Böcker utgivna av University of Georgia Press

In Jessica Tanck's debut collection, narrative and lyric converge to confront the marks left by violence, loss, and longing. Winter Here troubles the boundaries between home and the outside world, between reverence and terror, asking whether and where safety can be found in the wake of a mother's suicide. Both intimate and expansive, this collection revels in pleasure as much as it contends with pain. Whether studying the way a violinist is bruised in the act of playing, invoking the crush of ice around a ship's hull during a silence, or conjuring a crown of light surrounding strangers speaking in tongues, these poems are unflinching, imaginative, and relentless in their searching. By moving between the explicit and the oblique, pairing scorching imagery with razor-edged thought, Tanck evokes a history that haunts every word and place.

From 1845 to 1865 the Gulf of Mexico was at the center of American expansion and southern imperialism. A Continuous State of War tells the story of several communities, such as Galveston, New Orleans, and Pensacola as well as countries such as Mexico and Cuba to uncover the way that that wars within the upper rim of the Gulf of Mexico facilitated American and southern attempts to conquer Latin American nations. In the push for westward expansion that preceded the Civil War, white southerners along with other Americans engaged in violent conquest in Latin America and the American West. Through the wars that are chronicled here, white southern concepts of race became more rigidly fixed. Maria Angela Diaz covers several conflicts leading up to the Civil War with Mexicans, Cubans, and Native Americans. She places the Civil War within this framework and follows the trajectory of relations with Latin America through the end of the Civil War and ex-Confederates' attempts to emigrate abroad. Gulf Coast communities facilitated both the physical efforts to seize territory and the construction of the highly racialized imperialist ideas that reimagined Latin America as a region that could secure the South's future. Yet the pursuit of that territory created a fluctuating and uncertain situation that shaped the choices of the diverse peoples who lived along the upper rim of the Gulf of Mexico in ways they did not expect.

Beginning in the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s, a new generation of LGBT students in California began to organize publicly on college and university campuses, inspired by contemporaneous social movements and informed by California's rich history of LGBT community formation and political engagement. Here Are My People documents how a trailblazing group of queer student activists in California made their mark on the history of the modern LGBTQ movement and paved the way for generations of organizers who followed. Rooted in extensive archival research and original oral histories, Here Are My People explores how this organizing unfolded, comparing different regions, types of campuses, and diverse student populations. Through campus-based organizations and within women's studies programs, and despite various forms of reactionary resistance, student organizers promoted LGBT-themed educational programming and changes to curriculum, provided peer support like counseling and hotlines, and sponsored events showcasing queer creative practices including poetry, theater, and film. Collaborating across various campuses, they formed regional and statewide alliances. And, importantly, LGBT student organizers engaged California's vibrant gay liberation and lesbian feminist political communities, forging new and important relationships in the movement which enhanced both on and off-campus LGBT organizing.

Despite its apparent isolation as an older region of the country, the Southeast provided a vital connecting link between the Black self-emancipation that occurred during the American Revolution and the growth of the Underground Railroad in the final years of the antebellum period. From the beginning of the revolutionary war to the eve of the First Seminole War in 1817, hundreds and eventually several thousand Africans and African Americans in Georgia, and to a lesser extent South Carolina, crossed the borders and boundaries that separated the Lowcountry from the British and Spanish in coastal Florida and from the Seminole and Creek people in the vast interior of the Southeast. Even in times of peace, there remained a steady flow of individuals moving south and southwest, reflecting the aspirations of a captive people. A Southern Underground Railroad constitutes a powerful counter-narrative in American history, a tale of how enslaved men and women found freedom and human dignity not in Jefferson's "Empire of Liberty" but outside the expanding boundaries of the United States. It is a potent reminder of the strength of Black resistance in the post-revolutionary South and the ability of this community to influence the balance of power in a contested region. Paul M. Pressly's research shows that their movement across borders was an integral part of the sustained struggle for dominance in the Southeast not only among the Great Powers but also among the many different racial, ethnic, and religious groups that inhabited the region and contended for control.

