An alert drunkenness by Matwaala director Usha Akella
Ten years!
When reading poetry from South America or the Far East or ‘Desi’ poetry, I feel those lines are charged with different rhythms, poetic nuances, and drift. There is a turbulence and a jingle and jangle in South American, Mexican and Caribbean poetry. South Asian poetry can send off a waft like chai or announce itself with the profound yellow of Turmeric—the color of life, sustenance and healing for us. Life is processed differently in global poetic voices. Voices that are also American voices today.
I’ve earned three Masters to learn and study the craft of poetry dominated by UK and American canons. And grateful for the privilege of education. But gradually, a voice of rebellion was rising its head. I wanted to write a good poem honed by craft but I didn’t want to change how I sound, and what I wanted to write about. I didn’t want to write like John Ashbery. I am urged to write about the spiritual, and lean heavily into feminist tones. One can’t avoid God in India, even if you want to! His/her presence is blared from loudspeakers on our numerous festival days. I wanted to open my inner spice box and aromate my poems the way I wanted to.
There was and is an industry of poetry with stringent standards of ‘acceptable’ themes, voice, content, forms etc., My daughter would say it’s not ‘brown people’s’ poetry. Should not an American poetry not just accommodate but showcase its various writings? Many South Asian poets seem to have had a racist experience in some overt or covert way—being excluded, sidelined, snubbed…Why is there an invisible hammer pounding homogeneity into its poetic voice? More and more, MFA programs produce voices that sound the same.
There were more concerns Pramila Venkateswaran and I would discuss:
We were churned from time to time about the visibility of South Asian poets in the USA. Always, a repeated few South Asian poets shine on the US scene; a Norton or standard anthology of American poetry cites one or two South Asian poets; not enough are featured in prominent readings/workshops series or profiled in articles. The reality of the situation is several scores of good South Asian poets are writing in the nooks and corners of this huge continent. And the elitism of the fortunate few who ‘make’ it generally doesn’t help. I’ve had a famous Indian origin US poet mock and criticize Matwaala—he told me that he doesn’t have to be like us or do what we do. He is loved by them! Them. The irony of it, was it lost on him as he uttered those words!
At the heart of everything I do is an awareness of community—the staple ingredient of my cultural life while growing up in India. One day in 2015, we said we’d talked and whined enough and it was time to act. Matwaala was born from wanting people to hear us—how our pens do the Bhangra or Bharatanatyam, how our souls simmer with a plethora of spices, laments and songs—and how our voices are diverse and varied.
And we are one of the tenors in American poetry. We are not seeking to be parochial. In solidarity, we launched a poets-of-color series extending our empathy with Caribbean, Asian American, Dalit, Mexican etc., writers, flagging off the series with an African American panel of poets, rightfully so. For a very long time now, the affinities between the atrocities of caste issues and race issues have been documented.
The first Matwaala festival was born in my living room in Austin—it was a glorious start—like a meal of nourishing piping hot idli and sambar. We huddled in the kitchen and living room, sleeping in the bedrooms and media room wherever a couch was available. We ate a lot because there is no Desi event without food, and yes, we drank poetry all day long for three days.
The name was bestowed on us by Dr. Amritjit Singh and has stuck. Quirky and ethnic it denotes intoxication—and we all agree that poets are drunk, drunk with language, the world of senses, and with a generosity that pushes us to toil and give to the world what we can with our craft.
We’ve recognized a Parsi, Indian Christian, Indian Muslim with our yearly poet-of-honor award. And we are not divergent from pan South Asia, so we knew it was not enough to only showcase an Indo American voice. We understand there is not just one Indian voice or one Indo American voice or one South Asian voice.
Matwaala has come to be associated with inclusivity, warmth and a ceaseless striving to share our talent and poetic ability. Established, emerging and youth poets read for us—it’s been a whopping 80 poets under the banner in ten years. We tried to be the change we wanted to see.
We’ve done some important things, but that Norton Anthology hasn’t changed, syllabi needs to include more SA poets…
So, we’re still around in 2025—in an alert drunkenness to all the winds about us.
