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Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

de Audre Lorde

Outros autores: Veja a seção outros autores.

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1,439189,447 (4.23)46
"ZAMI is a fast-moving chronicle. From the author's vivid childhood memories in Harlem to her coming of age in the late 1950s, the nature of Audre Lorde's work is cyclical. It especially relates the linkage of women who have shaped her . . . Lorde brings into play her craft of lush description and characterization. It keeps unfolding page after page."--Off Our Backs… (mais)
Adicionado recentemente pordevz, aron124, ImaginarySpace, LibraryCake, Lindsay_Wallace, dvnmng, ghostwire, Dreklogar
Bibliotecas HistóricasThomas C. Dent
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» Veja também 46 menções

Inglês (17)  Alemão (1)  Todos os idiomas (18)
Mostrando 1-5 de 18 (seguinte | mostrar todas)
Just a fascinating, powerful, moving read. Lorde writes with such tenderness and care for women, even the difficult women in her life, and about her own growth, and lays out the problems that will continue to be with her for her life (making white lesbian women realize they ARE white, and ARE racist, just to name one.) It's also just. A beautiful book, one I will return to again and again, and one I strongly recommend other folks pick up if they haven't already! ( )
  aijmiller | Oct 30, 2020 |
What can I possibly say about this book that hasn't already been said? I love it. I adore it. I owe it so much.

Through it, Lorde gave voice to lesbians, women, Black women, and most importantly, Black lesbian/queer women. Not only does she sensitively yet forwardly tell us the stories of her life but challenges us to confront our own: our own stories, identities, relationships, self-awareness, honesty. Lorde writes with such clarity and dedication; this book struck me on so many levels. I am so grateful for books like this; once in a lifetime books that keep on giving as long as I keep on reading. ( )
  karlajstrand | Aug 15, 2018 |
A memoir of Audre Lorde, the great mid-century, Black, female, lesbian, feminist, civil rights activist poet. This book chronicles her life in New York City from her childhood in the late 1930s through her college degree in 1959.

Wow, is this a far-reaching story. I learned a lot about life as a black woman in the 30s-50s in NYC, as I expected to, but I was surprised to relate so strongly to so many aspects of Audre Lorde's life. She really spoke to me when she talked about her relationship with her mother, her many early friendships that came in and out of her life, and her difficulty with hetero-normative gender roles (which were strong even within the lesbian community). There is so much going on here that it's impossible to find nothing to learn nor relate to. She was always shut out of something or other, because she was black or because she was a woman or because she was gay or because she refused to label herself as either butch or femme. She doesn't relate to anyone in all aspects, but she relates to everyone in some aspect.

I'm dying to read and know more about Audre Lorde now, and I highly highly recommend this book, even if you aren't sure if it's for you. It is. ( )
1 vote norabelle414 | Apr 2, 2017 |
besides the fact that this is a memoir of the early years of someone i have always wanted to know more about, this book also details so clearly what it was like to be black and to be a lesbian in new york and mexico during the years she talks about (mostly the mid 1940's-mid 1950's). there are parts that could use a little more editing or that felt rough, but it didn't matter - this is such an honest and true history of both lorde and that time period that it makes for an incredible read anyway.

i had never read any of lorde's prose before, and it has probably been over 20 years since i've read her poetry (mostly late high school and early college would have been when i was reading it, i think), and i loved to return to her and to her language and thoughts and to learn more about her. (it feels a little silly to say this, and i've never said this before about any book, but) it just felt like an honor to be able to read this.

it gave not just perspective but also depth to a number of the older lesbian fiction books we have read in book group. it made some of those make more sense.

"DeLois lived up the block on 142nd Street and never had her hair done, and all the neighborhood women sucked their teeth as she walked by. Her crispy hair twinkled in the summer sun as her big proud stomach moved her on down the block while I watched, not caring whether or not she was a poem. Even though I tied my shoes and tried to peep under her blouse as she passed by, I never spoke to DeLois, because my mother didn't. But I loved her, because she moved like she felt she was somebody special, like she was somebody I'd like to know someday. She moved like how I thought god's mother must have moved, and my mother, once upon a time, and someday maybe me.

Hot noon threw a ring of sunlight like a halo on the top of DeLois's stomach, like a spotlight, making me sorry that I was so flat and could only feel the sun on my head and shoulders. I'd have to lie down on my back before the sun could shine down like that on my belly."

