Seattle Worldcon 2025<p>Hello, fellow travelers!</p><p>Now that we are swiftly entering the finalist voting stage of the Hugo Awards, continuing to pair the early speculative tools for reading with more deeper analytical resources is still in order, so in that vein we’re going to converse about how speculative poetry wrestles with deeply sociopolitical thematic matter.</p><p>To open this discussion, it makes sense to mention that, just as when we’re reading fiction, we are consistently aware that “politics” in the media sense does not mean art extolling right-versus-left ideological identity but instead an examination of the fact that various invisible parts of our lives are constructed by a myriad of forces of power and status that define the ways in which we navigate the world and relate to the finite parts of it we inhabit. Obviously this implies that very little art, if any, isn’t in the realm of the political, but it also means that works that actively observe some of those power and status states can help us imagine ways to improve unhealthy political realities and put more productive ones in order.</p><p>One of my favorite examples of this is a piece we’ve discussed earlier. Elizabeth McClellan’s “‘Getting Winterized: A Guide for Rural Living” has observations of class and power built into both its initial setting and its core conflict. Despite being such a close piece about a specific moment in its imagined history, it is asking a very high-concept question at its core: How does this seemingly natural phenomenon that is destroying our books affect rural citizens more differently than urban ones, and how can they strive to survive those circumstances?</p><blockquote><p>In our house damage is slight. We are resigned to seasons,<br>didn’t need the reassurances, reminders, advice<br>meant for the general public.<br>It’s only called an emergency now,<br>since they migrated into the cities en masse—</p></blockquote><p>That question comes with a lot of interesting sociopolitical implications: For one, the poem presents a preparedness for wilderness attacks that is a custom for country folks in ways that those in the city struggle to learn. For another, the bookbear attacks in the poem open a vast new area of law that seems to limit not only people’s protections against harm but also their protections of speech:</p><blockquote><p>Last year in Wyoming a man shot one,<br>a tourist who left six books<br>on how to be successful in his cabin,<br>found them feeding,<br>panicked, grabbed his handgun.</p><p>The jury went easy on him—<br>four years with good behavior.</p><p><em>I couldn’t believe he shot it,</em><br>said the jury foreman to the press, later,<br><em>but I believe he didn’t mean it in his heart.</em></p></blockquote><p>Returning to another poem we’ve looked at already, Terese Mason Pierre’s “<a href="https://www.uncannymagazine.com/article/in-stock-images-of-the-future-everything-is-white/" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">In Stock Images of the Future, Everything is White</a>” opens with positing that even the seemingly neutral-to-good improvements we imagine as signs of science fiction’s powerful future may dilute the ability of the Caribbean region to maintain its identity:</p><blockquote><p>I don’t want flying cars. I want my language back.</p></blockquote><p>What I adore most about this poem is how it turns those clashing images of futuristic modernity and authentic Caribbean-ness into an illustration of the ways technology would try to replicate it for the benefit of foreigners but to the chagrin of those living there, as well as the ways that those locals relate to their space and their own bodies as a result:</p><blockquote><p>Someone beside me regrows their limb. I try,<br>but I’m stopping myself, and I want to go backward<br>in time immediately. There’s another word<br>for lost, but I can’t remember.</p></blockquote><p>As you keep reading and exploring the wide world of speculative poetry, consider the ways in which some of those poems may be speaking very immediately to a relationship to a place, the dynamics of power that exist there, what its speculative elements may say about the present or the future of those relationships, and how we can possibly imagine more equitable futures through that poem’s vantage point.</p><p>As exercise, take the time to read Rachelle Saint Louis’ “<a href="http://strangehorizons.com/wordpress/poetry/manman-ak-pitit/" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Manman ak Pitit</a>,” published in the 2023 Caribbean SFF Special issue of <i>Strange Horizons</i>, and Najah Hussein Musa’s “<a href="http://strangehorizons.com/wordpress/poetry/bethlehem/" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Bethlehem</a>,” published in the same outlet’s Palestinian Special Issue in 2021. As with your last reading exercise, this is homework, but I very well can’t grade you on it. My hope is that you see the value in reading deeply and testing your discoveries as you read.</p><p>Until next time, may tomorrow and your good days always rhyme!</p><p><a href="https://seattlein2025.org/2025/03/31/con-verse-speculative-poetry-and-the-politics-of-place/" class="" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">https://seattlein2025.org/2025/03/31/con-verse-speculative-poetry-and-the-politics-of-place/</a></p><p><a rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" class="hashtag u-tag u-category" href="https://seattlein2025.org/tag/speculative-poetry/" target="_blank">#SpeculativePoetry</a></p>