In her poem Eastern War Time, Adrienne Rich (1991, p. 44) illustrates that such [ethnoautobiographic] imagination, if pursued in its multiplicity and hybridity, is likely a far cry from a retro-romantic return to roots:

Memory says: Want to do right? Don’t count on me.
I’m a canal in Europe where bodies are floating
I’m a mass grave I’m the life that returns
I’m a table set with room for the Stranger
I’m a field with corners left for the landless
I’m accused of child-death of drinking blood
I’m a man-child praising God he’s a man
I’m a woman bargaining for a chicken
I’m a woman who sells for a boat ticket
I’m a family dispersed between night and fog
I’m an immigrant tailor who says A coat
is not a piece of cloth only I sway
in the learning of the master-mystics
I have dreamed of Zion I’ve dreamed of world revolution
I have dreamed that my children could live at last like others
I have walked the children of others through ranks of hatred
I’m a corpse dredged from a canal in Berlin
a river in Mississippi I’m a woman standing
with other women dressed in black
on the streets of Haifa, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem
there is spit on my sleeve there are phonecalls in the night
I am a woman standing in line for gasmasks
I stand on a road in Ramallah with naked face listening
I am standing here in your poem unsatisfied
lifting my smoky mirror

poem partly quoted in The Location of Culture by Homi Bhabha .. in this case found online at Ethnoautobiography