Oftentimes, when I go to a poetry reading to showcase or read aloud my work, I introduce myself as a transdisciplinary writer and educator. "But what is a transdisciplinary writer or a transdisciplinary poet, for that matter?" you may ask. 

A transdisciplinary poet, in a nutshell, is a poet who works across and beyond the boundaries of different disciplines. Those disciplines can be art, science, philosophy, ecology, or social science, to name just a few. The transdisciplinary poet may use various forms, media, languages, and modes of expression to create poetry that explores complex and emergent issues. They may also collaborate with other poets, artists, and practitioners from different disciplines and backgrounds to create interdisciplinary and cross-cultural dialogues that, ultimately, become poetic projects.

And if you are wondering about the difference between interdisciplinary and transdisciplinary, well, it is quite easy. The former keeps the boundaries of each discipline intact, looking for connections that can enrich each field. While simply put, the latter seeks to transcend the norms of individual disciplines to create new knowledge. 

There are several examples out there for transdisciplinary poetry, and I will make sure to list those at the end of this post -or if you are bored already, you can skip to that; don't worry, I won't take it personally, I get easily bored too.

In my personal work, and for those who know me without the need to stick your nose into my CV, some examples of transdisciplinary poetry practices are my performances, sometimes aiming closer to the visual arts, like "El poema" (1), and others, falling more along the lines of a play, such as "Esto no es un huevo es la muerte de la gallina" (2). Other examples come from media art, like the installation "Entre líneas" (3) or the net-art project CubaFakeNews (4). And in the form of a more conventional output, my ASCII (5) visual poetry, and the artist book/poetry collection/art project Hay palabras vulva (6), affectionately known as "the vulva book," where besides visual poetry and the ekphrastic (7) poem Destejido, there is a call for a global female intervention (do not panic, men, it sounds grandiloquent but it is actually a collaborative intervention that runs on photography, ASCII, and women's biographical writing).


Documenta, 2022. Photo by David D Omni.

Needless to say, since I am not just a poet but a writer, which accounts for fiction as well as other scribbling adventures, I also reserve some of my transdisciplinary impetus for prose. In "Exercising the Productive Einbildungskraf" (8), I work in the interstices between the short story and the play script. My novel Tim sin Tina, on the other hand -finishing this year, but still in progress, so no spoilers here- displays several genres to cover a variety of voices and time frames. 

And yes, down below, alongside the transdisciplinary poetry not authored by me, I will list as well some of my favorite examples for prose. 

Well, I hope you get it by now, and as I reach the end of this post, I will say that there are some transdisciplinary practices that I have yet to explore, such as cut-up writing, collage poetry, found poetry, or erasure literature. Maybe I'll try those in the future. For now, I am catching up with sound poetry and multimedia poetry -after all, I did not go through a DJ course in Havana or write a dissertation on the impact of digital technology in 21st-century Cuban literature just for nothing. 

One of these days, I may write another post where I do not talk about my own but the work of others, just for the fun of it. As you may already know, there is a hopeless bookworm behind every writer, and believe me, distinguished readers, I am not the exception. 

Until then, or that other phrase that I like to use and any respectable reader should know, Hasta pronto.


Some examples of transdisciplinary writers here:


Poetry, a couple of classics first:

Poetry, now the more recent examples:

Prose, first, the classics:

  • The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin: A classic science fiction novel that depicts a planet where the inhabitants are ambisexual, meaning they can change their sex depending on their hormonal cycles. The novel uses anthropology, sociology, psychology, and ecology to create a rich and diverse world.

  • The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes. A nonfiction book that won the Pulitzer Prize in 1988. The book chronicles the History of the development of nuclear weapons, from the discovery of nuclear fission to the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The book combines science, History, biography, politics, and ethics for a comprehensive and compelling narrative.

Prose, now the most recent, folks:

Some queer examples, because we all need those:


Other transdisciplinary projects can be visited at the Revista Desliz archives, courtesy of Rialta


Notes

  1. “El poema” (performance). Torre de Letras, Havana, June 15, 2007

  2.  “Esto no es un huevo es la muerte de la gallina” (performance, in collaboration with Andrés X). Festival de performances de Alamar, Havana, August 16, 2004

  3. “Entre líneas” (exhibition, several installation pieces). Casa de la Poesía, Havana October 15-November 15, 2004

  4. CubaFakeNews (collaborative online newspaper). Internet, Havana, March, 2009.

  5. ASCII art: ASCII (American Standard Code for Information Interchange). Established by the American National Standards Institute (ANSI) in the 1960s, ASCII code is a standardized way of presenting and reading Latin-based alphanumeric keyboard characters. ASCII art creates images using this set of characters. The final result, as an image made out of text, can be as complex -or as simple- as you desire it to be.