"Radical Volunteers tells the largely unknown story of southern student activism in Tennessee between the Brown decision in 1954 and the national backlash against the Kent State University shootings in May 1970. As one of the first statewide studies of student activism-and one of the few examinations of southern student activism-it broadens scholarly understanding of New Left and Black student radicalism from its traditionally defined hotbeds in the Northeast and the West Coast. By incorporating accounts of students from both historically Black and predominantly white colleges and universities across Tennessee, this research places events that might otherwise appear random and intermittent into conversation with one another. This methodological approach reveals that students' joined organizations and became activists in an effort to assert their autonomy and, as a result, student power became a rallying cry across the state. It illuminates a broad movement comprised of many different sorts of students-white and Black, private and public, western, middle, and east Tennesseans. Importantly, Ballantyne doesn't confine her analysis to just campuses. Indeed, Radical Volunteersalso situates campus activism with their broader communities. Tennessee student activists built upon relationships with Old Left activists and organizations, thereby fostering their otherwise fledgling enterprises, and creating the possibility for radical change in the politically-conservative region. But framing student activism over a long period of time across Tennessee as a whole reveals disjuncture as much as coherence in the movement. Though all case studies contain particular and representative features, Tennessee's diversity lends itself well to a study of regional variations. Though outnumbered, Tennessee student activists secured significant campus reforms, pursued ambitious community initiatives, and articulated a powerful countervision for the South and the United States"--

"Significant Food is a collaborative work of textual analysis and criticism that chews on the role and prominence of food in American literature. The volume offers close readings of many well-known, and some less well-known, examples of American writing, as studied through the food culture sensibilities of a well-stocked cupboard of contributors who offer their analyses for public consumption. Editors Jeff Birkenstein and Robert C. Hauhart find that literary criticism has focused on the role food plays in literary production to a greater extent than recognized at first glance and that its role has become increasingly common only in the last two decades. Still, while there is critical commentary regarding authors' use of food across the expanse of American literature, there has been a lack of a unifying critical theories to guide these analyses. Birkenstein and Hauhart offer the theory of "significant food"-a method that asks literary critics to evaluate and assess the extent, nature, and role that food plays in literary production. When food and "food moments" are used intensively and "significantly" within the drama, memoir, poem, novel, short story, or other writing, then one can say that it has achieved a status that makes it indispensable to the work at hand"--

Romancing the Gullah in the Age of Porgy and Bess is a literary and cultural history of a place: the Gullah Geechee Coast, a four-state area that's one of only a handful of places that can truly be said to be the "cradle of Black culture" in the United States. Romancing the Gullah seeks to fill a gap and correct the maps. While there is a veritable industry of books on literary Charleston and on "the lowcountry," along with a plenitude of Gullah-inspired studies in history, anthropology, linguistics, folklore, and religion, there has never been a comprehensive study of the region's literary influence, particularly in the years of the Great Migration and the Harlem (and Charleston) Renaissance. By giving voice to artists and culture makers on both sides of the color line, uncovering buried histories, and revealing secret connections between races amid official practices of Jim Crow, Romancing the Gullah sheds new light on an only partially told tale. A labor of love by a Charleston insider, the book imparts a lively and accessible overview of its subject in a manner that will satisfy the book lover and the scholar.

