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Collective Amnesia
This highly-anticipated debut collection from one of the country's most acclaimed young voices marks a massive shift in South African poetry. Koleka Putuma's exploration of blackness, womxnhood and history in Collective Amnesia is fearless and unwavering. Her incendiary poems demand justice, insist on visibility and offer healing. In them, Putuma explodes the idea of authority in various spaces - academia, religion, politics, relationships - to ask what has been learnt and what must be unlearnt.
Through grief and memory, pain and joy, sex and self-care, Collective Amnesia is a powerful appraisal, reminder and revelation of all that has been forgotten and ignored, both in South African society, and within ourselves.
Through grief and memory, pain and joy, sex and self-care, Collective Amnesia is a powerful appraisal, reminder and revelation of all that has been forgotten and ignored, both in South African society, and within ourselves.
112 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 2017
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 86 reviews
April 30, 2017
I read and reread and loved so much poetry in high school, then I don't know what happened. Mostly read dead white men but also some poignant works by South African poets on Apartheid.
Haven't been giving poetry the attention it deserves since, and I know I'm not the only one who can't remember when or how their relationship with poetry began fading away.
Last year during the best book fest in the world, the Abantu Book Festival of course, I got to experience this young and bewitchingly smart poet.
And this is me who does not prefer performed poetry. I rather read it. And though I had read and loved her poem Water (which is also available as a video on YouTube - search 'Water by Koleka Putuma'), I didn't expect to enjoy listening to her recite it but Guaard! Her sincerity, her simplicity, her lack of theatrics, captured me right till the end.
She just, reads and leaves it to the audience to ignite her words with whatever emotions beat to the rhythm of their own lived experiences.
Now from her, here's a collection of poetry to all. And I mean it. No matter what walk of life you're from. If it doesn't feel like your mind being read, then it'll read like your feelings being given words you couldn't find yourself. Or it'll feel like a shoulder to cry on is coming alive through reading her words. If not, it'll create a sense of empathy to certain plights of those around you that may have been blindspospots in your life. At the least, it'll stir in you the right amount of discomfort for conversation starters.
I am choosing to not quote from the book because, how would I choose? I'd end up copying out all the 55 poems I swear.
I'm also choosing to not say what the poems are about because, what are they not about?
No prisoners are spared.
But, if you'd like snippets, follow her on Twirra @KPutuma
Buy it. Love it. Keep it. Gift it. Remember it. Read-to-bae it. Re-read it. Quote it. Decorate with it.
This is just the book to ignite that poetic fire.
Haven't been giving poetry the attention it deserves since, and I know I'm not the only one who can't remember when or how their relationship with poetry began fading away.
Last year during the best book fest in the world, the Abantu Book Festival of course, I got to experience this young and bewitchingly smart poet.
And this is me who does not prefer performed poetry. I rather read it. And though I had read and loved her poem Water (which is also available as a video on YouTube - search 'Water by Koleka Putuma'), I didn't expect to enjoy listening to her recite it but Guaard! Her sincerity, her simplicity, her lack of theatrics, captured me right till the end.
She just, reads and leaves it to the audience to ignite her words with whatever emotions beat to the rhythm of their own lived experiences.
Now from her, here's a collection of poetry to all. And I mean it. No matter what walk of life you're from. If it doesn't feel like your mind being read, then it'll read like your feelings being given words you couldn't find yourself. Or it'll feel like a shoulder to cry on is coming alive through reading her words. If not, it'll create a sense of empathy to certain plights of those around you that may have been blindspospots in your life. At the least, it'll stir in you the right amount of discomfort for conversation starters.
I am choosing to not quote from the book because, how would I choose? I'd end up copying out all the 55 poems I swear.
I'm also choosing to not say what the poems are about because, what are they not about?
No prisoners are spared.
But, if you'd like snippets, follow her on Twirra @KPutuma
Buy it. Love it. Keep it. Gift it. Remember it. Read-to-bae it. Re-read it. Quote it. Decorate with it.
This is just the book to ignite that poetic fire.
April 19, 2019
Favourite Part:
14 |
To be honest,
I am terrified of lovers who come without baggage
Where do you come from?
Where have you packed your stuff?
Where did you leave it?
Why is it not here?
What are you hiding?
11 |
I want to stop
slaughtering myself
and calling you
the sacrifice
_
Reflexive. Nothing has been forgotten.
14 |
To be honest,
I am terrified of lovers who come without baggage
Where do you come from?
Where have you packed your stuff?
Where did you leave it?
Why is it not here?
What are you hiding?
11 |
I want to stop
slaughtering myself
and calling you
the sacrifice
_
Reflexive. Nothing has been forgotten.
March 11, 2019
Solo quiero enseñaros el fragmento de un poema.
Pero antes debería poneros en contexto.
La autora de los versos que vais a leer al final de esta página es Koleka Putuma, una activista sudafricana nacida en 1993 que ha conseguido que su primer libro de poemas se convierta en un bestseller no sólo en su país, sino en buena parte del continente africano. En España podemos leerlo gracias a la editorial Flores raras y a la traducción de Arrate Hidalgo y Lawrence Schimel.
