Amanda Shea is paving the way for BIPOC poets to thrive in the Boston poetry scene
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I first met acclaimed Boston poet Amanda Shea at Outspoken Saturdays, a radio program she hosts on WGBH that features a group of poets from various backgrounds, races and ethnicities.
(photos courtesy of Shea)
A three-time Boston Music Award-winning spoken word artist, Shea is a community leader dedicated to artistic freedom. Her show reflects her commitment to activism, inclusion and social justice.
As a poet who had never performed on the radio before, I felt welcomed when I hit the stage at the Boston Public Library in Copley Square in Boston. I saw diverse faces and met new peers who shared the same creative pursuit.
“It’s okay, you can do this,” Shea encouraged, a message that inspires me to this day. With Shea’s support in that inclusive setting, I relaxed, optimistic to express my creativity.
Born in South Carolina and raised in Hyannis, Mass., her work is informed by her rich and layered background. She is Black, Portuguese, Cape Verdean, Trinidadian and Puerto Rican. As a multiethnic, queer poet and mother of two who discovered her Latine roots in her 30s, she raises awareness on a range of societal issues in her work.
While her career has taken off in recent years, including performing at the 75th Boston Celtics Shamrock Foundation Gala last October, Shea spent a decade working as an accountant before quitting her day job in 2018 without a backup plan. She was unhoused for a time and lost the love of her life, her husband, who died young. Rather than breaking her, she says these experiences gave her courage along the way — courage she wants to pass on to the next generation.
When she sat down with me for an Hola Cultura interview recently, she expanded on the importance of staying connected and giving back to those around us. Read our interview about how Shea is elevating Boston’s poetry scene.
As an artist and a woman of color, what barriers are you actively fighting to change?
To be heard, to be listened to, to be seen, to represent who we are as people. As a Black woman, I think there’s a certain perspective that people have when we get up on the stage, that our poetry is aggressive. It’s heavy-hitting, and it’s always trauma. I’m trying to change that narrative. It’s like, “No, our stories are not always filled with trauma.” I think our stories want to be amplified and heard. It doesn’t need to be just on certain platforms. Like, what does it look like to be involved in festivals with other musical artists?
Another barrier I’m trying to challenge is poetry should be everywhere, for everybody. Changing the narrative of how poetry is seen, but also giving women the platform to tell their stories as authentically as possible.
Why is it important for people to be authentic and express wanting to feel safe within a community?
Let’s be honest, safety can’t be guaranteed. As much as we want to say that there are safe spaces, we can’t really control safety. We could be on this call right now and someone could burst through my house at any point in time, right? That’s a reality, and I say the same thing for community events and gatherings. We can only be safe as much as we make the space safe. But I also think safety and authenticity kind of roll in one, because a community is only as healthy as its inhabitants.
It’s important to be authentic and allow people to be themselves. People are only authentic when they’re able to feel like they can be vulnerable, and safety is one of those things that allows vulnerability to transpire. If people are uptight or anxious or feel like they’re going to be judged, they’re not going to tell the truth. And I think it’s really important for us to just keep a space of truth.
How are you using poetry to create spaces where there is equal representation?
By making space, especially as Black and Brown folks. I don’t think I go into it saying, “Okay, this is the type of demographic I want, or this is the type of age range that I want.” I just go in, and I say, “This is a space. Take it up. Take up space.”
Especially as Black and Brown folks, I feel like we have a history of being silenced or not being able to speak our truth in a very loud and proud way. So I always say, “Let’s take up the space. Let’s make space.” How can we create space? Platforms that people feel like they can just come up here and do whatever they want.
How are we as the new ancestors? How are we passing along the torch? I really owe a lot to Jeneé Osterheldt, from the Boston Globe and A Beautiful Resistance, which is a column that I absolutely love. She was like, “Wherever Amanda Shea is, you need to be there.”
Tell us about your entrepreneurship journey and how it has opened doors for you as a poet.
I think the best opportunities are the ones where I can remember why I’m doing this. It’s the moments that allow me to see myself and remind myself that this is more of a spiritual journey than it ever is for an earthly or worldly journey. Most of my poems come from a space … where I feel like God’s ancestors, spirit guides, are speaking through me and just using me as a vessel.
Those are the times that I see myself and say, wow, like this is not just healing for me, but it’s healing for other people.
What would you tell a young person who looks up to you and wants to pursue a creative path?
It’s a lot of work, and there’s going to be ebbs and flows through it all. But you shouldn’t give up. Just remember why you want to do this. You have to ask and be honest with yourself. Why do you want to do this?
I’ve had to question myself a million times. Imposter syndrome still shows up for me. Do I want this for fame and fortune and money? That’s okay, if that’s your reasoning, right? Or do you want to utilize your voice as a healing mechanism? … You have to be honest about that, because no matter what path you choose, it’s going to have ebbs and flows and downfalls.
Being a full-time creative is like jumping out of a plane every single day. You don’t know if your parachute is going to open … You don’t know if you’re going to buckle your ankle while you try trying to land.
Because of the climate of our society, we’re still in a space of starving artists. That’s not necessarily true because I’m fed and full every single day when I reach people like yourself who are getting into poetry. I want to use this as a healing mechanism. To me, there’s no dollar amount you could put on that.
Where do you envision the arts community in Boston growing in the future?
I think we’re already here. That’s why people come here, not just for education and history but also for art — seeing pro-Black murals all over the city … I feel like we are in a really good space where, if this were like the Harlem Renaissance era, this would be that for Boston.
Is there anything you want to add?
Another thing I would say to the youth is, don’t ever forget where you came from, because before you saw me on a billboard or performing for the Boston Celtics, I was just like you, moving around at all open mics, just wanting to be heard. And I did not get paid for that.
Shea will perform with the Boston Civic Symphony at Jordan Hall on March 28.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
– Story by Chabelli “Latina Bohemian” Hernandez
– Copy edited by Valerie Izquierdo and Kami Waller
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