Following emancipation, African Americans continued their quest for an education by constructing schools and colleges for Black students, mainly in the U.S. South, to acquire the tools of literacy, but beyond this, to enroll in courses in the Greek and Latin classics, then the major curriculum at American liberal arts colleges and universities. Classically trained African Americans from the time of the early U.S. republic had made a link between North Africa and the classical world; therefore, from almost the beginning of their quest for a formal education, many African Americans believed that the classics were their rightful legacy. The Classics in Black and White is based extensively on the study of course catalogs of colleges founded for Black people after the Civil War by Black churches, largely White missionary societies and White philanthropic organizations. Kenneth W. Goings and Eugene O'Connor uncover the full extent of the colleges' classics curriculums and showcase the careers of prominent African American classicists, male and female, and their ultimately unsuccessful struggle to protect the liberal arts from being replaced by Black conservatives and White power brokers with vocational instruction such as woodworking for men and domestic science for women. This move to eliminate classics was in large part motivated by the very success of the colleges' classics programs. As Goings and O'Connor's survey of Black colleges' curriculums and texts reveals, the lessons they taught were about more than declensions and conjugations--they imparted the tools of self-formation and self-affirmation.

From Empire to Revolution is the first biography devoted to an in-depth examination of the life and conflicted career of Sir James Wright (1716-1785). Greg Brooking uses Wright's life as a means to better understand the complex struggle for power in both colonial Georgia and the larger British Empire. James Wright lived a transatlantic life, taking advantage of every imperial opportunity afforded him. He earned numerous important government posts and amassed an incredible fortune, totaling over £100,000 sterling. An England-born grandson of Sir Robert Wright, James Wright was raised in Charleston, South Carolina, following his father's appointment as the chief justice of that colony. Young James served South Carolina in a number of capacities, public and ecclesiastical, prior to his admittance to London's famed Gray's Inn to study law. Most notably, he was appointed South Carolina's attorney general and colonial agent to London prior to becoming the governor of Georgia in 1761. Wright's long imperial career delicately balanced dual loyalties to Crown and colony and offers a new perspective on loyalism and the American Revolution. Through this lens, Greg Brooking connects several important contexts in recent early American and British scholarship, including imperial and Atlantic history, Indigenous borderlands, race and slavery, and popular politics.

"Green City Rising is an ethnographic account of collective organizing for environmental justice in an era of growing concern about environmental and climate challenges. The conventional sustainability paradigm promises improved environmental conditions for all, such as fresh air and clean water, walkable and bikeable neighborhoods, green space access, and protection from climate crises. Yet, without particular interventions, the pursuit of such environmental amenities often contributes to displacement and further harm for communities that have historically borne the brunt of land theft, racial capitalism, and toxic industries. Drawing on the work of an alliance of grassroots organizations called the Portland Harbor Community Coalition (PHCC), Erin Goodling shows how communities have come together across lines of race and class to work for a more just, green future in Portland, Oregon. Green City Rising reveals that the violence of settler colonialism and white supremacy are far from endpoints: a collective vision for a better future is emerging, and ordinary people are building the understanding, skills, and relationships necessary to usher it in"--

"Launched in 2004, the Latin American regional institution of ALBA (Alianza Bolivariana para los Pueblos de Nuestra: Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of Our America) sought to overcome the historical legacies of neo-colonial domination by consecrating the values of cooperation, inclusive development, and popular power. As part of a region-wide effort among states and social movements to break the socio-ecologically destructive effects of capitalist agriculture, the elevation of food sovereignty - based on the protections of rural livelihoods, land redistribution and sustainable agricultural production (agroecology) - became a cornerstone of ALBA's development policy. And yet, these regional aspirations barely saw the light of day, while Venezuela (the beating heart of ALBA) experienced the worst food crisis in its history. How did this come to pass? Based on extensive fieldwork in Venezuela, where the majority of ALBA's food policies reside, Cultivating Socialism provides the first in-depth study of the ways in which peasants, workers and states attempted to redress the inequities of commercialised agriculture, and the limits and contradictions encountered on the road to a regional food sovereignty regime. The politics of food sovereignty within ALBA thus offers important lessons for how we might think about emancipatory politics today, and for the future"--