El libro, Amnesia colectiva, es un texto que analiza los conceptos de poder y privilegio, asociados especialmente a la cuestión de género y la raza. Amnesia colectiva es literariamente potentísimo: su autora usa sin pudor el lenguaje de las redes sociales y lo mezcla con el diario íntimo, con los titulares de prensa viral, con las listas, el haiku, los homenajes voluntarios a la generación beat y las vueltas de tuerca a los cánticos de una religión que justificó la violencia hacia su pueblo.
La poesía de Koleka Putuma también es potente en cuanto a su compromiso político, incluso si hoy su figura puede estar rodeada de curiosas contradicciones. Si por un lado Forbes y Marie Claire la eligen como una de las voces más influyentes de África, por el otro sus textos no son nada complacientes con ese tipo de dinámicas legitimadoras de la prensa occidental.
Por eso, cuanto más leo sobre Amnesia colectiva, más se me antoja este texto como un pequeño gran "milagro". Para empezar, Putuma no se habría hecho tan conocida y de manera tan rápida si del cartel de la sesión TED a la que asistió para leer sus poemas no se hubiera caído a última hora otra escritora. Putuma leyó como ella solía hacerlo: con rabia y con verdad y sobre cuestiones raciales y de género que, por lo visto, incomodaron a la audiencia principalmente blanca del evento.
La polémica terminó con la censura de uno de sus poemas, eliminado de YouTube, pero también con la necesidad de la escritora de volcar todas sus ideas sobre el apartheid, sobre la lucha de clases y sobre la violencia machista del país que habita, en un poemario que al principio estaba hecho de fragmentos de sus vídeos, después de fotografías y versos sueltos, y que por último tomó la forma que ahora tiene Amnesia colectiva.
Ni libro de poemas al uso, ni novela generacional, ni manifiesto antirracista, pero quizá todas esas cosas a la vez y más, Koleka Putuma ha logrado aunar en pocas páginas lo que a mí se me antoja como la Teoría King-Kong de nuestra generación. O tal vez algo más fuerte y más rotundo, porque me interpela no solo desde el reconocimiento que siento ante sus reclamos feministas (como cuando dice "no quiero morir / con las manos en alto / ni abierta de piernas"), sino también desde el golpe que encaja a mis privilegios (como cuando escribe "quiero a alguien que vaya a mirarme / y quererme / como lxs blancxs miran / y quieren / a Mandela").
Pero el fragmento del poema que yo quería enseñaros era otro.
Uno sencillo y perfecto.
Probablemente ni siquiera necesitabais que os pusiera en contexto para apreciarlo, aunque no quería perder la oportunidad de mostraros desde dónde escribe su autora y con qué urgencia nos interpela.
"¿No es curioso?
Que cuando preguntan sobre nuestra infancia negra,
solo les interesa nuestro dolor,
como si las partes felices fueran accidentales.
Escribo poemas de amor también,
pero
solo quieres ver mi boca desgarrada en protesta
como si mi boca fuera una herida
con gangrena y pus
en lugar de alegría".
(https://www.eldiario.es/zonacritica/A...)
Pero antes debería poneros en contexto.
La autora de los versos que vais a leer al final de esta página es Koleka Putuma, una activista sudafricana nacida en 1993 que ha conseguido que su primer libro de poemas se convierta en un bestseller no sólo en su país, sino en buena parte del continente africano. En España podemos leerlo gracias a la editorial Flores raras y a la traducción de Arrate Hidalgo y Lawrence Schimel.
El libro, Amnesia colectiva, es un texto que analiza los conceptos de poder y privilegio, asociados especialmente a la cuestión de género y la raza. Amnesia colectiva es literariamente potentísimo: su autora usa sin pudor el lenguaje de las redes sociales y lo mezcla con el diario íntimo, con los titulares de prensa viral, con las listas, el haiku, los homenajes voluntarios a la generación beat y las vueltas de tuerca a los cánticos de una religión que justificó la violencia hacia su pueblo.
La poesía de Koleka Putuma también es potente en cuanto a su compromiso político, incluso si hoy su figura puede estar rodeada de curiosas contradicciones. Si por un lado Forbes y Marie Claire la eligen como una de las voces más influyentes de África, por el otro sus textos no son nada complacientes con ese tipo de dinámicas legitimadoras de la prensa occidental.
Por eso, cuanto más leo sobre Amnesia colectiva, más se me antoja este texto como un pequeño gran "milagro". Para empezar, Putuma no se habría hecho tan conocida y de manera tan rápida si del cartel de la sesión TED a la que asistió para leer sus poemas no se hubiera caído a última hora otra escritora. Putuma leyó como ella solía hacerlo: con rabia y con verdad y sobre cuestiones raciales y de género que, por lo visto, incomodaron a la audiencia principalmente blanca del evento.
La polémica terminó con la censura de uno de sus poemas, eliminado de YouTube, pero también con la necesidad de la escritora de volcar todas sus ideas sobre el apartheid, sobre la lucha de clases y sobre la violencia machista del país que habita, en un poemario que al principio estaba hecho de fragmentos de sus vídeos, después de fotografías y versos sueltos, y que por último tomó la forma que ahora tiene Amnesia colectiva.
