Handley / Angharad Hunter / Erin Hughes Beyond/Tu Hwnt

anthology of Welsh Deaf and Disabled Writers
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-916632-16-5
Verlag: Lucent Dreaming
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 200 Seiten

Beyond / Tu Hwnt is a communities-uniting collection of contemporary Welsh Deaf and Disabled voices. By celebrating the diversity and uniqueness of our voices, we aim to fill the void where our stories and experiences always should have existed. Our aim in bringing our poetry, non-fiction and fiction together is to show that our work exists in all its power beyond the barriers and that it always has existed here in Wales. A collection of work by Deaf and Disabled writers shouldn't be radical, yet it is. Mae Beyond / Tu Hwnt yn gasgliad sy'n uno cymunedau o leisiau Cymreig cyfoes Byddar ac Anabl. Drwy ddathlu amrywiaeth ac unigrywiaeth ein lleisiau, ein nod yw llenwi'r bwlch lle y dylai ein straeon a'n profiadau fod wedi bod erioed. Ein nod wrth gasglu'n barddoniaeth, ein llenyddiaeth ffeithiol a'n ffuglen ynghyd yw dangos bod ein gwaith yn bodoli yn ei holl nerth y tu hwnt i'r rhwystrau, a'i fod wedi bod yma yng Nghymru erioed. Ni ddylai casgliad o waith gan awduron Byddar ac Anabl fod yn radical, ac eto dyna ydyw.

Bethany Handley is an award-winning writer, poet and disability activist from South Wales. Bethany campaigns for better access to nature for Disabled people. Her work explores nature and disability, challenging the barriers Disabled people experience, and has been published in POETRY, Poetry Wales and Country Living, and featured by the Poetry Foundation, BBC Radio 4 and BBC Wales, amongst others. Bethany is one of the writers on Literature Wales' Representing Wales 2023-4, she was a finalist in Nine Arches Press' Primers, and she was awarded Creative Future's Gold Prize for Creative Non-fiction 2023. She was longlisted for the National Poetry Competition 2024. Bethany is an Ambassador for Ramblers Cymru, promoting better access to paths. Her debut poetry pamphlet will be published by Seren in February 2025 and she is currently writing her first non-fiction book on access to nature. Megan Angharad Hunter is an author and screenwriter from Penygroes, Dyffryn Nantlle. Since graduating in 2022 with a degree in Welsh and Philosophy, she has been working as an author and children's book editor. Her debut novel, tu ôl i'r awyr, won the Wales Book of the Year award in 2021, and her second novel, Cat, was published as part of the award-winning Y Pump series. In 2023, Megan took part in the Mathrubhumi Festival of Letters in India before contributing to a panel discussion on accessibility in the publishing industry at the London Book Fair. Astronot yn yr Atig, her first book for children has been shortlisted for the 2024 Tir na n-Og award. Erin is a Welsh author, poet, creative practitioner and editor, who also works as a coordinator for Welsh poetry press, Barddas. She's the author of three books - Y Goeden Hud (Gwasg Carreg Gwalch, 2020), Rhyngom (Gwasg y Lolfa, 2022), and O'r Rhuddin (Gwasg y Lolfa, 2024).

Autoren/Hrsg.

Handley, Bethany

Angharad Hunter, Megan

Erin Hughes, Sioned

Leseproben

One of those radiant people

KAITE O’REILLY

from Something Wonderful, the Beijing ‘d’Monologues.

This is an excerpt from Kaite’s international The ‘d’ Monologues – fictional solos written solely for Deaf, Disabled and neurodivergent identifying performers, informed by lived experience. Since 2010 productions have taken place across the UK, South Korea, and Singapore. This is from Kaite’s most recent collaboration during lockdown, with Chinese disabled, Deaf and neurodivergent people.

Speaker:

When I was a child I believed my body belonged to me completely. Now I feel it’s my physical container. Sooner or later I will have to give it back. So until then, I celebrate it and dress it accordingly.

Voice a:

A colourful maxi dress.

Voice b:

Dr. Martens boots.

Voice c:

Pyjamas.

Voice b:

A Tibetan robe.

Speaker:

Clothes: ‘Appearance is 30% looks and 70% adornment.’ ?????,?????.

Voice a:

A classic black leather jacket.

Voice b:

A loose-fitting cotton dress that is unrestricted and comfortable.

Speaker:

Ask people what item of clothing their impairment might be, and you’d be surprised by their answers.

Voice c:

A pure white princess dress, short in the front, trailing at the back. The top like Snow White’s, puffy sleeves, bare shoulders.

Voice a:

Short rags that don’t even cover the skin.

Voice b:

A low profile conservative coat but with sexy clothes inside.

Voice c:

A Cantonese opera costume.