"Woman forever. My body, a living representation of other life older longer wiser. The mountains and valleys, trees, rocks. Sand and flowers and water and stone. Made in earth."

"The radio, the scratching comb, the smell of petroleum jelly, the grip of her knees and my stinging scalp all fall into - the rhythms of a litany, the rituals of Black women combing their daughters' hair."

"Maybe that is all any bravery is, a stronger fear of not being brave."

"Crispus Attucks. How was that possible? I had spent four years at Hunter High School, supposedly the best public high school in New York City, with the most academically advanced and intellectually accurate education available, for 'preparing young women for college and career.' I had been taught by some of the most highly considered historians in the country. Yet, I never once heard the name mentioned of the first man to fall in the american revolution, nor ever been told that he was a Negro. What did that mean about the history I had learned?"

"Her voice was strong and pleasant, but with a crack in it that sounded like a cold, or too many cigarettes."

"There were no mothers, no sisters, no heroes. We had to do it alone, like our sister Amazons, the riders on the loneliest outpost of the kingdom of Dahomey. We, young and Black and fine and gay, sweated out our first heartbreaks with no school nor office chums to share that confidence over lunch hour. Just as there were no rings to make tangible the reason for our happy secret smiles, there were no names nor reason given or shared for the tears that messed up the lab reports or the library bills."

"Between Muriel and me, then, there was one way in which I would always be separate, and it was going to be my own secret knowledge, if it was going to be my own secret pain. I was Black and she was not, and that was a difference between us that had nothing to do with better or worse, or the outside world's craziness. Over time I came to realize that it colored our perceptions and made a difference in the ways I saw pieces of the worlds we shared, and I was going to have to deal with that difference outside of our relationship.

This was the first separation, the piece outside love. But I turned away short of the meanings of it, afraid to examine the truths difference might lead me to, afraid they might carry Muriel and me away from each other. So I tried not to think of our racial differences too often. I sometimes pretended to agree with Muriel, that the difference did not in fact exist, that she and all gay-girls were just as oppressed as any Black person, certainly as any Black woman.

But when I did think about it, it was something that set me apart, but also protected me. I knew there was nothing I could do, including wearing skirts and being straight, that would make me acceptable to the little old Ukrainian ladies who sunned themselves on the stoops of Seventh Street and pointed fingers at Muriel and me as we walked past, arm in arm. ...

Somehow, I knew that difference would be a weapon in my arsenal when the 'time' came. And the 'time' would certainly come in one way or another. The 'time' when I would have to protect myself alone, although I did not know how or when. For Flee and me, the forces of social evil were not theoretical, not long distance or solely bureaucratic. We met them every day, even in our straight clothes. Pain was always right around the corner. Difference had taught me that, out of the mouth of my mother. And knowing that, I fancied myself on guard, safe. I still had to learn that knowing was not enough."

"In the gay bars, I longed for other Black women without the need ever taking shape upon my lips. For four hundred years in this country, Black women have been taught to view each other with deep suspicion. It was no different in the gay world."

(italics all in original) ( )
1 vote overlycriticalelisa | May 29, 2016 |
Ein Leben unter Frauen
  Buecherei.das-Sarah | Jan 15, 2015 |
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Nome do autorFunçãoTipo de autorObra?Status
Lorde, Audreautor principaltodas as ediçõesconfirmado
Durante, MariaTradutorautor secundárioalgumas ediçõesconfirmado
Miles, RobinNarradorautor secundárioalgumas ediçõesconfirmado
Solimán, Magalí MartínezTradutorautor secundárioalgumas ediçõesconfirmado
Souza, DianaArtista da capaautor secundárioalgumas ediçõesconfirmado
Wijngaarden, Ank vanTradutorautor secundárioalgumas ediçõesconfirmado
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To Helen, who made up the best adventures
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To whom do I owe the power behind my voice, what strength I have become, yeasting up like sudden blood from under the bruised skin's blister?
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"ZAMI is a fast-moving chronicle. From the author's vivid childhood memories in Harlem to her coming of age in the late 1950s, the nature of Audre Lorde's work is cyclical. It especially relates the linkage of women who have shaped her . . . Lorde brings into play her craft of lush description and characterization. It keeps unfolding page after page."--Off Our Backs

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