Ni libro de poemas al uso, ni novela generacional, ni manifiesto antirracista, pero quizá todas esas cosas a la vez y más, Koleka Putuma ha logrado aunar en pocas páginas lo que a mí se me antoja como la Teoría King-Kong de nuestra generación. O tal vez algo más fuerte y más rotundo, porque me interpela no solo desde el reconocimiento que siento ante sus reclamos feministas (como cuando dice "no quiero morir / con las manos en alto / ni abierta de piernas"), sino también desde el golpe que encaja a mis privilegios (como cuando escribe "quiero a alguien que vaya a mirarme / y quererme / como lxs blancxs miran / y quieren / a Mandela").
Pero el fragmento del poema que yo quería enseñaros era otro.
Uno sencillo y perfecto.
Probablemente ni siquiera necesitabais que os pusiera en contexto para apreciarlo, aunque no quería perder la oportunidad de mostraros desde dónde escribe su autora y con qué urgencia nos interpela.
"¿No es curioso?
Que cuando preguntan sobre nuestra infancia negra,
solo les interesa nuestro dolor,
como si las partes felices fueran accidentales.
Escribo poemas de amor también,
pero
solo quieres ver mi boca desgarrada en protesta
como si mi boca fuera una herida
con gangrena y pus
en lugar de alegría".
(https://www.eldiario.es/zonacritica/A...)
April 9, 2017
It's not every day that I get offered complimentary copies by publishers and I am mighty glad that it had to be this one.
I've watched a few YouTube videos of Koleka Putuma's and I was in awe of her powerful delivery. Reading a collection of her work is a hundred times more powerful. The poetry is grouped into 3 lots of very uncomfortable works. These are not syrupy let-me-count-the-ways type of poems. These are not sonnets, limericks nor haikus.
There are no forms, rhymes nor defined stanzas. These are words of an enraged woman commanding to be heard. Today. Now. There's an eight and a half pages of an oration titled "No Easter Sunday For Queers". This left me with more questions than answers. I was bewildered. Befuddled. Angry. Speechless. Mostly heartbroken. What have we done to our kids???
If you are not ready to open yourself up, don't read this collection. If you are not ready to confront, dissect and examine your truths, this right here is not your portion.
This collection is not for prudes. For the tow-the-line lot, whose line is it anyway?? This collection is for the brave mamas. The brave papas. The brave aunts and uncles. The brave sisters and brothers. The brave teachers and pastors. Just the brave. Like me.
Koleka Putuma posses extraordinary talent which she uses to stand up for the downtrodden and the marginalized. If you think your ish smells better, this collection will reveal the hypocrite in you.
I bow.☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
I've watched a few YouTube videos of Koleka Putuma's and I was in awe of her powerful delivery. Reading a collection of her work is a hundred times more powerful. The poetry is grouped into 3 lots of very uncomfortable works. These are not syrupy let-me-count-the-ways type of poems. These are not sonnets, limericks nor haikus.
There are no forms, rhymes nor defined stanzas. These are words of an enraged woman commanding to be heard. Today. Now. There's an eight and a half pages of an oration titled "No Easter Sunday For Queers". This left me with more questions than answers. I was bewildered. Befuddled. Angry. Speechless. Mostly heartbroken. What have we done to our kids???
If you are not ready to open yourself up, don't read this collection. If you are not ready to confront, dissect and examine your truths, this right here is not your portion.
This collection is not for prudes. For the tow-the-line lot, whose line is it anyway?? This collection is for the brave mamas. The brave papas. The brave aunts and uncles. The brave sisters and brothers. The brave teachers and pastors. Just the brave. Like me.
Koleka Putuma posses extraordinary talent which she uses to stand up for the downtrodden and the marginalized. If you think your ish smells better, this collection will reveal the hypocrite in you.
I bow.☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
July 2, 2018
Ik vond niet alle gedichten even sterk maar toevallig wel net die paar die uit bullet points bestaan, al heb ik geen idee wat dat verder over de poëzie (of over mij) zegt.
September 6, 2023
This book made me weep and somehow consoled me simultaneously. This book felt like a gospel to keep returning to.
January 10, 2022
Zum Glück ist die Ausgabe zweisprachig, denn die Übersetzung ist echt nicht gut. Manchmal fehlt etwas, manchmal ist etwas falsch übersetzt, sodass es das Gegenteil aussagt, und ansonsten werden oft Formulierungen genutzt, bei denen ich einfach nur Fragezeichen im Kopf habe.
March 13, 2023
Do yourself a favor and read this!
July 11, 2017
This book of poems must be read with mind and book open simultaneously . Putuma expresses interesting , thought provoking and emotive viewpoints on death, Christianity, misogyny, land, race, homophobia , rape, education , God, alcohol abuse, Mandela and many more. The titles of her poems are not obvious. They are out of the box kind of stuff. Her poems are easy to read, especially for people who are not poetry inclined.