Speaker:

Clothes maketh the man and I am self-made: my own creation. People are surprised I dress so well, like they’re expecting me to be like a pauper in a period drama – or in one of those flimsy hospital gowns made of paper that don’t close at the back … At times it seems my sartorial fabulousness is an affront – someone like me shouldn’t look like this, surely? Perhaps they expect me to be in beige, shapeless pull-ons, washed a thousand times and communally used – clothes that are shared, but never owned, like in those institutions where you don’t even have your own underwear.

But that’s their issue, not mine. Couture isn’t just for the non-disabled. I love seeing their jaws drop when I turn up in knocked-off Chanel or Guo Pei – made by myself. I see the designs in magazines or catwalks on social media during Paris Fashion Week and I screenshot, study, and make my own version, adapted and custom-made for my body.

If I meet old neighbours they tell me: ‘you look so good!’ Well, with my rip-off designer garb of course I do. But I can tell they really mean something else. It’s the shock in their faces, tempered with a little fear, like they’re meeting a ghost. ‘So you’re still here? Still holding on?’ They expected me to die before adulthood.

‘You may not look strong,’ my mother said, ‘but you’re durable. You just dug your heels in and decided to stay despite all the predictions, and you surprised them all.’ Which seems to be my natural state – the surprise that dresses spectacularly in bespoke clothes like an Audrey Hepburn or Dilireba. Sometimes I wear jeans and sometimes that cheap synthetic Chinese silk – but never a Cheongsam – not with these hips.

Voice b:

Body contour elastic dress.

Voice a:

A white feather.

Voice c:

Hunting clothes.

Speaker:

‘Occasionally,’ I joke when talking about my wardrobe, ‘occasionally I wear nothing at all, just a dab of perfume behind each ear, like Marilyn Monroe.’ And that’s frowned upon, too, for people like me aren’t supposed to speak like that. We shouldn’t be confident, or desirable, but bland and grateful, with a ‘thank you’ on our lips.

I always seem to create ripples with my panache, which is to be expected, apparently, given my Chinese horoscope – not that I believe in fate, but my mother thinks there’s something in it. She said she dreamt of an earthquake the night before I was born and woke the household up screaming of the natural disaster that never arrived – unless, of course, you decide that that describes me.

I prefer ‘force of nature’. There’s nothing natural about the disaster which befell me. All avoidable. All down to human fallibility and the insufficiencies of resident insurance. Medicine is expensive et cetera et cetera and it’s no use dwelling over what could have been. I had a sick body which wasn’t given the treatment it needed and so a fixable condition became a permanent impairment. Friends ask if I’m bitter, but there’s no style in that. Living and dressing well is the best revenge.

So I taught myself how to sew and how to transform the cheapest of materials into something couture. You can’t fake the cut to a beautifully crafted outfit – so what if it’s recycled polyester? I get bonus points for being sustainable.

Voice a:

Very tight-fitting clothes made of iron chains.

Voice b:

A transparent raincoat.

Voice c:

Something to emulate plants photosynthesizing.

Speaker:

I hate it when people over-compliment me for my dressmaking. Their tributes aren’t really based on my skill, but their expectation of what a disabled person can do. My mediocre talent suddenly makes me special and extraordinary, like a dog standing on its back legs and quoting Lu Xun. I wish we could end this binary of ability versus disability and stop excessively praising people with impairments for very small achievements. Let’s ban being ‘special’ and instead allow us all to be ordinary.

But no, we’re still set apart – a state to be feared.

I’ve heard people say they would rather die than become disabled. What nonsense! It’s the horror stories and propaganda from TV and the movies that create terror about perfectly natural occurrences.

Voice c:

-A diving suit.

Voice b:

The nun’s black veil, only better designed.

Voice a:

Very, very thick woollen grey clothes.

Speaker:

My cousin said: ‘I expect you’d like to die.’ It was a family gathering for Lunar New Year and that was not the kind of chit-chat I was expecting over the longevity noodles. She wanted to know if I was going to commit suicide and if so, did I need some help? Because she’d understand if I did want to. It would only be normal and expected to want to escape a rubbish body and it would be an honour, a really cool thing to help me escape the pain and drudgery of my clearly terrible life. And I said I’d think about it, but first I had London Fashion Week and the Jean Paul Gaultier retrospective.

I don’t want to die because my body is connected to my soul and it can’t exist on its own. I want to push at the boundaries of my existence, meet my limits and exceed them. That’s what’s driven humankind out of the caves and up onto our back legs and out to explore, to attain, to experience, to learn. Disabled people should be ninjas at this but it’s the barriers – both physical and in attitude – that stop us participating and leading the field, surpassing expectations.

Voice c:

Fake fur coat to look like a meow, koala or Yuan bear.

Voice a:

A long black robe with scales.

Voice b:

A shackle, a shackle-like garment that binds me. I can perceive the world, but the world cannot perceive me.

Voice a:

White, reflective, thin, distant, transparent.

Speaker:

With my condition I have to live in the present, but I’m working hard on living in the future – to be reborn from the ashes – one...