With Central City's Joy and Pain, Jerome E. Morris explores complex social issues through personal narrative. He does so by blending social-science research with his own memoir of life in Birmingham, Alabama. As someone who lived in the Central City housing project for two transitional decades (1968-91) and whose family continued to reside there until 1999, when the city razed the community, the author provides us with the often unexplored bottom-up perspective on Black public-housing residents' experiences. As Morris's experiential and authoritative narrative voice unfolds in the pages of Central City's Joy and Pain, both the scholarly and lay reader are brought on a journey of what life is like for people who live and die at the intersection of race and poverty in a rapidly evolving southern urban center. The setting of a historic public-housing community provides a rich canvas on which to paint a world through the author's personal experience of growing up there--and his later observations as a researcher and academic. Through its syncopation of personal stories and scholarly research, Central City's Joy and Pain captures what it means to be Black, poor, and full of dreams. In this setting, dreams are realized by some and swallowed up for others in the larger historical, social, economic, and political context of African Americans' experiences during and after the civil rights movement.

"At Treasure Island, a humanly made island in the San Francisco Bay, a performance troupe dressed in hazmat suits articulate gestures that resemble toxic remediation. As they become more attuned to the site and to its history and ecology, enigmatic presences infiltrate their spacetime. Are they from the past, the present, or the future? What is the significance of their sudden arrival? What happens when historical and geological eras converge? Meanwhile, elsewhere, various earth scientists at sites around the globe search for the "golden spike": a telltale geologic marker that synchronously indicates a definitive time change in the strata-a change from the Holocene epoch to the Anthropocene. Within their data is Earth's biography, but how is humanity insinuated within this chronology? Throughout Presence, encounter and contact are the major elements of consequence, action, implication, and resounding significance. Encounter and contact between timeframes, cultures, ecologies, persons, intuitions, ways of living, and worlding. At these junctures are the moments of possibility-of violence and/or of budding community"--

With Central City's Joy and Pain, Jerome E. Morris explores complex social issues through personal narrative. He does so by blending social-science research with his own memoir of life in Birmingham, Alabama. As someone who lived in the Central City housing project for two transitional decades (1968-91) and whose family continued to reside there until 1999, when the city razed the community, the author provides us with the often unexplored bottom-up perspective on Black public-housing residents' experiences. As Morris's experiential and authoritative narrative voice unfolds in the pages of Central City's Joy and Pain, both the scholarly and lay reader are brought on a journey of what life is like for people who live and die at the intersection of race and poverty in a rapidly evolving southern urban center. The setting of a historic public-housing community provides a rich canvas on which to paint a world through the author's personal experience of growing up there--and his later observations as a researcher and academic. Through its syncopation of personal stories and scholarly research, Central City's Joy and Pain captures what it means to be Black, poor, and full of dreams. In this setting, dreams are realized by some and swallowed up for others in the larger historical, social, economic, and political context of African Americans' experiences during and after the civil rights movement.

In The Art of Touch: Prose and Poetry from the Pandemic and Beyond, the unique voices of thirty-nine of some of the most creative thinkers of our times have been brought together to consider the profound impact of one of our five main senses: touch. Psychologists, healers, massage therapists, academics, creative writers, and others reflect on or tell personal stories about what it means to be able to touch or experience touch, or to have to go without it--as so many did and still do because of the COVID-19 pandemic. They explore how transmissions such as texting may impede opportunities for touch, while those like Zoom may make it possible for people who otherwise might be left behind to stay "in touch." From the experience of touching beloved animals to the life-changing ways in which books and performances can touch us, virtually all aspects of touch are acknowledged in these pages.

With Tripas, Brandon Som follows up his award-winning debut with a book of poems built out of a multicultural, multigenerational childhood home, in which he celebrates his Chicana grandmother, who worked nights on the assembly line at Motorola, and his Chinese American father and grandparents, who ran the family corner store. Enacting a cómo se dice poetics, a dialogic poem-making that inventively listens to heritage languages and transcribes family memory, Som participates in a practice of mem(oir), placing each poem's ear toward a confluence of history, labor, and languages, while also enacting a kind of "telephone" between cultures. Invested in the circuitry and circuitous routes of migration and labor, Som's lyricism weaves together the narratives of his transnational communities, bringing to light what is overshadowed in the reckless transit of global capitalism and imagining a world otherwise-one attuned to the echo in the hecho, the oracle in the órale. .