Kakstad, Hand Me Downs, Growing Up Black And Christian, On Black Solidarity, 1994 A Love Poem, No Easter Sunday For Queers, Mountain, On Dear God Please Not Another Rape Poem, Twenty One Ways Of Leaving , Growing Up Black And Womxn are some of the titles. Putuma, is a fifty year soul in a twenty four year old body . Deep, intelligent, brave, mature and intuitive. The collection of poems is fireworks.
Kakstad, Hand Me Downs, Growing Up Black And Christian, On Black Solidarity, 1994 A Love Poem, No Easter Sunday For Queers, Mountain, On Dear God Please Not Another Rape Poem, Twenty One Ways Of Leaving , Growing Up Black And Womxn are some of the titles. Putuma, is a fifty year soul in a twenty four year old body . Deep, intelligent, brave, mature and intuitive. The collection of poems is fireworks.
June 25, 2018
I not really a poetry fan and I loved this book. The language is accommodating and most of the themes I can relate to. Some of the poems are less than five lines yet fully packed and will get leave you thinking.
Koleka is an important voice and is gifted!
Koleka is an important voice and is gifted!
December 12, 2020
Koleka Putumas Texte sind politisch, wütend, traurig, kraftvoll, queer - sehr lesenswert!
Leider ist die deutsche Übersetzung (von einem weißen US-Amerikaner) eigenwillig bis fehlerhaft, teilweise sogar unvollständig. Diese ansonsten schöne zweisprachige Ausgabe bekommt hoffentlich eine korrigierte 2. Auflage, damit Putuma auch ein wachsendes deutschsprachiges Publikum erreicht.
Leider ist die deutsche Übersetzung (von einem weißen US-Amerikaner) eigenwillig bis fehlerhaft, teilweise sogar unvollständig. Diese ansonsten schöne zweisprachige Ausgabe bekommt hoffentlich eine korrigierte 2. Auflage, damit Putuma auch ein wachsendes deutschsprachiges Publikum erreicht.
February 10, 2018
First I thought, not this again. Political poetry just doesn't work for me most of the time (yes, I know this comes from a place of privilege but I'm talking about esthetics now).
Then I thought, wait, this is actually becoming pretty good.
Then Putuma started writing less political and more personal and I had my doubts about that (personal poetry tends to only become good when it reaches some point of universality, I think, and that can be hard when writing really personal).
Then those poems turned out to be pretty good as well!
Putuma finally opened my eyes to a genre of poetry I was really struggling with. Most of the time, she strikes the right balance. Most of the time, because her religious references are really TOO MUCH. It's not cool anymore. You're just practically quoting the complete Bible.
Then I thought, wait, this is actually becoming pretty good.
Then Putuma started writing less political and more personal and I had my doubts about that (personal poetry tends to only become good when it reaches some point of universality, I think, and that can be hard when writing really personal).
Then those poems turned out to be pretty good as well!
Putuma finally opened my eyes to a genre of poetry I was really struggling with. Most of the time, she strikes the right balance. Most of the time, because her religious references are really TOO MUCH. It's not cool anymore. You're just practically quoting the complete Bible.
August 27, 2020
4.5 Nacer mujer,negra,pobre, lesbiana y escribir así es una suerte para que entendamos su historia desde el costumbrismo y sus entrañas. Actual y supongo que representativo para las mujeres africanas, de ahí su éxito. Textos afilados que tratan sus orígenes, la herencia recibida culturalmente, el peso de avanzar y crecer fuera de ese núcleo familiar al que empiezas a dejar de reconocer pero a la vez le debes quién eres, la cultura de la violación y el silencio en su país, la jerarquía familiar, los pobres que no son tan pobres, la homosexualidad cuando aún es tabú, el crecer bajo el yugo y creencia de que la blanquitud es sinónimo de riqueza, pero imposible destino. Muy grata sorpresa.
“Yo preguntaba.
¿Cómo te ha ido el día?
Y tú oías expectación.
Tú preguntabas.
¿Te has acordado de la leche?
Y yo oía fracaso.”
“Crecer negra y mujer
te enseñará
a acumular esqueletos,
a embalar tus gritos con grapas,
para que todo el mundo pueda pasar la página cómodamente.
la paginación se mantiene
a costa de tu cordura.
si nuestros cajones de la ropa interior pudieran hablar,
sangrarían (así te lo digo).
las almohadas se desangrarían en nuestros nombres.
lo lamentable de sanar es esto:
te convence de que el dolor es mejor que una costra.
con las costras, la gente hace preguntas”
“Yo preguntaba.
¿Cómo te ha ido el día?
Y tú oías expectación.
Tú preguntabas.
¿Te has acordado de la leche?
Y yo oía fracaso.”
