[Author’s Note: This except is part of my dissertation “Race and ethnicity in the works of Kym Ragusa, Mary Bucci Bush and Louisa Calio” forthcoming in winter 2021.]
Part Two: Angie’s Hands Have Seasoning
Notwithstanding her battle against a male-defined society, the masculinist view of the Italian American literature and the cultural trapping, Louisa Calio does not take any critical distance from her background, on the contrary, she reveals a good dose of italianità when she celebrates her forebears and her community. Her works are pregnant with “a flavor of things Italian” (Bona and Gilbert 1999, 7), such as religion and food imagery, language, and nostalgia. This is particularly evident in poems such as Mamma Mia Rose, in which the poet treasures the moment with her mother Rosa and idealistically embraces her teaching, an action that connect the women together in one legacy; or Meet Joe, My Sicilian Father an elegy for her late father; and, even more, in the delicate Angie’s Hands Have Seasoning, an ode to her grandmother Angelina Consolmagno Marchesani, and her kitchen.
In Angie’s Hands Have Seasoning, Calio describes the atmosphere, the joy of cooking, and the pleasure of being together felt in the Italian households when the grandmother prepares the meal for family and neighbors. The kitchen becomes the locus of meaning and emotion, the place for familial and ethnic renewal, presided over by Grandma Angie.
Angie’s hands have seasoning
the neighbors and relatives would say
when they got to partake
in one of her homemade meals.
Her hands would go through
each tomato or vegetable
sorting the good from the bad
the freshly picked garden varieties
delicately, as though she was touching
a bit of eternity
or the cosmic web lined with ancient secrets;
She could sense the life force in the greens or reds
the messages of love carried from the ancestors
which seemed mirrored in her warm
and well worn hands
[…]
She knew the greatness within the small
the secrets of how to nourish us all
with what she created through nature
and those well seasoned hands.
In reflecting on her grandmother’s food preparation, Calio talks about life, with a distinct perspective, that of food. As Louise De Salvo explains in Milk of Almonds, “Food-writing and life-writing in Italian American culture are interconnected, for to examine our relationship with food is to examine ourselves and the family, the community, and society at large” (9); Angie’s hands betrays this intimate dimension. Angie’s cooking suggests some of larger identity issues embedded in the relationship between people and their socio-material environment, in this case a set of relatives, a set of ingredients and memories. The poem evokes “traditional” cooking without recipes, cuisine arts, or cookbooks and implies a hierarchy of gerontocratic authority passed down the female line.
Even if the message of the poet seems so easy and conventional in these verses, between the lines, we can glimpse her fighting against the cultural trap from which she fled, “critiquing and recreating her relationship to the Italian culture” (Bona and Gilbert 1999, 7). Angie’s Hands clearly comprising a counterattack to the tendency to stereotype Italian food, demystifies “those all too familiar spaghetti and pizza plots” (Giunta and De Salvo, 2), and surprises her readers by exploring questions of identity, aging, death, and relentless passage of time. Moreover, true to her belief, the poem also suggests a strong connection between the woman/poet and nature. Indeed, this nostalgic journey in Calio’s childhood is a ride to a pastoral world, in which grandma’s kitchen seems the garden of Eden where all the ingredients are within arm’s reach. Angie navigates expertly this space; like a witch doctor/medicine woman, she is deeply familiar with nature and its products. This connection with the natural world is a side of italianità,[1] in which Calio recognizes herself. In losing this skill/tradition, not only do we lose our bond with nature, but even we lose our connection with our community and lose ourselves, as the speaker/author reveals.
Tradition, therefore, is important even for an unconventional poet like Louisa Calio, whose Italian background has surely had a huge impact on her writing and given her models to aspire to. For example, the way she addresses her audience, as if she were holding a dynamic (lyrical) conversation with her readers, is something she definitely got from her Italian family. “Being raised in a Catholic tradition, gave me an appreciation of ritual and a respect for our need for collective expression,” she admits to Alok Mishra. (“Louisa Calio Interview,” Ashvamegh, https://ashvamegh.net/louisa-calio-interview-alok-mishra/. Accessed 17 Feb. 2020). Louisa Calio’s verses, in fact, are what Mary Jo Bona calls “a poetics of community” (2010), which mean they are made to be read in front of a general public, as is often the case of many Italian American poets, whose works draws upon the oral storytelling tradition, and “function as speakerly texts… told to a receptive audience who retain the story and are capable to repeating it themselves” (Bona 2010, 161).
Poetry and performance are at the basis of Calio’s art; they are two forms of art that intertwine and are often inseparable in her work. What it is more interesting, still, is that to these elements (performance and poetry), Calio adds another dramatic mode of expression: visual art. Calio’s works are often preceded by a photo or painting exhibition – for instance, the exposition “Passion for Africa” (2007) which led the way to Journey to the Heart Waters (2014). Her poetry collection abounds with photos or paintings, of which she is often the creator. This is certainly something innovative, yet, it has a traditional element she inherited from her Italian family as well, as she admits in an interview: “The birth of creativity began in childhood…. I came from a family of artists including my grandfather, Rocco, a sculptor and furniture maker and my grandmother Luigia, a musician, poet and fashion designer.” (“Louisa Calio Interview,” Ashvamegh, https://ashvamegh.net/louisa-calio-interview-alok-mishra/. Accessed 17 Feb. 2020). Combining poetry, performance and visual arts comes natural to Louisa Calio because is something that belongs to her culture. At the same time, occupying diverse creative realms provides Calio with countless sources of inspiration and offers her reader/viewer a unique immersive art experience. That makes her, to my opinion, an innovator upon the conventions of Italian American canon.
To return to the point made at the beginning of this article, could a poet be innovative simply by virtue of taking traditional subject-matter and asking it to take on a non-traditional form? “Innovation depends on the contest,” as Carol Rumens explains in “Time to send Home the Troops?”, “if a poet invokes a historical genre and then does something within it that is different, such a revision has fair claim to be called innovation.” (2012, 221) With her multifaceted approach to making art, mixing painting, dance and performance to her writing, Louisa Calio says over and over that writing within the boundaries has released her into boundarylessness; that the challenges left by history have released her into the future; that embracing tradition has been, for her, a meaningful form of feminist innovation. Consequently, Louisa Calio is at once traditional and innovative.
Work Cited
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[1] Italy is also articulated through the imagery of a rural peasant world, sweet landscapes, fresh products, the simplicity of things and the respect for nature. All these characteristics are part of being Italian.
(Meet Mago Contributor) Cinzia Marongiu