Immigrant children first speak the language of their mothers, and in Toledo, Ohio's Little Syria neighborhood where Joseph Geha grew up, the first place he would go to find his mother would be the kitchen. Many of today's immigrants use Skype to keep in touch with folks back in the old country but in those "radio days" of old before the luxuries of hot running water or freezers, much less refrigeration, blenders, or microwaves, the kitchen was where an immigrant mother usually had to be, snapping peas or rolling grape leaves while she waited for the dough to rise. There, Geha's mother took special pride in the traditional Syro-Lebanese food she cooked, such as stuffed eggplant, lentil soup, kibbeh with tahini sauce, shish barak, and fragrant sesame cookies. As much a memoir as a cookbook, Kitchen Arabic illustrates the journey of Geha's early years in America and his family's struggle to learn the language and ways of a new world. A compilation of family recipes and of the stories that came with them, it deftly blends culture with cuisine. In her kitchen, Geha's mother took special pride in the Arabic dishes she cooked, cherishing that aspect of her heritage that, unlike language, has changed very little over time and distance. With this book, Geha shares how the food of his heritage sustained his family throughout that cultural journey, speaking to them--in a language that needs no translation--of joy and comfort and love.

"This exhibition and accompanying catalogue are the first large-scale survey of the Do Good Fund's remarkable and sweeping collection of photography made in the South from the 1950s to the present. Since its founding in 2012, the Do Good Fund has built a museum-quality collection of photography that charts a visual narrative of the ever-changing American South. The collection includes images by more than 25 Guggenheim Fellows, five Magnum Photographers and two Henri Cartier-Bresson Award winners as well as images by lesser-known or emerging photographers from the region. In part a survey of the art and artists within Do Good's holdings, the exhibition is also and more crucially a scholarly investigation of southern photography since World War II"--

Poor Atlanta looks at the poor people's campaigns in Atlanta in the 1960s and 1970s, which operated in relationship to Sunbelt city- building efforts. With these efforts, city leaders aimed to prevent urban violence, staunch disinvestment, check white flight, and amplify Atlanta's importance as a business and transportation hub. As urban leaders promoted Forward Atlanta, a program to, in Mayor Ivan Allen Jr.'s words, "e;sell the city like a product,"e; poor families insisted that their lives and living conditions, too, should improve.While not always operating within public awareness, antipoverty campaigns among the poor presented a regular and sometimes strident critique of inequality and Atlanta's uneven urban development. With Poor Atlanta, LeeAnn B. Lands demonstrates that, while eclipsed by the Black freedom movement, antipoverty organizing (including direct action campaigns, legal actions, lobbying, and other forms of activism) occurred with regularity from 1964 through 1976. Her analysis is one of the few citywide studies of antipoverty organizing in late twentieth-century America.

Nuked recounts the long-term effects of radiological exposure in St. Louis, Missouri-the city that refined uranium for the first self- sustaining nuclear reaction and the first atomic bomb. As part of the top-secret Manhattan Project during World War II, the refining created an enormous amount of radioactive waste that increased as more nuclear weapons were produced and stockpiled for the Cold War.Unfortunately, government officials deposited the waste on open land next to the municipal airport. An adjacent creek transported radionuclides downstream to the Missouri River, thereby contaminating St. Louis's northern suburbs. Amid official assurances of safety, residents were unaware of the risks. The resulting public health crisis continues today with cleanup operations expected to last through the year 2038.Morice attributes the crisis to several factors. They include a minimal concern for land pollution; cutting corners to win the war; new homebuilding practices that spread radioactive dirt; insufficient reporting mechanisms for cancer; and a fragmented government that failed to respond to regional problems.