“Crecer negra y mujer
te enseñará
a acumular esqueletos,
a embalar tus gritos con grapas,
para que todo el mundo pueda pasar la página cómodamente.
la paginación se mantiene
a costa de tu cordura.
si nuestros cajones de la ropa interior pudieran hablar,
sangrarían (así te lo digo).
las almohadas se desangrarían en nuestros nombres.
lo lamentable de sanar es esto:
te convence de que el dolor es mejor que una costra.
con las costras, la gente hace preguntas”
March 13, 2022
me ha gustado mucho!! me parece un tipo de poesía muy diferente que realmente rompe barreras para hablar de temas que se han normalizado y que deben acabarse. espero que koleka putuma siga publicando porque creo que su papel dentro de la sociedad sudafricana es muy importante. la única pega del poemario es que es muy difícil de entender :( y sin la clase de lite no hubiera apreciado tanto la obra. de todas maneras son poemas que te hacen pensar y sufrir y plantearte preguntas de por qué es así la sociedad aún
December 17, 2022
"Dudaré como Santo Tomás de haberte llamado estando borracha".
January 8, 2020
“I don’t want to die with my
hands up
or
legs open.”
- Koleka Putuma
Collective Amnesia is a black South African memoir and album of poetries that speaks to and about the silences endured from womxnhood, blackness, religionism, colonialism, traditionalism and lesbianism.
“Her incendiary poems demand justice, insist on visibility and offer healing.” - as per official praise to KP for continually elevating our poetic history as black Africans.
The cryings, the rejoicings, the angers and the voicings in this book will leave you appreciative and alive; they will fill your bones and awaken your lungs.
hands up
or
legs open.”
- Koleka Putuma
Collective Amnesia is a black South African memoir and album of poetries that speaks to and about the silences endured from womxnhood, blackness, religionism, colonialism, traditionalism and lesbianism.
“Her incendiary poems demand justice, insist on visibility and offer healing.” - as per official praise to KP for continually elevating our poetic history as black Africans.
The cryings, the rejoicings, the angers and the voicings in this book will leave you appreciative and alive; they will fill your bones and awaken your lungs.
January 12, 2019
Me parece maravillosa la visión de la negritud que se enfrenta a un sometimiento religioso que la raza blanca y cristiana ha instaurado en su país. Además, la interseccionalidad que introduce a través de los argumentos del activismo feminista y lésbico hacen que sus versos se conviertan en un canto por la igualdad social.
July 3, 2021
Absolutely brilliant, powerful, raw, poignant. Each poem underscored with such depth and meaning of being Black, Queer, Woman.
A must read collection.
A must read collection.
January 13, 2022
Como dice en la contraportada, es un poemario sobre «la pena y la memoria, el dolor y la alegría, el sexo y el autocuidado», todos temas que me obsesionan. Me lo regaló mi novio hace unos días para ayudarme en mi camino leyendo todo lo multicultural que puedo.
Algunos poemas, algunas imágenes... pf. Mi favorito es, sin duda, «ropa heredada», donde habla de la pobreza-la vergüenza-el sacrificio-el amor. Las imágenes religiosas son también muy impactantes. Y las imágenes del cuerpo. Y la violencia y la muerte. Sobre el luto hay unos versos que me llegaron muchísimo en «graduación» («Aprendieron el alfabeto del dolor y el desmoronarse/ de otra manera/ Para ti, sanar tiene forma de charla y transparencia/ Para ellxs, es silencio y enterrar/ Y ambas probablemente son válidas»). Esto es igual demasiado personal para decirlo pero muchas imágenes e ideas de la infancia son las mismas que he mamado yo y supongo que mucha más gente que no haya nacido/se haya criado en un país/ambiente blanco.
No tiene nada que ver y no quiero decir nada feo ni hablar de lo que no sé, pero la edición no me convenció, no me pareció del todo cuidada por algunos detallitos y me molestó un poco porque el mensaje es demasiado potente para no tratarlo como (yo creo, yo) que merece.
Algunos poemas, algunas imágenes... pf. Mi favorito es, sin duda, «ropa heredada», donde habla de la pobreza-la vergüenza-el sacrificio-el amor. Las imágenes religiosas son también muy impactantes. Y las imágenes del cuerpo. Y la violencia y la muerte. Sobre el luto hay unos versos que me llegaron muchísimo en «graduación» («Aprendieron el alfabeto del dolor y el desmoronarse/ de otra manera/ Para ti, sanar tiene forma de charla y transparencia/ Para ellxs, es silencio y enterrar/ Y ambas probablemente son válidas»). Esto es igual demasiado personal para decirlo pero muchas imágenes e ideas de la infancia son las mismas que he mamado yo y supongo que mucha más gente que no haya nacido/se haya criado en un país/ambiente blanco.
No tiene nada que ver y no quiero decir nada feo ni hablar de lo que no sé, pero la edición no me convenció, no me pareció del todo cuidada por algunos detallitos y me molestó un poco porque el mensaje es demasiado potente para no tratarlo como (yo creo, yo) que merece.
July 23, 2017
Here is a review by Lorraine: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
March 1, 2021
This book of poetry is illustrative, powerful, and something I will return to to read again.
