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Somewhere Else
A compelling debut collection from the first Coptic poet to be published in the United States.
Somewhere Else, rooted in the traditions of the Coptic community, widens the political conversation surrounding ethnicity, pan-Africanism, and pan-Arabism. From the teeming streets of Cairo to the urban United States, from Egypt’s indigenous, pre-Islamic Coptic society to an America struggling with its fear of the Arab world, Shenoda’s collection spans generational and cultural divides. In poems both personal and political, he celebrates his Coptic heritage, riffs on jazz and hip-hop, and offers a nuanced and energized perspective virtually unknown in the West.
Somewhere Else, rooted in the traditions of the Coptic community, widens the political conversation surrounding ethnicity, pan-Africanism, and pan-Arabism. From the teeming streets of Cairo to the urban United States, from Egypt’s indigenous, pre-Islamic Coptic society to an America struggling with its fear of the Arab world, Shenoda’s collection spans generational and cultural divides. In poems both personal and political, he celebrates his Coptic heritage, riffs on jazz and hip-hop, and offers a nuanced and energized perspective virtually unknown in the West.
- GenresPoetry
75 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 2005
About the author
Matthew Shenoda
19 books28 followersMatthew Shenoda is a writer and educator whose poems and writings have appeared in a variety of newspapers, journals, radio programs and anthologies. He has been twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize and his work has been supported by the California Arts Council and the Lannan Foundation among others.
His debut collection of poems, Somewhere Else (Coffee House Press), was named one of 2005's debut books of the year by Poets & Writers Magazine and was winner of a 2006 American Book Award. He is also the author of Seasons of Lotus, Seasons of Bone (BOA Editions Ltd.), editor of Duppy Conqueror: New & Selected Poems by Kwame Dawes, and author of Tahrir Suite: Poems (forthcoming, TriQuarterly Books/Northwestern University Press).
Shenoda lectures widely and has taught extensively in the fields of ethnic studies and creative writing. The former Assistant Provost for Equity & Diversity and faculty in the School of Critical Studies at California Institute of the Arts, he is currently Associate Professor & Interim Chair of the Department of Creative Writing at Columbia College Chicago. Additionally, Shenoda has served on the Board of Directors of several arts and education organizations and is a founding editor of the African Poetry Book Series. He lives with his family in Chicago.
His debut collection of poems, Somewhere Else (Coffee House Press), was named one of 2005's debut books of the year by Poets & Writers Magazine and was winner of a 2006 American Book Award. He is also the author of Seasons of Lotus, Seasons of Bone (BOA Editions Ltd.), editor of Duppy Conqueror: New & Selected Poems by Kwame Dawes, and author of Tahrir Suite: Poems (forthcoming, TriQuarterly Books/Northwestern University Press).
Shenoda lectures widely and has taught extensively in the fields of ethnic studies and creative writing. The former Assistant Provost for Equity & Diversity and faculty in the School of Critical Studies at California Institute of the Arts, he is currently Associate Professor & Interim Chair of the Department of Creative Writing at Columbia College Chicago. Additionally, Shenoda has served on the Board of Directors of several arts and education organizations and is a founding editor of the African Poetry Book Series. He lives with his family in Chicago.
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
May 29, 2007
Shenoda was an awesome professor and, like professors will do, he made us read his book. turns out he is also a great poet. :-)
May 6, 2014
These poems focus mainly on the Egyptian Coptic Church and her people. They are powerful and intense to the point that is a bit shocking. Yet their raw nature makes them even more beautiful.
September 26, 2010
In Passing
There is something inside
each of us
that scurries toward the past
in our bodies a rooted history
perhaps in the balls of our feet
a microscopic yearning
that floats inside that sphere
yearning in a language we've forgotten.
History is too in our knees
in the ball that pops
& twists as we journey.
And for those of us blessed to be old
& for those of us blessed to be young
it lives inside the tiny ball of skin
deep inside the belly button
tickles recollections from our tongues
stories of stories from then--
history lives in circles & spheres
floating
always suspended
Somewhere in the Eastern Sahara There Is a Wall Made of Skulls
Down from the shadow of Mount Sinai
a couple of days from the Red Sea,
list in the barren
space between
there is a place
where monks carved
culture's rock.
Like the hands of the sculptor
dusty with imagination
each sway of their arms
shapes the desert.
We woke one day
under the ancient Saharan sun.
We made our way to the inner desert
to the quiet place.
Summoned and asked to witness
what has never been seen before.
We began digging rock
for a wall sixteen centuries old
we found the skulls
of the ancients.
Each sphere of bone
a voice
A cage
of warrior mind.
Hammering nails with rocks
constructing pine boxes
each skull was set
in the wall's interior
to watch those who approach
by night.
Where eyes once shifted for fear
a stiff-straight gaze appeared.
The way one human being
can forgive another
in that moment
where shadows ascend
and vanish
somewhere in that silent understanding
we lend ourselves to one another
knowing survival would be impossible
without it.
waiting for release.
There is something inside
each of us
that scurries toward the past
in our bodies a rooted history
perhaps in the balls of our feet
a microscopic yearning
that floats inside that sphere
yearning in a language we've forgotten.
History is too in our knees
in the ball that pops
& twists as we journey.
And for those of us blessed to be old
& for those of us blessed to be young
it lives inside the tiny ball of skin
deep inside the belly button
tickles recollections from our tongues
stories of stories from then--
history lives in circles & spheres
floating
always suspended
Somewhere in the Eastern Sahara There Is a Wall Made of Skulls
Down from the shadow of Mount Sinai
a couple of days from the Red Sea,
list in the barren
space between
there is a place
where monks carved
culture's rock.
Like the hands of the sculptor
dusty with imagination
each sway of their arms
shapes the desert.
We woke one day
under the ancient Saharan sun.
We made our way to the inner desert
to the quiet place.
Summoned and asked to witness
what has never been seen before.
We began digging rock
for a wall sixteen centuries old
we found the skulls
of the ancients.
Each sphere of bone
a voice
A cage
of warrior mind.
Hammering nails with rocks
constructing pine boxes
each skull was set
in the wall's interior
to watch those who approach
by night.
Where eyes once shifted for fear
a stiff-straight gaze appeared.
The way one human being
can forgive another
in that moment
where shadows ascend
and vanish
somewhere in that silent understanding
we lend ourselves to one another
knowing survival would be impossible
without it.
waiting for release.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews