“Rivers,” a Guide for the Displaced https://ift.tt/oc28L5x
You can’t step into the same river twice, but Victoria María Castells’ collection of poetry, The Rivers Are Inside Our Homes, is water you will benefit from returning to. Castells highlights a form of resentment that festers within the voice of her female narrators and focuses on how difficult it is for Cuban immigrants to release in order to receive. Their lack of agency forces them to depend on the leadership and guidance of others, and they quickly learn that what was perceived to be better does not always outweigh the comfort and familiarity found in the people, places, and things they left behind in Cuba.
“The Short Exile” examines how relocation is initially seen as a temporary transition for these women but metastasizes into something else that is ultimately out of their control. They are not able to enforce their will against men who have authority over them. Despite this, a longing for home, for somewhere so familiar yet so detrimental, seems impossible to escape. The hands of people like her grandmother and other maternal figures in Castells’ life become tied in the most conflicting way. It makes sense to adjust instead of fighting against this (at times) forced relocation, and this theme flows throughout the collection. Castells vividly describes how these women alter themselves to withstand it.
Water and folklore are also overall themes in these poems. Being surrounded by water on all sides seems to dominate every aspect of life for those who transitioned from Cuba. This is evident in many stories about mythical creatures, like the sirena desintegrando who navigate the seas, and who give immigrants the strength to do so when it’s their time. “Shelter in Place” is a first-person description of what it’s like to be in the thick of a storm, maybe even the eye of it, with rising waters and raindrops that pound like warriors. The water seems unwilling to release its grip on the lives of those who are bound by it; “while the waters rose higher / and the rain gathered with the sickness” is a bone-chilling description regarding the lingering impact of nature.
The plight of the expatriate flows into a fight against assimilation in “How Can You Make a Communist Flower.” The reader is turned upside down by Castells’ description of how the narrators had “to leave Havana disassembled, durable termite under flower, folding seafront under light.” She revisits how these women are once again compelled to morph into something opposite of what they know in order to survive. Some of them watched the men they were compelled to rely upon behave in ways that are just as dark and treacherous as the water they fought through. This aspect cannot be ignored in “A Liking, Somewhat,” but Castells continues to show the faith in this deeply rooted dream for a better life in another country filled with opportunity. “On Both Sides, Water” is an example of this, where the speaker reflects on her hope to celebrate and be welcomed in their new home. However, what is initially spun as vindication from a life of trials becomes another karmic cycle for the weary traveler. Castells hit this point home with the line, “Our exile arrived like a burning spring.” This is a reckoning the women are not always ready for.
Castells’ ability to vividly portray different experiences makes the circumstances of the speakers relatable. Her collection of work could serve as a guide and possibly a comfort for the individual who becomes displaced or uprooted. The author uses her writing to hone in on how many Cuban women have no choice but to participate and yearn to migrate to a better place even when the journey is debilitating. Despite these obstacles, Castells celebrates these women for their resilience and tenacity. They truly take on a mythical energy under her literary guise.
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