January 18, 2019
Koleka Putuma’s poetry collection titled “Collective Amnesia” is effortlessly written while painstakingly revealing intimate realities faced by black, queer womxn bodies in post-Apartheid South Africa. Her thematic poems underscore contradictions within conservative Christianity, and question the hetero-patriarchal normative that is derivative of Eurocentric colonialism. Her survivorship through traumas is evident in every page, such as growing up in her father/pastor’s home while masking her sexuality, being raped by a family member, undergoing a miscarriage with her abusive, arranged husband and challenging a society that doesn’t recognize her as legitimate. Putuma’s work epitomizes resistance through art; she bears the emotional labor for her South African counterparts to unlearn the entrenched roots of slavery, colonialism, Apartheid society, and white-imposed Christianity. She empowers readers to relive her suppressed vulnerabilities in order to truly understand the aftermath impacts of centuries of exploitation. Koleka Putuma strategically links seemingly unrelated themes of patriarchy and colonialism because to be a male’s private property is all too similar with a white settler claiming land and slaves as private property.
Putuma wants readers to wholly grasp the difference between power in people versus power in people, endowed by white approval. In other words, 1994 did not mark the end of Apartheid and beginning of justice. Instead, it marked a façade of post-racial society in which black people are implicitly second-class citizens. For example, as Putuma remarks in “1994: A Love Poem”: “I want (...) a lover who will build Robben Island in my backyard and convince me that I have (…) freedom,” (Putuma 101). This line demonstrates how colonizers developed a political exile for heretics, and albeit its closure in 1991, the island still represents everlasting struggle. Likewise, in her subsequent poem titled “Mountain”, she makes note of the Native Land Act of 1913 to illustrate the reverberating impacts of territorial segregation which has now lead to modern gentrification.
Furthermore, Koleka Putuma explores the contradictory nature of her Christian upbringing that preaches love and equality, while condemning the LGBTQIA community and subordinating women. Growing up with a pastor father, Koleka questions the blind reverence of a white Jesus imposed upon them by settler-colonialists. In her poem, “No Easter Sunday for Queers”, she questions “tell me if God can love us them unconditionally and be homophobic at the same time,” (Putuma 30). This powerful line tells readers of the homophobia within Christianity that only further propagates Eurocentric agenda of heterosexual reproduction for productivity. In a similar piece, “X-Mas Dinner with Skeletons”, Putuma opens up about her religiously devout uncle who raped her. She articulates, “madness sits at the dinner table, too, saying grace with one eye open,” (Putuma 94). Putuma reveals intersecting values between the patriarchy and the church and how both aim to diminish the woman’s body and autonomy. Lastly, Putuma concludes “No Easter Sunday for Queers” with an open letter to her father in which she states, “Would you preach about me? And what would you say? My daughter was murdered yesterday or a lesbian was murdered yesterday,” (Putuma 33). In which, she notes that even her own family has disowned her, favoring God over one’s kin.
Koleka Putuma reintroduces the theme of black womxnhood within her works to unpack intersectional feminism. This is demonstrated through her curt yet stark piece, “Memoirs of a Slave and Queer Person,” “I Don’t want to die with my hands up or legs open,” (Putuma 75), symbolic of how her body is both violently policed and sexually violated for being a black lesbian. When comparing Putuma’s art to similar work, Bev Ditsies’ “Simon and I” also exposes patriarchal motives within revolutionary movements that undermine womxnhood. This is problematic because womxn are therefore not only systematically oppressed but are challenged within their own safe spaces. Much like how Bev Ditsie distanced herself from the GLOW organization to make woman issues like rape more amplified, Koleka calls out revolutionaries that put womxn at the frontlines of violence. In fact, she dedicates an entire poem towards the names of womxn who have sacrificed their lives for liberation and justice—a powerful retort against mainstream activism. Koleka Putuma belongs on this list of womxn revolutionaries for her poetic, radical take of a true South African “struggle song”.
Putuma wants readers to wholly grasp the difference between power in people versus power in people, endowed by white approval. In other words, 1994 did not mark the end of Apartheid and beginning of justice. Instead, it marked a façade of post-racial society in which black people are implicitly second-class citizens. For example, as Putuma remarks in “1994: A Love Poem”: “I want (...) a lover who will build Robben Island in my backyard and convince me that I have (…) freedom,” (Putuma 101). This line demonstrates how colonizers developed a political exile for heretics, and albeit its closure in 1991, the island still represents everlasting struggle. Likewise, in her subsequent poem titled “Mountain”, she makes note of the Native Land Act of 1913 to illustrate the reverberating impacts of territorial segregation which has now lead to modern gentrification.
Furthermore, Koleka Putuma explores the contradictory nature of her Christian upbringing that preaches love and equality, while condemning the LGBTQIA community and subordinating women. Growing up with a pastor father, Koleka questions the blind reverence of a white Jesus imposed upon them by settler-colonialists. In her poem, “No Easter Sunday for Queers”, she questions “tell me if God can love us them unconditionally and be homophobic at the same time,” (Putuma 30). This powerful line tells readers of the homophobia within Christianity that only further propagates Eurocentric agenda of heterosexual reproduction for productivity. In a similar piece, “X-Mas Dinner with Skeletons”, Putuma opens up about her religiously devout uncle who raped her. She articulates, “madness sits at the dinner table, too, saying grace with one eye open,” (Putuma 94). Putuma reveals intersecting values between the patriarchy and the church and how both aim to diminish the woman’s body and autonomy. Lastly, Putuma concludes “No Easter Sunday for Queers” with an open letter to her father in which she states, “Would you preach about me? And what would you say? My daughter was murdered yesterday or a lesbian was murdered yesterday,” (Putuma 33). In which, she notes that even her own family has disowned her, favoring God over one’s kin.
