Arts in A Time of Crisis: Lisa Luxx’s Rice Poems
BY LILY ROBERTS
Carnegie Museums of Pittsburgh eloquently states that ‘in the midst of suffering and loss, art is often born, its lifespan far exceeding that of its creators, its meaning changing and growing with every subsequent generation of viewers.’ Crisis has historically influenced art on a tremendous scale; we've all heard of the myth of the tortured artist, and Vanity Fair asserts that ‘picturing the assorted pestilences, floods, fires and natural disasters that God sent down on us [...] has brought art much joy through the ages.’ But while suffering creates profound art, can it be used to diminish this suffering, or to tackle the root cause? Thus, we are faced with the ever-present question of the impact of art; can it really make a difference?
I recently attended a talk at the Bristol Old Vic that was part of a seminar series called Genesis Conversations. Aptly titled, ‘Arts in a Time of Crisis’, the speakers primarily discussed the struggles faced by the arts since COVID-19, one of the more recent examples of crisis and suffering that we in the UK have experienced. The isolation and disconnection of COVID-19 compelled artists to bridge these gaps and we saw the creation of art that spoke to the shared detachment the world felt, bringing people together despite the physical and emotional distance many of us experienced. A profound amount of pandemic art commemorated the hard work of the key workers in the UK, for example.
Cardiff artist, Nathan Wyburn, created the above collage to immortalise the efforts made by NHS workers during the pandemic, inspired by the first ‘Clap for our Carers’ that took place in March 2020. Banksy was also amongst those creating art to commemorate the NHS in this time of crisis, with the above mural appearing in a corridor at Southampton General Hospital. Titled 'Game Changer' an accompanying note read: “Thanks for all you’re doing. I hope this brightens the place up a bit, even if it’s only black and white”.’
Much like these artists, Lisa Luxx is an example of someone who creates art in reaction to crisis, striving to solidify the role of poetry as meaningful, and emphasising the medium’s political nature and it’s power to create tangible change. Luxx is a writer, performer, essayist and activist of British and Syrian heritage who, as described, on her website, writes ‘for freedoms, for healing, to mobilise and to inquire.’ Her art was greatly impacted by a very different crisis, namely the 2020 Beirut explosion, when a fire occurred at the Beirut port, causing the detonation of 2,750 tonnes of ammonium nitrate.
‘lisa luxx’s debut poetry collection is an examination of the tender violence that pools in all our states of wanting; from our intimacies to our uprisings. It searches the grief of our longing, from the eyes of displacement; carrying her experience in foster care, adoption, and as a mixed-heritage daughter of the Arab diaspora.’ - lisaluxx.com
Vanessa Kisuule, a speaker at the Bristol Old Vic, cited Luxx when she was asked what piece of art has impacted her, referencing her ‘rice poems’. After the blast, Luxx was in Beirut as an activist helping families, one of which was a refugee family that invited her over. She brought them a bag of rice, which Kisuule highlights as ‘one of the most important things you could give anyone in a crisis: water and a bag of rice.’
The family asked her what she does, and Luxx was embarrassed to say that she was a poet. Upon telling them, they asked if she had a poem for them, and Kisuule relays Luxx ‘feeling so bereft that she didn’t have a poem to sit beside the rice.’ In her Apples and Snakes article, ‘Practical Poetry in Times of Revolution’, Luxx recalls that ‘In the silence I decided I wanted to write rice. How can poems be as useful as grains of rice in crisis?’ So, she decided to dedicate her writing practice to ‘rice poems’, poems that are practical and concrete, poems that you can offer to people in times of need. As Luxx teaches us in the article, what she has learned from her heritage ‘is that poetry is a political act [...] A tool for protest. A resource.’
Lisa Luxx thus reminds us that words are inherently political. They are the predominant vehicle for the expression of opinion; the language used to inspire, insult, inquire; the bridge between ‘imagination and action’. This was a gap that Luxx wished to close during her activism in Lebanon, telling her editor that she was establishing a ‘new relationship with poetry.’ And it is something that we can take into account in our own relationship with art.
Art can be intimately related to through the shared experience of crisis and hardship, making these works intrinsically socio-political. Audre Lourde talks specifically about poetry and how it is ‘not the sterile word play that, too often, the white fathers distorted the word poetry to mean’, it is ‘a revelatory distillation of experience’. It is ‘not only dream and vision [...] It lays the foundations for a future of change.’
Farah Z. Aridi, a poet living in the mountains of Lebanon, messaged Luxx while she was in the country, ‘I refuse to write what I can’t apply.’ This is the same vein along which Lisa Luxx works, writing poems that are not just wistful imaginings, but can be offered to people in times of crisis. Her pieces show how we can use the arts in these desperate times, to heal, to reflect, and most importantly, to act. As Kisuule puts it, ‘tough times call for tough poems’, Lisa Luxx is showing us how this can be done.
Lisa Luxx - In This Body, Defiant of State
every muscle is my soil, ripe for planting & yet
feet, two forest fires scorch peat, or possibility
in bad dreams no one in my family has a housekey left
for Lebanon: no desk of books, no brass embossed tis-
sue box, no natura calling تعي لهون, no reason good eno
-ugh for no madam, no sipping bann, nor talking about
the situation, no Youssef flogging 7up out his car trunk
my best friend says get over yourself. you’ve a billion ways to leave, choose one.
i pass every exit on the highway, moped growling so fast helmet falls back, strap
chokes me on safety. i laugh imagine i die by motorbike without having to crash.
learnt to spell forgiveness in three different languages, found another woman to
pack my suitcase, cry on every plane. there is no returning. where nothing stays
the same. except my laces are always tied, ready
to pull on & leave. impunity, you’ve been the fire
in my feet all along. one flame for every highway
exit missed. i don’t know how to say o i was born
split in any language other than this.
there’s a no man’s land between borders, it belongs
to neither state. arms wide in silence. clouds as kin.
