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Diannely Antigua — Another Poem about God, but Really It’s about Me
00:16:21
“You would’ve made a lousy nun.” The narrator of Diannely Antigua’s “Another Poem about God, but Really It’s about Me” overhears these words, and they jolt her into contrasting her life experience with the limited archetypes offered by her church — good daughter, good sister, holy woman, whore. Which of these has she been? Where does her devotion lie? And what virtue can she claim?
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- [00:00]
Padre Go Toma
Hi friends. I've got some news for you. I've got two books coming out in early 2025. 44 poems on being with each Other is a poetry unbound collection with 44 poems and 44 essays. There's poems from Jericho Brown and Mary Oliver and Lucille Clifton in there. And I have a collection of my own poems coming out too. It's called Kitchen Hymns. You can pre order these wherever you get your books. Online bookshops or even better your local bookshop. There's more info@poetryunbound.org thanks friends. My name is Padre Go Toma and for a long time I thought I was going to become a priest. I never did. But with reflection, years later, I now realize that possibly one of the things I wanted more than becoming a priest was to be a priest who left. I have such a relationship of tension with religion that I can't imagine I'd have lasted more than a few years. I think I'd have liked the work, but I have a disproportionate dislike of certain forms of authority. Hidden in one desire is often another desire, and often my complex relationship with a structure can manifest itself in ways that are sometimes self destructive and that ask me to go much deeper. Poems can help you do that by digging through and looking at all the layers that can be present in a single desire. Another poem about God, but really it's about me. By Dianelli Antigua. You would have made a lousy nun, the woman on the A train says to the person on the other end of the phone. I laugh to no one and imagine what a lousy nun would do. Maybe sneak a lover into her room on Ash Wednesday or take off her wedding ring from God, let the sun touch the unveiled skin. I was never a nun, but I was called Sister and brothers were not allowed to do more than shake my hand. I was called Daughter when the pastor kissed my cheek, when I was worth more than rubies. I was a good sister. For a decade I was good. After I left, I still prayed to all the fathers who weren't mine. I opened my mouth to their wisdom and in my tongue was the law of kindness. I became their Mary Magdalene, holy by day, whore by night, perfuming the feet of every man named Jesus. After I left I stayed devout. Devout to recklessness, devote to taking out my virgin. I don't remember craving anything so much as my own destruction. It was beautiful to watch from the bleachers of my mind separating myself from all the sisters inside me. In Proverbs it is virtuous for a woman to work willingly with her hands. I only wanted to bring virtue unto my name when I held each new body in my palms. I only wanted to bring virtue when I hid in the bathroom, slapped my face. Dianelli Antigua is a Dominican American poet who, throughout her book, makes references to a version of Christianity that's Pentecostal. There's a number of poems that are titled similarly to this Another Poem about One Thing, but really it's about another thing. And this one is titled Another Poem About God, but really it's about me. It could be perhaps that you could title the poem as well, Another Poem About God, but really it's about sex. Sex for some, maybe all of us, at times, it can be difficult to talk about. Well, and often it appears in conversation when we're talking about something else. And so sometimes, perhaps if you said, we're gonna talk about sex, people might talk about anything, but. But instead of which, we're talking about nuns, or she's imagining talking about nuns. And suddenly sex shows up in pleasurable ways and risky ways and secretive ways throughout the story of the poet's own life as well. It starts by a projection of a nun sneaking a lover into a room or the wedding ring from God. But then we see restraint in the story of herself that the brothers weren't allowed to do more than sh is how she says it. And that is a restraint on the brothers because of an imagination of purity. She speaks about that. There clearly is a before and an after. There's this line, I was a good sister for a decade. I was good. After I left, I still prayed to all the fathers. And so you hear that there has been a change of religious belonging and perhaps a change in the way she might see herself, but clearly a change in the way where she might be seen by others, by that father of the pastor, by those brothers in the congregation, by anybody else in the congregation too. There's some absolutely beautiful, delicious, magnificent, wild line breaks throughout this poem. One of the line breaks is, I became their Mary. And then there's a line break. In fact, a stanza break. This poem is in a whole sequence of couplets, and it goes from one stanza to the next. I became their Mary Magdalene. And by leaving this space there, Dianelli Antigua is allowing us to think, which Mary are we gonna talk about? Mary, who was known? Mary, the virgin mother of God. Mary, the woman who is assumed to have worked in prostitution. Who is she going to be? In a way, the story of how the various Marys of the gospel traditions are spoken of reflects the ways women are spoken of. Often, you know, are you going to be the harlot? Are you going to be the mother? Are you going to be the maiden or the crone? Or are you going to be removed? These singular options really that present themselves for archetypes of woman as they are often presented in certain readings of the gospel texts. That is a very limited imagination of the fullness of being human. And so I understand and applaud and admire hugely the way within which through line breaks and through pushing back and through eros and through daring and risk, but also you hear self destruction and pain. I understand how all of those energies are coalescing in this poem. Another line break references the pastor brothers were not allowed to do more than shake my hand. I was called daughter when