Koleka Putuma reintroduces the theme of black womxnhood within her works to unpack intersectional feminism. This is demonstrated through her curt yet stark piece, “Memoirs of a Slave and Queer Person,” “I Don’t want to die with my hands up or legs open,” (Putuma 75), symbolic of how her body is both violently policed and sexually violated for being a black lesbian. When comparing Putuma’s art to similar work, Bev Ditsies’ “Simon and I” also exposes patriarchal motives within revolutionary movements that undermine womxnhood. This is problematic because womxn are therefore not only systematically oppressed but are challenged within their own safe spaces. Much like how Bev Ditsie distanced herself from the GLOW organization to make woman issues like rape more amplified, Koleka calls out revolutionaries that put womxn at the frontlines of violence. In fact, she dedicates an entire poem towards the names of womxn who have sacrificed their lives for liberation and justice—a powerful retort against mainstream activism. Koleka Putuma belongs on this list of womxn revolutionaries for her poetic, radical take of a true South African “struggle song”.
Read
August 22, 2017It doesn’t even make sense to mark this book as read, as in finished, it’s the type of book I will for a long time be “currently reading” (but I have to meet my goodreads reading challenge so its now read)
I have not read or listened to a lot of poetry, just occasionally moved by the popular ones, so this was a great “introduction”.
The poems are gentle, even though they are addressing difficult topics.
The poems read like she sat in my jumbled up brain organised my thoughts and selected the most beautiful way of expressing my thoughts.
And the layers of meanings of the poems, you finish reading one and think what is this one saying? you would think Koleka deliberately wrote for YOU to make your own sense and meaning out of it.
And what topics didn’t she address, everything about being in existence she talks about somewhere!
I have serious respect for this poet,gifting us with this gem, Collective Amnesia
I have not read or listened to a lot of poetry, just occasionally moved by the popular ones, so this was a great “introduction”.
The poems are gentle, even though they are addressing difficult topics.
The poems read like she sat in my jumbled up brain organised my thoughts and selected the most beautiful way of expressing my thoughts.
And the layers of meanings of the poems, you finish reading one and think what is this one saying? you would think Koleka deliberately wrote for YOU to make your own sense and meaning out of it.
And what topics didn’t she address, everything about being in existence she talks about somewhere!
I have serious respect for this poet,gifting us with this gem, Collective Amnesia
August 17, 2021
The book was quite good but I think that you probably ought to know more about christianity to properly understand many of the points Putuma makes. I just know too little to grasp it. My favourite parts were instead those that didn't rely heavily on religious metaphors and I genuinely enjoyed the language. It was a book that you know is good it's just that you're not capable of fully understanding it.
Regardless, it's a perspective I think is very important and I'm glad Putuma's voice isn't silenced the way she describes in her work.
Regardless, it's a perspective I think is very important and I'm glad Putuma's voice isn't silenced the way she describes in her work.
April 7, 2023
Kolela Putuma's poetry is raw and heart-wrenching! It strips you down and leaves you undone! The issues discussed are real and all too familiar to stand on the sidelines! She takes you on a journey of reflecting, connecting and mourning. It's all necessary and worth it!
My heart wept and wept throughout my engagement with her work.
She has also recorded her work and it's available in audio format on iTunes - never gets old!
My heart wept and wept throughout my engagement with her work.
She has also recorded her work and it's available in audio format on iTunes - never gets old!
March 17, 2020
Wow awsome book, very powerful poetry and it hit me hard in a good way. Its a MUST, read it now. I have read it in Danish and English. I preferred the English version.
A book that I will read again and again
A book that I will read again and again
January 24, 2022
it rips my heart out every single time and yet I keep running back to it. one of the most incredible poetry anthologies I've ever had the pleasure of reading
August 8, 2018
I easily went into this knowing it would be a full five stars. Yes, I did have a hint of doubt at some point but it was immediately gone by the time I started reading it. I've had the fortunate of hearing Putuma read and her poems command attention. The title, "Collective Amnesia" immediately grabs attention. What is this "Collective Amnesia" Putuma speaks about? Being South African, I had an idea. A common idea that we all share as South Africans that something is wrong or offbeat. By calling it "Collective Amnesia" there's a suggestion that we're all suffering from it but some, like the speaker in the book haven't. The speaker isn't described and I took a step back from assuming that Putuma and the speaker might be the same person because I don't know and I don't want to make that assumption.
The poems evokes vivid and realistic imagery. In "Growing Up Black & Womxn" Putuma writes, "if our underwear drawers could speak they would bleed (I tell you) pillows would hemorrhage on our behalf". I could not stop imagining all this blood. Dark red blood spilling out of marginalized genders bodies because of the violence. And Putuma reveals this violence in most of the poems. Putuma is not afraid to talk about all the silences and how violent they are. In the blurb of the book, Collective Amnesia and Putuma are described as demanding justice which most of these poems do.
