Poetic Form as Defiance
Anthony Cody’s Borderland Apocrypha is stunning – from the book’s physical shape, to the poems taking shape within it, Cody writes defiance against white supremacy and Eurocentric forms with this collection.
The first poem, “Standing in line to take a passport photo, an old white man looks at me and claims I am running,” is a nesting doll of a poem and an introduction to the experience of this first section, as it’s entirely composed of poems such as this one. From the first line, branches extend to the stanza below. In this way, Cody shows the reader that everything is connected. He brings in familial history with his grandfather and major figures a precursor of what’s to come with the rest of the book: the past is always informing the present. The sins of the before can never be forgotten if our wounds persist in the now, especially in a nation that refuses to acknowledge its harm against marginalized communities.
The second poem is still connected to the first as its first line, “Standing here because my grandpa ran away from home to sell perfume en el Zocalo at 9” is born from the first line’s first branch, a genealogy of events, everything domino falling into each other. There’s an incredible amount of trust Cody puts in his readers, where one can argue should already be implied, by adding the majority of historical footnotes in the book’s acknowledgements. Often, a person of color is well-versed in their history, while the oppressor is oblivious to the destruction and pain caused. This is a part of white privilege. But by including photographs and references without citing it directly on the page forces the reader to do their research to experience the work as intended. And the branches themselves continue Cody’s expansiveness and creativity with its many shapes and sizes; no branch-stanza is like the other. Spaces stretch, words sprawl across the page, and the pictures are a grounding. Yes, there is an emotionality, but this is real. Cody cannot afford to let us forget. We have to know as he knows; we have to remember as he remembers.
Elegy to [Neurodivergent] Self I. um. the crows perch the brick. um. somedays, i prefer a crevice to, um. a space too, too wide and um. two years ago um. my sister injected um. fillers into her top lip um a suction cup gloss that um. proclaimed she was um. more beautiful um. and therefore um. value differs from person to person so i crumble at um. the face of love um. and warm hands um. i'm [always] talking about hands um. and the marvel of its ability um. to outreach and um. overcome and hold and II. um, want. um, isn't that [always] um, the problem? um, i think i was um, going somewhere with hands because um, i wish i knew where i um, was going to the store or back home um, or i stand in place um, thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking and not moving or moving only thinking um, why do you think that this is something um, i was going somewhere and then i forgot um, i try to flint fire from fern and spring um, when i was young i um, refused naps because i wanted to learn about the mysterious vowel y and um, i was [always] one um, to seek the rules to break them um, even when um, i wasn’t out looking to break them um, III. um things that are misshapen are um [always] made out to be broken um i went to the farmer’s market with my lola um i think i get this from her um we circle the stalls swearing to all the gods um that we’ll remember at the next rotation the same way the sun forgets every four years um how to do um its job but um that’s something i um tell myself because um i’m always talking um to myself um [always] trying to catch up um [always] trying to slow down [always] [always] um did you know that repetition is a form of violence? um did you know that i want to fill the silence? um, a window never opens on its own, and um I've decided it's better to die crowed in sunlight um in drafty afternoon um here atop unfeeling brick.
In “Elegy to [Neurodivergent] Self”, I tried to implement a type of uniqueness to a history of my own. My paternal family has a history of ADHD and other mental disabilities. This poem was born from a conversation with a loved one who asked, “why do you say ‘um’ so much?” I wanted to not only portray the hurt I felt but share the history, and hopefully convey that I’ve always had this brain. In “I’ve come to bury my dead,” I used the backslashes that Cody uses in a few of his sub-stanzas and including a slash where I have included an enjambment in a “standard” poem.
Borderland Apocrypha is a book I’ll hold in my heart for years to come. This book, and Cody’s work, is incredibly inspiring for my own. I love poets whose work encourages me to write, and I finished this book wanting to write. Cody is the type of poet I want to become – a poet historian. I’ve found a few books about Filipino history as research, but I’ve also begun to ask my Lola more questions about her youth. Especially now that my Lolo has passed, my Lola is the last fluent, native Cebuano speaker in my family. Borderland Apocrypha utilizes form as artistry and its beauty supports the beauty of Cody’s dedication to honoring his history, family and people, and his culture.