the pastor. And there's another stanza break here, which allows us, even for a microsecond when you're looking at it, to wonder what's going to happen. I was called daughter when the pastor kissed my cheek. And then I was a good sister for a decade. I was. Another stanza break and we're wondering what's going to happen. I was good is what she says. After I left, I still prayed to all the fathers who weren't mine. I opened my mouth. Stanza break. What's going to happen? There's the anticipation to their wisdom. And by doing this it's culminating in drama. It's demonstrating extraordinary skill of poetics, but it's also showing a certain plotline is delivered and somebody is trying, by frustrating or titillating or changing expected narratives, to open up the restrictive cages of the archetypes, limited as they are, that are presented. So much of the human condition is about living with competing forces in ourself. Life is complicated enough without us making it more complicated for ourselves and also our structures increase that complication too. I see the internalization of something that actually isn't internal. I don't remember craving anything so much as my own destruction. That you see toward the end of this powerful poem, the systems within which she is operating seem to be ones that are actually going to achieve fulfillment by seeing members of a congregation, especially female members of a congregation, struggle in the sense of their own self destruction. And that pushing and imagining, that purity of a very particular interpretation needs to rest in the bodies of certain members of the congregation. That is bound to cause an experience of tension. By setting up this particular form of belonging as the pinnacle of the demonstration of your faith, it does mean that the narrative is that it's all downhill from here. And I see this happening too, in that line. I don't remember craving anything so much as my own destruction. If you've been told it's either here or destruction, probably eventually you're likely to choose some of your own destruction, even against yourself. And some of that tension occurs in the next stanza as well. It was beautiful to watch. From the bleachers of my mind we see this separation. She's seeing some kind of game, some kind of sport happening, some destruction happening on a field, and she's also up in the bleachers watching that. We see the split self. We see the self that doesn't know, who am I, how am I supposed to be? That pain is so understandable for so many of us who have come out from backgrounds that have given us very, very limited options as to who we can. There's a threefold repetition of virtue toward the end of the poem and a reference to to the Book of Proverbs that you find in the Hebrew Bible. In Proverbs, it is virtuous for a woman to work willingly with her hands. Chapter 31 of the book of Proverbs speaks about who can find a virtuous woman for her price is far above rubies. So with that reference towards the end, we're also catapulted back to the beginning of the poem, realizing that Dianelli Antigua has peppered references to biblical imaginations of womanhood throughout the text of her poem and Proverbs 31, the chapter about the virtuous woman speaks about the woman's husband and her own industry, how she provides food and plants a vineyard, and then it finishes with the following. Give her of the fruit of her hands and let her own works praise her in the gates. Give her of the fruit of her hands. We see that Dianeli Antigua is speaking about the fruit of her hands, and you see how she is caught in the moment, continuing to be committed in an awful sense of manifesting this sense of tension in herself. In the final line, I only wanted to bring virtue when I hid in the bathroom, slapped my face. She's punishing herself or trying to wake herself up, I don't know which, maybe both. The work of her hands is that she is trying to perhaps bring herself into her own body, to bring herself into the world from which she'd been separated, through a particular way of looking at womanhood, through a particular way of looking at sexuality, through a particular way of looking at the human condition. Another poem about God, but really it's about me by Dianelli Antigua. You would have made a lousy nun, the woman on the A train says to the person on the other end of the phone. I laugh to no one and imagine what a lousy nun would do. Maybe sneak a lover into her room on Ash Wednesday or take off her wedding ring from God. Let the sun touch the unveiled skin. I was never a nun, but I was called Sister and brothers were not allowed to do more than shake my hand. I was called Daughter when the pastor kissed my cheek, when I was worth more than rubies. I was a good sister. For a decade I was good. After I left, I still prayed to all the fathers who weren't mine. I opened my mouth to their wisdom and in my tongue was the law of kindness. I became their Mary Magdalene, holy by day, whore by night, perfuming the feet of every man named Jesus. After I left, I stayed devout, devout to recklessness, devote to taking out my virgin. I don't remember craving anything so much as my own destruction. It was beautiful to watch from the bleachers of my mind, separating myself from all the sisters inside me. In Proverbs it is virtuous for a woman to work willingly with her hands. I only wanted to bring virtue unto my name when I held each new body in my palms. I only wanted to bring virtue when I hid in the bathroom, slapped my face.
- [15:44]
Chris Heagle
Another poem about God, but really it's about me, comes from Dianelli Antigua's book Good Monster. Thank you to Copper Canyon Press, who gave us permission to use Dianelli's poem. Read it on our website at onbeing.org Poetry Unbound is Gautam Srikishan, Eddie Gonzalez.
- [16:10]
Padre Go Toma
Lucas Johnson, Kayla Edwards, Tiffany Champion, Cameron.
- [16:14]
Chris Heagle
Moussar, and me, Chris Heagle. Our music is composed and provided by Gautham Srikishan and Blue Dot Sessions. This podcast is produced by On Being Studios, which is located on Dakota Land. Open your world to poetry with us by subscribing to our Substack newsletter. For links and to find out more, visit poetryunbound.org.
- [16:43]
Padre Go Toma
This podcast is produced by On Being Studios in Minneapolis, Minnesota.