio, scooting my way into the uprooted sidewalk, who helped me limp home. Cuando tienen hambre missing almost every half day Saturday in Mon Buono, because you let us. Cuando tienen frío, struggling with an essay in fourth grade, he said, right, right, right, and figure out the rest later. Su mamá le busca el maíz al trigo. Even with yours needing help limping to the bathroom, it took me a soccer. Lesta la comida y les presta el frío. Getting me a present whenever with someone else's birthday. A cucaraditos bajo sus dos alas, cooking my friends turkey meals, my favorite part, the way you made the stuffing with spinach and strawberries. Duerme en los pojitos, changing the emphasis from me to yours. And I'm not there to lift your load. Hasta el otro día. I'm sorry. So for this poem, the parts that I sang, and we're in Spanish are actually from this Chilean poet Ismael Paragues. And it's from a book that was first published in 1907, called Poesías Infantiles, which is basically just like children's nursery rhymes. And but the way that I knew it growing up was my mom would often sing it to me as a lullaby. And it's one of the first lullabies I remember ever hearing. The second poem I want to share is called Dear My Favorite Memories. And maybe those from MIT, maybe some things will relate to a little bit. Dear My Favorite Memories. jumping onto the car roof, because you are not walking home in the cold from this restaurant, where I only had goldfish. And for some reason, it's a problem that I supposedly never finished my food. In fact, it's funny to you say I care about your day and I do and I'm touched that it touches you see me from across the room, and you scoot your way over and I haven't a clue about this lab report. We put our sweaters on backwards. So at least we're warming up this room with book clubs and 320 struggles that you got me through the night when I just wanted this presentation prep to end, I'm singing down the hallways where you find me always. The warmth you feel radiating from me really comes from all of you. Don't you see formulation and catalyzation that night across the Charles you talked about building while flying. I didn't know you appreciated the first time we met. I thought you thought I was annoying essays were in while making out of us. You kept me company. Reminiscing memories do mean so much to me. I don't know how to process. So you put on headphones over your earbuds as you backed out of the room. I'm laughing at the singular mango party of four. Isn't it obvious that I too and Muslim like you see me as a mentor? I'm just lucky getting to love all of you. Thank you. Thank you so much. You know, I wish we could we could hear more than two poems from each of you. I mean, it's a very touching thing, you know, this this evening. And thank you for sharing your work. I've my next boy. My share. When I were a pro me, you know, it's also written some very strong poems in this book. I was struck by her poem rise. I don't know. She's going to be reading that. But it's just each of these poems, you know, there's a can be read on different levels. The red is as testament is as lyrical inquiry from the from the heart, but it can also be read as a social statement of political reading of the world. And I think that's one of the the treasures that you'll discover when you do these poems. My share. When I were a pro me was born in Dhaka, Bangladesh. And as boo back and forth in Bangladesh in the United States throughout her life. My share used to write poetry as a child growing up in New York City, but rediscovered it in college while taking classes from her writing minor. The citron poetry, my share enjoys all things creative from baking to crocheting to writing fiction. Oh dear, I hope you we don't lose at a fiction one day. I think you can write both fiction and poetry though. She has won awards for her short stories and hopes to continue writing alongside working in research and education. My share graduated from MIT with a bachelor's degree in biological engineering. She is currently pursuing her PhD in biological sciences at Yale University. Go ahead, my share. Thank you so much for that introduction in John. Yeah, and I show your last poem. I have to say is one of my favorites in the whole entire book. And it's just so many beautiful memories strung together into single poem. And I feel like all of us have a version of this poem based on our own experiences somewhere inside our hearts. So thank you for that. I'm also going to read two poems today. And the first one is called Since the Day I Arrived. And it's about the first day I moved into MIT as a freshman. A sunny new day, a paint splash sky, a trunk pack full of four year supply. A scarf just as blue covers my face as I cry. If more than the day I would leave since the day I arrived. A twin stacked building, a bright green lawn, a never ending hallway, a September song. A promise of growth in the four years to come. When the car pulls away, it leaves me somewhere. I finally belong. My second poem is called 1000 Places. And I've moved a lot in my life. And this is just an ode to all the different places I've called Yellow earth between my toes chasing chickens through the yard. The slip on mosaic tile before the crash and the permanent scar. A strip of airplane carpet miles above the gleaming sea. Gritty grainus of the schoolyard scraping raw against my knee. Polish floor of marble tile like ice in the winter chill. dorm room carpet brown and warm with the history undistilled. treading through pearlescent snow and through monsoon flooded streets. I've walked a thousand places and found home beneath my feet. Thank you so much. Thank you. We now will hear from Mariam Aman Dukar. Mariam was born in Singapore and has lived in Dubai and Massachusetts. Moving every few years. She describes the closest things to home as