  6. Hay palabras vulva (Editorial Casa Vacía, 2023)

  7. Ekphrastic poetry: Poetry that responds to or describes another work of art.

  8. “Exercising the Productive Einbildungskraf” (short story: English). Margaret Randall (translator), The Oval Portrait: Contemporary Cuban Women Writers and Artists (Ed. Soleida Ríos,  Wings Press, 2018)



When Megan Armknecht asked me for additional pictures for her profile of my dissertation work, which she published at the Princeton University's CDH website on November 15, I had no idea what to do. What kind of pictures can show research work. Other than those featuring authors -aka research subjects- that I did not want to drag along for my personal gain, I had no other picture that show a research focused not on physical material objects but on digital cultural products. 

But then I went through my personal albums and I discovered this picture that I love, because in it you can see me in a Vedado park in Havana, sitting on the ground behind a bench, using my umbrella to hide from the sun while accessing the public wifi from my laptop. That is a picture I love, because it conveys the contingency of the space that I was studying, the Cuban literary field, and the fragile but inevitable role that digital technology plays in it.  

Here is the picture:


To read Armknecht article you can follow this link.  




Escrito de Lia Villares, después de haber sido registrada su casa, confiscados todos sus equipos electrónicos personales, y haber pasado 30 horas en una prisión:
"Imagina tu peor pesadilla. Imagina que se materializa en tiempo real, lo que has intuido tantas veces, pero ya no se trata de un sueño lúcido, ahora es pura y dura realidad.  
Fría y concreta.  
El ser más despreciable, ese al que te has dedicado a denunciar porque responde a un aparato represivo encargado de aplastarte por decir la verdad y de perseguirte por defender la libertad, imagínalo multiplicado por un ejército de agentes Smith, un ejército de ratas dispuestas a colarse en tu casa y a hurgar en tus cosas con el afán roedor.
Es la nauseabunda escena de tu vida: tu privacidad, tus recuerdos, todas tus memorias conservadas tras el paso de los años en pequeños soportes digitales, discos, toda tu vida en manos de esbirros entrenados en destruir toda tu obra, tu trabajo de años, tus archivos personales y finalmente confiscarlo todo en bolsas de nylon donde se lee la palabra “criminalística” porque es precisamente el trato empleado, bajo el débil argumento de que “realizas una actividad subversiva o contrarrevolucionaria”. Si has leído las novelas El maestro y Margarita o Doctor Zchivago puedes tener una idea más clara de lo que es ver tus espacios más íntimos invadidos por un numeroso grupo de personas acosadoras ávidas de inmiscuirse hasta el fondo de tu vida privada.  
Es un derecho demasiado individualista que el comunismo concede solo a la familia real: esa sí puede protegerse de las miradas ajenas.  
En tu completa indefensión quedas expuesta aunque te hayas esforzado tanto siempre por evitar tener secretos, dadas las circunstancias: has sido incluso más atrevida en mostrarte exhibicionista, tremendamente narcisista en un acto fallido de protesta irreverente.  
No importa cuánto empeño pongas en tratar de convencerlos de que no tienes nada que ocultar, que para colmo lo publicas todo, que has seguido la rima colectivista de no considerar tu privacidad como un tesoro tan valioso, pues hay que compartir hasta tus más íntimos deseos y tus más preciosos sueños.  
Tu voluntad queda reflejada en tus actos.  
Tus movimientos son bastante descuidados porque nunca ha tenido mucho sentido o no ha sido tu verdadera intención, conspirar por “la causa” pues piensas que debe ser la misma para los pocos conscientes, lúcidos, claros amigos que te quedan.  
Te has ido de todos los grupos porque no encuentras coherencia, humildad, la transparencia o simplemente la amistad real que has estado buscando en todas partes.  
Mucho has visto.  
Mucho tramo has recorrido para llegar siempre al mismo punto, una y otra vez.  
Has vivido el odio y la humillación de ese gobierno enfermo, parásito y aún ciego de poder.  
En el tránsito se fue tu confianza y gran parte de tu fe en la gente, contaminada de egoísmo y de competencia en la ridícula marcha de un círculo vicioso.  
Tu dignidad y tu esperanza se asoman tímidas por encima de tu mirada, ya no tan inocente, ya no tan limpia como antes. 
Delante de ti el camino ya no se bifurca: hay una sola línea recta indicando la salida, la vez claramente pero tus pies te pesan y tus sentidos no responden.  
Sobre la mesa donde antes invertiste tus horas en la laptop que llegaste a considerar una extensión de tu mente, está la página que llenas a mano con paciencia intentando respirar y conservar algo de calma. 
En alguna oscura oficina de Villa Marista están todos tus proyectos, aguardando (a lo peor) un formateo rápido, un aniquilamiento, una eliminación minuciosa que solo puede dolerte a ti.  
Pero eres sólo una víctima más, nada te distingue de las anteriores, quizás más humilladas ante un ultraje más sufriente.  
Ahora solo debes levantarte de nuevo y agarrar ese camino sin mirar atrás.  
Lia Villares 
La Habana, Febrero 4, 2018."