The work isn’t to ask more from Rupi Kaur. The work is to read broadly and deeply from progressive South Asians.By Sagaree Jain In the weeks surrounding the release of Rupi Kaur’s second book, it became virtually impossible to have a conversation of any extended length without discussing her. For me, a Punjabi American woman with ties to progressive South Asian organizing and racial justice oriented poetry communities, Rupi Kaur began to shadow my life with a certain inevitability. I could only go so long, among new and old friends, before a joke would be made, or a meme would be referenced, and then off we went, discussing Rupi Kaur for the third time that week. I think many South Asians in the US and Canada, especially South Asians with strong commitments to feminism and movements for justice, have been deeply split on how to think about Kaur and her poetry. On one hand, seeing Kaur’s face in the Style section of The New York Times when so many of us are aching for representation of our stories is undeniably moving. And Kaur comes from a history many of us resonate with, and she speaks sometimes on the alienation of moving to the US when she was four, growing up in a Punjabi speaking home, and knowing that her family escaped the 1984 Sikh Genocide in India. The way her poetry resonates with young women, young brown women especially, is beautiful, a joy to watch. But on the other hand, there’s something immovably frustrating about what she has come to represent. Kaur’s work puts forward her experiences in simple bites, with a minimal range of theme and concept. The most popular pieces resonate with white women as easily as they do with women of color, and for a woman internet-famous for posting menstruation blood on Instagram, her public persona is very much apolitical. On the Poetry Foundation, Kazim Ali writes that Kaur’s verses “identify; they do not interrogate.” On Buzzfeed, Chiara Giovanni critiques the homogeneity of her depiction of South Asian women. As Kaur builds momentum, commentators from South Asian traditions ask, dismayed, is this really all an American public wants from us?
by Awanthi Vardaraj It's that time of the year again; the Silly Season is upon us, and a lot of us are probably looking to buy a gift or two for the people we love. This can be a tricky process, though,
Rupi Kaur is a 24-year-old Punjabi-Sikh poet from Canada who made her own way when publishing companies wouldn't publish her work. Many times, Kaur was told that her poetry made people feel uncomfortable, but Kaur did not let this stop her