The Pains of “The Great Quarantine of 2020” in Poetry Quaranzines
“Pain permeates, even if it exists in the past.” Toronto artist and filmmaker Jordan Lee-Tung nailed how the lingering pains of 2020 actually feels.
Note: This post was originally published on Substack way back in September 2021; I’m reposting it here for continuity while I figure out how to make The Zinery a cross-platform publication.
By now, a good portion of creatives across the globe have either made a “quaranzine” or toyed with the idea. It’s easy to see its appeal for documenting lockdown life. It’s productive, artistic, and cathartic — three things that many of us need to make sense of these crazy times. Since we’re still going through cycles of lockdowns, I’m sure these zines will continue to pop up. Of course, I keep my eyes peeled for them.
When Canada-based artist and filmmaker Jordan Lee-Tung popped into my inbox with news about his quaranzine collection, Broken Toes Heel Backward, it was a welcome surprise. As of writing, he has already released the first two issues. I don’t have a lot of poetry zines in my collection, so I was delighted when he said he could send me all four issues.
“It hurts like sprained pinkies and fractured big toes. They recover, but never fully — left with scars that always show and joints that lock up on rainy days,” his collection’s description goes. I couldn’t help but feel it summed up the persisting pain of the ongoing pandemic.
At a time when creative energy is an increasingly fickle resource, I also found it incredible that he was able to produce a collection of four poetry zines. Each copy of all four issues was also handmade and handwritten. “Like the monks used to do,” he said. I can totally see how meditative that can be.
As you’d expect, I wanted to pick Jordan’s brain about this project. As someone who has been thinking about creating something amidst all the chaos, I wanted to know what his creative process was like. Simple as his zines are, they represent all the creativity he was able to muster — from his decision to do poetry and the quirky titles, to his choice of materials and putting everything together by hand.
So, I asked him a bunch of questions.
Can you tell me something about yourself and what you do?
I’m an artist based in Toronto, Canada. I prefer to work in the medium of film, making shorts and music videos, but that gets pretty expensive pretty fast so I try to keep myself open to other mediums. Whatever fits the idea.
What inspired you to put together this collection of quaranzines? Why poetry?
“Quaranzines!” I love that. I like writing poetry — it’s simple and easier to express abstract emotion. It makes me feel better about my troubles more immediately. I had some tough times this last year — a failed romance, a spot of violence, a dear friend moved away — amidst the turmoil of the shutdown city, the people in tents. Seemed like a situation that demanded to be treated with the sensitivity of an exposed nerve.
Can you describe the creative process behind this zine collection? What made you decide to make each copy completely handmade and handwritten? Any reason/s behind your chosen materials?
Repetition has always been a big thing for me in any piece of art. I think that the need to express certain ideas comes from you going over them in your head again and again. So when I present the idea I usually want to include that repetition as part of the art as a sort of context.
I had been kicking around the idea of doing the handwritten thing for a book of post-apocalyptic science fiction. Then we found ourselves in our own (post?) apocalypse so it seemed fitting. And with the extended lockdown I had the time to actually dedicate to a more substantial version of the project. With the choice of materials I wanted the book to look very cobbled together, like something you’d find on the floor of the subway. Trash and junk are also sort of a running theme through all of my work. So the covers are literally made from cardboard moving boxes, and everything is written in Sharpie and dollarstore pens.
What’s the story or idea behind the title? How do you think it communicates your thoughts, ideas, or feelings about the ongoing pandemic?
The title “Broken Toes Heel Backward” is from a Kung-Fu Movie Title Generator I used about a decade ago. The name stuck around and here I’ve used it to describe the lingering of pain even after a full recovery. Sort of adds a visceral context to an emotional idea. I think if one has not individually been overtly devastated by the pandemic, quarantine has given us the space to reflect on our insides. I know I have. And so far that’s been an ugly view. Pain permeates, even if it exists in the past. If that makes sense.
What’s the response to your zines been like so far?
It’s been very warm. I’m new to this community so it’s obviously a very small release as I try to build an audience from scratch. Most people are pretty flabbergasted by the volume of handwritten books which is absolutely my intended response. Received a few messages from people who connected to the poems specifically, which means the world and is the kind of feeling that gets lost sometimes when you’re manufacturing and releasing everything yourself.
Being and staying creative during a pandemic hasn’t been easy for everyone, even for creatives like yourself. What kept you going?
I sort of thrive in isolation. I was lucky enough to be able to digest ridiculous amounts of film in the last year — 1970s science fiction, 1940s horror, foreign art movies — which were all incredibly inspiring in their own way. I also developed a very close friendship during the pandemic which was helpful to the zine making process. They were working from home and we spent many hours talking on the phone while we worked in our separate capacities.
Lastly, what did this project do for you as a creative and as an individual still faced with the pandemic?
This project helped me keep busy, which I equate with sanity. Idle hands, etc. This pandemic put a hold on my original 2021 plans, which were to put together my first feature film. So these zines are keeping me afloat long enough to, hopefully, get to those plans next year.
I found Broken Toes Heel Backward to be an interesting reminder of the rudimentary roots of zines and self-publishing. The polished look has become so popular that I think many new zine makers, I suspect, have forgotten how it all began: with crude materials and all made by hand. It’s all part of the charm that first drew people into the raw, unfiltered messages of the medium.
In this collection’s case, the crudeness of the form complemented the intensity of the “abstract emotions” of his poetry. Just thoughts and sentiments being thrown around, no pretense to wrap them in a beautiful package and make them eye-catching. Although, I also totally see how a booklet titled “Some Stuff I Threw at the Wall” left on the subway floor can catch attention.
Jordan says he writes poetry that he doesn’t like very much. But there are some pieces in these zines that I’m sure are relatable, especially as bizarre days continue to roll on. For me, poetry is a tricky art, so I truly appreciate all efforts to experiment with it, pandemic or otherwise. I like it when creatives explore the full breadth and depth of their emotions and ideas unabashedly.
Of course, I’ll let you come to your own conclusion. Check out Jordan’s page for Broken Toes Heel Backward to find out more about the collection, and pay what you can to grab your copies. And you should, because they will never be “reprinted” again.
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Originally published at https://thezinery.substack.com.