--Usha Akella
When reading poetry from South America or the Far East or ‘Desi’ poetry, I feel those lines are charged with different rhythms, poetic nuances, and drift. There is a turbulence and a jingle and jangle in South American, Mexican and Caribbean poetry. South Asian poetry can send off a waft like chai or announce itself with the profound yellow of Turmeric—the color of life, sustenance and healing for us. Life is processed differently in global poetic voices. Voices that are also American voices today.
I’ve earned three Masters to learn and study the craft of poetry dominated by UK and American canons. And grateful for the privilege of education. But gradually, a voice of rebellion was rising its head. I wanted to write a good poem honed by craft but I didn’t want to change how I sound, and what I wanted to write about. I didn’t want to write like John Ashbery. I am urged to write about the spiritual, and lean heavily into feminist tones. One can’t avoid God in India, even if you want to! His/her presence is blared from loudspeakers on our numerous festival days. I wanted to open my inner spice box and aromate my poems the way I wanted to.
There was and is an industry of poetry with stringent standards of ‘acceptable’ themes, voice, content, forms etc., My daughter would say it’s not ‘brown people’s’ poetry. Should not an American poetry not just accommodate but showcase its various writings? Many South Asian poets seem to have had a racist experience in some overt or covert way—being excluded, sidelined, snubbed…Why is there an invisible hammer pounding homogeneity into its poetic voice? More and more, MFA programs produce voices that sound the same.
There were more concerns Pramila Venkateswaran and I would discuss:
We were churned from time to time about the visibility of South Asian poets in the USA. Always, a repeated few South Asian poets shine on the US scene; a Norton or standard anthology of American poetry cites one or two South Asian poets; not enough are featured in prominent readings/workshops series or profiled in articles. The reality of the situation is several scores of good South Asian poets are writing in the nooks and corners of this huge continent. And the elitism of the fortunate few who ‘make’ it generally doesn’t help. I’ve had a famous Indian origin US poet mock and criticize Matwaala—he told me that he doesn’t have to be like us or do what we do. He is loved by them! Them. The irony of it, was it lost on him as he uttered those words!
At the heart of everything I do is an awareness of community—the staple ingredient of my cultural life while growing up in India. One day in 2015, we said we’d talked and whined enough and it was time to act. Matwaala was born from wanting people to hear us—how our pens do the Bhangra or Bharatanatyam, how our souls simmer with a plethora of spices, laments and songs—and how our voices are diverse and varied.
And we are one of the tenors in American poetry. We are not seeking to be parochial. In solidarity, we launched a poets-of-color series extending our empathy with Caribbean, Asian American, Dalit, Mexican etc., writers, flagging off the series with an African American panel of poets, rightfully so. For a very long time now, the affinities between the atrocities of caste issues and race issues have been documented.
The first Matwaala festival was born in my living room in Austin—it was a glorious start—like a meal of nourishing piping hot idli and sambar. We huddled in the kitchen and living room, sleeping in the bedrooms and media room wherever a couch was available. We ate a lot because there is no Desi event without food, and yes, we drank poetry all day long for three days.
The name was bestowed on us by Dr. Amritjit Singh and has stuck. Quirky and ethnic it denotes intoxication—and we all agree that poets are drunk, drunk with language, the world of senses, and with a generosity that pushes us to toil and give to the world what we can with our craft.
We’ve recognized a Parsi, Indian Christian, Indian Muslim with our yearly poet-of-honor award. And we are not divergent from pan South Asia, so we knew it was not enough to only showcase an Indo American voice. We understand there is not just one Indian voice or one Indo American voice or one South Asian voice.
Matwaala has come to be associated with inclusivity, warmth and a ceaseless striving to share our talent and poetic ability. Established, emerging and youth poets read for us—it’s been a whopping 80 poets under the banner in ten years. We tried to be the change we wanted to see.
We’ve done some important things, but that Norton Anthology hasn’t changed, syllabi needs to include more SA poets…
So, we’re still around in 2025—in an alert drunkenness to all the winds about us.
--Usha Akella