But while most of these poems address and call out violence, some are about loss, memory, belonging and you'll find yourself surprisingly laughing at some lines. I found myself giggling a bit in "No Easter Sunday for Queers" when the speaker is at church and the pastor is talking, "He is preaching about our sins/about crucifixion /how it can save us
I am bored/and hungover/and horny". I found the last lines so funny. Because whose thoughts have not wandered away while some man went on and on? And this humor does not just end there. In "Black Joy", Putuma addresses this notion of black people seemingly being miserable all their lives by talking about growing up and these moments of joy. I reluctantly agreed with this poem. I say reluctantly because it is very easy to see how similar Putuma's poems are to the black South African experience and for me, some of what Putuma described wasn't necessarily a joyful moment but it isn't Putuma's responsibility for it to be.
I borrowed the copy I read from a good friend of mine but as soon as I have the funds I will with no doubt get myself a copy because this book cannot be read once.
The poems evokes vivid and realistic imagery. In "Growing Up Black & Womxn" Putuma writes, "if our underwear drawers could speak they would bleed (I tell you) pillows would hemorrhage on our behalf". I could not stop imagining all this blood. Dark red blood spilling out of marginalized genders bodies because of the violence. And Putuma reveals this violence in most of the poems. Putuma is not afraid to talk about all the silences and how violent they are. In the blurb of the book, Collective Amnesia and Putuma are described as demanding justice which most of these poems do.
But while most of these poems address and call out violence, some are about loss, memory, belonging and you'll find yourself surprisingly laughing at some lines. I found myself giggling a bit in "No Easter Sunday for Queers" when the speaker is at church and the pastor is talking, "He is preaching about our sins/about crucifixion /how it can save us
I am bored/and hungover/and horny". I found the last lines so funny. Because whose thoughts have not wandered away while some man went on and on? And this humor does not just end there. In "Black Joy", Putuma addresses this notion of black people seemingly being miserable all their lives by talking about growing up and these moments of joy. I reluctantly agreed with this poem. I say reluctantly because it is very easy to see how similar Putuma's poems are to the black South African experience and for me, some of what Putuma described wasn't necessarily a joyful moment but it isn't Putuma's responsibility for it to be.
I borrowed the copy I read from a good friend of mine but as soon as I have the funds I will with no doubt get myself a copy because this book cannot be read once.
May 9, 2022
Written by an award-winning performance poet,facilitator and theatre-maker, Collective Amnesia is indeed as stated by Bongani Madondo(https://johannesburgreviewofbooks.com...), a portrait of a poet as a young genius.
Post the electrifying poem Water that left many of us black or white, male or female ,queer or heteronormative shell shocked, Koleka Putuma is still a name that hangs on our very lips both in wonder and angst. Here is womxn, a Black Queer womxn who isn't afraid to question beliefs and ask questions that are said under the cover of darkness , in secret corners and behind closed doors. Questions that have been swept under the carpet and stomped on half in denial half in fear.
Koleka Putuma's collection of confrontations is not a work of beauty glossed over by rhyming stanzas and lyricism, it is a work of exposing the ugliness of patriarchy, the intoxicating heteronormative culture and perhaps even the traditional idea of what poetry ought to be. Her work is unapologetic, not because of the subject matter she has been chosen to engage in but because she engages with it without giving a thought to what the reader needs. This is her healing, her performance, her protest and we are merely the audience who may at a later stage choose to participate or not.
This body of work is not meant to be studied,critically analysed or crammed. It's meant to undo many social ills. It's meant to confront,to question and to be heard. This body of work is not for structured discussions and controversial panels at book fairs that serve the elite. This body of work is meant for those that need to break the chains of silence, question tradition, embrace and rejoice in grief and heal. This body of work is for womxn!!!
Post the electrifying poem Water that left many of us black or white, male or female ,queer or heteronormative shell shocked, Koleka Putuma is still a name that hangs on our very lips both in wonder and angst. Here is womxn, a Black Queer womxn who isn't afraid to question beliefs and ask questions that are said under the cover of darkness , in secret corners and behind closed doors. Questions that have been swept under the carpet and stomped on half in denial half in fear.
Koleka Putuma's collection of confrontations is not a work of beauty glossed over by rhyming stanzas and lyricism, it is a work of exposing the ugliness of patriarchy, the intoxicating heteronormative culture and perhaps even the traditional idea of what poetry ought to be. Her work is unapologetic, not because of the subject matter she has been chosen to engage in but because she engages with it without giving a thought to what the reader needs. This is her healing, her performance, her protest and we are merely the audience who may at a later stage choose to participate or not.
This body of work is not meant to be studied,critically analysed or crammed. It's meant to undo many social ills. It's meant to confront,to question and to be heard. This body of work is not for structured discussions and controversial panels at book fairs that serve the elite. This body of work is meant for those that need to break the chains of silence, question tradition, embrace and rejoice in grief and heal. This body of work is for womxn!!!
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