Før Memmo var mine noter spredt ud over PDF'er. Nu samler et workspace alt ét sted – og jeg ser præcis, hvad der er tilbage at læse op på.
This extraordinary debut poetry collection by Dena'ina poet Annie Wenstrup delicately parses personal history in the space of an imagined museum. Outside the museum, Ggugguyni (the Dena'ina Raven) and The Museum Curator collect discarded French fries, earrings, and secrets—or as the curator explains, together they curate moments of cataclysm. Inside the museum, their collection is displayed in installations that depict the imagined Indigenous body. Into this "distance between the learning and the telling," Wenstrup inserts The Curator and her sukdu'a, her own interpretive text. At the heart of the sukdu'a is the desire to find a form that allows the speaker's story to be heard. Through love letters, received forms, and found text, the poems reclaim their right to interpret, reinvent, and even disregard artifacts of their own mythos. Meticulously refined and delicately crafted, they encourage the reader to "decide/who you must become."
[Sample Poem]
Ggugguyni in the Museum Parking Lot
I watch her crow. Not as a crow crows
but as herself. She's not here for the art.
She's here for the minivans that devour
diaper bags, car seats, children. She waits
for the doors to retract and expel fruit,
Goldfish, and fries. Free for the taking.
She scavenges in lurching, crab-like steps.
Like me, she won't appear human here.
While her legs bring her from one delicious
scrap to another, I work my own inventory.
Once my parents named me Swift Raven—
a real Indian Princess name.
I flew unblinded, my hair in a blue-black
braid down my back. Now, I'm ungainly,
more harpy than girl. My mouth, a curve
calling for carrion. I'm not here for the art.
I'm here for the mirrors, here to unpair
earrings and unclasp foil from gum. My beak
ready to unbind carapace from quiver.
Like Ggugguyni, I'm a scavenger
lurching from one disaster to another.
See how we curate cataclysms' aftermath.
While we work, Ggugguyni tells me a story.
Once, my grandfather said, a long time ago
there was a raven. He opened a door
and it was day. Then he drew his wing shut.
What Ggugguyni didn't say, but what I heard: once
he closed the door and it was night. Today
I'm telling you this story instead: my mouth
is a comma, my mouth is exclamation,
my mouth is my body holding open the door.
Witness my body create day. See how the light
appraises my collection. See how the sunlight
exposes how shadow bleached everything white.
Før Memmo var mine noter spredt ud over PDF'er. Nu samler et workspace alt ét sted – og jeg ser præcis, hvad der er tilbage at læse op på.
Memmos opsummeringer er guld inden eksamen. Jeg slipper for at genlæse 800 sider to uger før – kun de vigtigste dele.
AI-chatten har reddet mig aftenen før en eksamen mere end én gang. Jeg spørger, indtil jeg forstår det – og slipper for at vente på svar i en studiegruppe.
Quizzen rammer præcis det, jeg skal kunne. Memmo holder øje med, hvad jeg har svært ved – så jeg øver mig kun på det, der er det værd.
Flashcards med spaced repetition er magi. Memmo ved, når jeg er ved at glemme noget, og viser det igen.
AI-podcasts er min favorit. Jeg lytter på vej til skole og får en opsummering uden at sidde foran en computer.
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