the intangible bridge she and her siblings occupy between the very different countries, cultures and families of her US American mother and Pakistani father. Mariam has loved writing since elementary school, creating fictional worlds and characters on the back of her notebooks. However, she started writing poetry during her time as a biology major and urban planning minor at MIT. Poetry is now deeply connected to self care and spirituality for Mariam. While she is training to be a physician at Harvard Medical School. And you know, I, there are so many lovely poems here. I don't want to pick anyone. I'll just sit back and listen. But I just want to say another sort of theme throughout this book is, it's the choice of language and all the languages that we carry with us and how we're seen as we use our languages. Go ahead. Thank you. Thank you, Indran. And before I begin, I also just want to say a few words about Maisha's poems. So I think Maisha's superpower is being able to use maybe three, four words to be able to describe a scene that you would imagine took maybe three sentences, four sentences. She really packs the punch. And I think that, you know, people, as you can see in the comments are resonating with your poems, Maisha. Today, I'll also be reading two poems. The first one is called Tangerine. Lately, I've been starting to feel my soul instead of my body. Like that day on the beach with the rocks and the sunset, footsteps so faint, I could almost levitate. With the horizon speaking into my ear, be content. Or when I sat at the dinner table in the center of the forest, a citrus spread in the smell of durian between us, when he leaned forward and whispered that he could feel his ancestors in the air. Or when I pass a tiger lily, and feel a touch of my arm, tracing the outline of the last day she could stand upright. When we walked in the garden, and I painted her toes, a bright orange that decorated her feet on her deathbed. Or when my knees knock against the strangers, and I remember us in the back of a sedan with a broken AC, sharing secrets for hours in the delirious glow of the desert, giving me inconvertible proof that you did exist. See, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not quite literal. I am memories transcribed without my knowledge, like the passive rise and fall of my chest, or the tears that slip from my eyes when I laugh. In this brilliant orchestra, I collect these moments, undeniably alive and imperfect and sentient. I'm congruent with the hearts I've met before. And those he bids me to meet again. So just a few words about this poem. Hopefully when you when you read our book, you'll see that each chapter we all give our take on on a certain prompt. And the prompt for this chapter was on being real. And I remember being very confused. What does that even mean? And I think what how I interpreted it was thinking about what not being real is and what the people that I've had in my life that are no longer physically in front of me have meant to me. And yeah, that that is sort of how that poem came about. And then for my next poem, it is called period, but the actual punctuation mark of period. You woke to a surprise on your bed, pure white sheets stained rusted red. They said it was normal, nothing to fear. But the sight of your blood kept feeding the tears. You cried for what you couldn't know, but felt you grieve the innocence that you'd once held. You lost a childhood of skirts and shorts. They now controlled your body parts. The next month, your world turned crimson again. Coach said wear tampons like other women. At home, you googled what tampon means when you closed the laptop and quit swim team. Your accidents were public with family and strangers will never forget the whispers and fingers. You prayed for the pain the others talked about so that next time you could catch yourself before spilling out. One month, you're ambushed by two visits, you then leave the musket entirely to avoid the critics. Sometimes your brother would throw a fit. He's mad when you aren't praying and he is. It would be simple to explain to him why, but the thought makes you feel small. Instead, you hide. That's girl at school, you learn about the menstrual cycle. You hear them in the back periods make girls go psycho. As the days pass, they always have more to say about what you wear and how you pray, who you should touch and for how long, where you should travel and why you're not strong. To you, I say a woman is not a sin. You're a miracle sister. You've always been. You bleed and heal as you sprint through life. Your sole purpose, I promise, is not to be a good wife. You carry them in your belly and upon your tongue, heavy on your shoulders and deep inside your lungs. You are in scripted power, my dear, and we won't forget it. Thank you so much. My wife, Abdelhae, was born in Chennai, India, and has called many places home across the US and in Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates and Qatar. She completed a bachelor's and master's studies in computer science at MIT, and is currently pursuing a PhD in robotics and artificial intelligence at the University of California in Berkeley. She is drawn to poetry for its oral tradition and grew up hearing her dad, Saab recite the works of Muhammad Iqbal and Jalal ad-Din, Muhammad Ruby in their home in South India. Performing, writing and listening to poetry allows her to connect with God and understand existence. It is her form of Dawa to herself and the world. Mava, Abdelhae. Thank you, and the first. Thank you. Before I begin, I'd also like to comment on Mariam's poem, and there's so much to say. It's a little time, but for me, Tangerine, it's, you know, the title is so misleading. You know, it's really packed so much. It's a breath of fresh air and so much more. And then no matter how many times I hear the poem