Kimberly Alidio is a high school teacher and a tenure-track dropout, born and raised in Baltimore County and living in East Austin. She is the author of solitude being alien
(dancing girl press, 2013) and After projects the resound (Black Radish Books, 2016). She has received an artist-in-residency at the Center for Art and Thought, a Zora Neale Hurston Scholarship (Naropa University), an Asian American Studies Postdoctoral Fellowship (University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign), the Manuel G. Flores Prize (Philippine Artists and Writers Association, San Francisco), a Pushcart Prize nomination, and poetry fellowships from Kundiman and VONA/Voices. She is currently collaborating with the dancer-choreographer Andee Scott.
Her Black Radish collection After projects the resound is forthcoming Fall 2016.
Advance praise for After projects the resound
“The exhausted object have no body of work,” says one poem in Kimberly Alidio’s After projects the resound. But that’s just surface. Ever lurking and in ALL CAPS even are potential poems that would affirm, “LOL AGENCY AND THE COURAGE TO SPEAK.” From the “howling on YouTube” to “Igorots at St. Louis” to the “new sardonic” to “a heart hit twice by shrapnel,” the poems skitter over, infiltrate, radiate, revolt from, and apply “karaoke studies” to interrogate both history and contemporary culture, especially cracks and what lurks within them. These poems are attuned to as many zeitgeists as reveal themselves. From Alidio’s dissecting eyes and focused hands—the “I [who] can sense the space around objects in the room because I’m often unnoticed”—the Filipino trait of Kapwa (interconnectedness) enables poems to arise and they bespeak: “This is exactly what gentleness is // dragging everything up whole—” —Eileen R. Tabios
From the publisher
When Hoa Nguyen suggested I consider publishing the work of Kimberly Alidio, I was excited, as perhaps any new discovery excites: I had not yet encountered Kimberly’s work. Once I entered the writing, however, here was an entirely different excitement. Her attention to forms and methods, their manifold possibilities, the insistent pulse of language’s rhythms and alliterative capacities, the heat of her voice moving through history, emotion, the unseen and ignored, her love of the unloved—these drew me in. I could not stop reading, I wanted to follow these lines, this voice, wherever it took me.
Unflinching in her attention to how the paradigms of late-capitalism/colonialism deceive and betray, Alidio puts her reader square in the midst of the dilemma, the slippages between intention and action: “Does public vulnerability count as a brand?” How does one speak into this abyss?” Affirming the pressures to produce or perform, how these distort—“Some days we should read nothing. / Some days just one sentence.”—Alidio attunes her reader to how the outsider invisibility increases in the midst of cultural and existential crisis: “The chronic indebted finish no programs possess no degrees,” “The exhausted object have no body of work”: “All the Pinays are straight and all the queers are Pinay some of us” “hold our femme gaze straight into the cosmos / behold a supernova of fat negation.” Writing through/around/in the-midst-of erasure, Alidio’s voice, insistently present, queer, Filipina, attends to the edges of the world, pulling her readers with her. —Read more at Halo-Halo Review.