period, I feel a mix of anger and an empowerment. And I am so grateful that you touched on such a taboo topic. And it makes our collection all the more powerful. And with that, I'll start off with my first poem. And it is about my experiences taking part in interfaith dialogue at MIT, known as a deer, which some of you might be familiar with the group. So it is titled, When in Dialogue, a Mormon, a Muslim and a Hindu sat at the corners of a rounded table, chatting away on the weather and business of the day. They had gathered to discuss truth. As their souls watched behind happy eyes, afraid to speak on their creation and existence. They spoke of intentions before conversation, gathering questions they sought to understand. They were equal partners in search for a reason. For surely, if God willed, God would make them one community. The Mormon spoke of her mission abroad, peace found in disconnecting from the world. The Muslim felt a sense of holy envy. He wished he was more vocal about his faith. The Muslim shared stories of perseverance of the last prophet, raising the importance of giving to Sakat in his faith. He finally felt comfortable stepping away for Zohar Salah. The Hindu admitted she could be spending more time in prayer. The Hindu believed in many chances at life. She held respect for her parents above all else. Yet confessed she wasn't always so sure of certain traditions. The Mormon expressed she empathized, though she couldn't always voice it. And so the Mormon, the Muslim and the Hindu discussed ideas and not people in mutual understanding of their differences, leaving with what was learned and not spoken. And now my next poem is reflecting on being an immigrant from India and later becoming a US citizen and living with all the ways in which I am. So it's called a citizenship. You step outside with a gush of spice hits the air and you and your nose. It's embedded deep within the fabrics of your jacket. The tide detergent never seems to mask the smells of homeland you are so ashamed of. They ask you why you smell like spice and why your food has so much pepper. But Vasco de Gama didn't go to India to get pepper. He went to get the healthy in sambar and chicken jalfrezi and the zero and the butter chicken you have when you think you've experienced India. You shrug in response. A ba told you that you are now an American. I remember the time I became a citizen of this country. H 10 two piece hijab removed for a passport photo. Shame knowing you didn't fight for your right to dignity. Shame knowing your mother and sisters did the same. You knew in that moment when you and your two piece scarf ran through the aisles of Costco with your money in her shiny her mother in her shiny and new black abaya they stared and now you speak in the language of your colonizers from 1858. It would only be years later when you were gifted the power of the pen to acknowledge the seams in the fabrics of your jacket. Thank you. Well there you have it. A sampler. Just two poems from each of six spoids. There are many more in the book and each one very, very, very charged. As I mentioned earlier can be read on so many levels. Apparently simple lines with very deep profound right feelings and thoughts embedded side. I'm lost track of time but if there are any questions from the audience I think we have a few minutes we can take a couple of any of the poets please leave your question in the chat and please let us know if you'd like to or if you'd like to ask the question directly perhaps the mics can be opened for everyone in the in the zoom. A lot of appreciations in the chat but for any particular question here's a chance it won't be the first opportunity I trust this this group will be will be going on the road in a sense as one does in America with with a new album or if if not on the road through the zoom the zoom room. I think there's an in person reading coming up in May I just found out about as a question for us could you share the name of the Chilean Children's Book of Poems? Yeah it's called Poesias Infantiles. I will also send the name of the author and the in in the chat now as well. Good question. Are there other questions? Thank you Mark for this very generous and not from Mark's, Mark Paoloch, a former MIT and MIT graduate professor student at MIT so there's a long learning poetry and practicing poetry at MIT and and these six poets are the latest in in that line the latest poets in that line. Any other questions for them? If not I just want to say look for BeltwayEditions.com online or look for the the Instagram page for Beltway or for our ancestors to not read this here and and come and pick up the book. It'll be it'll be out soon and soon it'll be available also in bookstores and in Amazon but we're waiting for the first copies to be sent from the printer as we speak. Thank you very much everyone. Would any of the poets like to say some closing remarks? Yeah I just wanted to thank Ed. A lot of us, our common thread was taking your class at MIT and just realizing that this was something we also like to do in addition to to all of our other identities and responsibilities just creating the space for this in the first place and I know we're all very grateful for all of your help and feedback throughout the entire process. Yes it takes a village and you're a very important part of that village. So thank you. Thank you for for encouraging and inspiring this poets to to take this path. So it really it's just an amazing thing. We're waiting for the birth of the child. The child is almost here and thank you everyone. Thank you. Welcome and let's look forward to the next reading there. The official launch of the book will be on I think it's May 7th. So start to spread that word. Put that word in that date in your calendar. And let's meet again soon. Thank you on behalf of all of us. Thank you.