Please tell us about the making of “I would have hated myself for not calling or writing you more often when I see the Saint at the Gate.” and “I have tried my best and their is a limit to my patience.”
The poems are excerpted from my manuscript Not so dear Jenny, a collection I made with my Chinese father’s English letters. I have a box of letters he wrote me over a period of twenty+ years. While I was working on the poems, I’d sit in my room & read letter after letter. When I found a sentence I liked, I’d write it at the top of the page. Then I’d wait and see what happened. To me. To the sentence. My father’s first language was Mandarin. In theory, he wrote the letters in English so that I could understand them though many of the sentences are riddled with errors, some to the point of being unintelligible. At some point, I began to cleave to his mistakes, to play with his English usage, his turns of phrase, some of which are quite beautiful. His words appear in italics throughout. The poems belong to both of us. I couldn’t have made them without him & I suppose that was the point. I wanted to enact what it means to simultaneously lose someone and commune with them ― the paradox of grief and all it gives us.
What does a typical writing session look like for you?
It’s so early, it’s dark. I read. I stare out the window. I spy on people. I remember things. I jot down bits of overheard conversation, lines that haunt me, unforgettable images. Sometimes I copy out poems I love, to feel closer to them, to try & better understand how they work. I sit. Once I have a handwritten draft, I type it up, changing it as I go. Then I print it out, cut it into strips & start moving lines around. It looks like someone is either studying or playing a game or doing nothing at all.
How do you approach revision?
Revision is a form of travel. That’s how I approach it. Traveling always changes me; I always see my life differently once I get home. One needn’t necessarily go far to accomplish this. Revising a poem is like walking a new route between two familiar points. It’s taking new turns, new streets, new steps, in your own neighborhood ― both metaphorically & literally. Sometimes I bring my draft to another room in the apartment or to the library or to the park to see it anew. I move the strips of paper around like Mahjong tiles. Poetry’s a game of love. Every line has the capacity to love another & I’m the matchmaker.
Do you practice another form of art? If so, do you find that it competes with or complements your writing?
Practicing other art forms always invigorates my writing. Whether I’m playing the piano or singing or cooking or book-making or sewing or taking a photograph, art reveals secrets to me about my work.
When you feel uninspired, which poet might you read for guidance and motivation?
I can’t possibly choose one! Here are just a few of the many poets who inspire me.
The living: Adonis, Cynthia Cruz, Aracelis Girmay, Fanny Howe, Lan Lan, Sandra Lim, Wong May, Dunya Mikhail, Hannah Sanghee Park, Carl Phillips, Mary Ruefle, Jean Valentine, Jane Wong…
The dead: Anna Ahkmatova, Bashō, Gwendolyn Brooks, Paul Celan, lucille clifton, Jean Follain, Gunnar Ekelöf, Audre Lorde…
The poems are excerpted from my manuscript Not so dear Jenny, a collection I made with my Chinese father’s English letters. I have a box of letters he wrote me over a period of twenty+ years. While I was working on the poems, I’d sit in my room & read letter after letter. When I found a sentence I liked, I’d write it at the top of the page. Then I’d wait and see what happened. To me. To the sentence. My father’s first language was Mandarin. In theory, he wrote the letters in English so that I could understand them though many of the sentences are riddled with errors, some to the point of being unintelligible. At some point, I began to cleave to his mistakes, to play with his English usage, his turns of phrase, some of which are quite beautiful. His words appear in italics throughout. The poems belong to both of us. I couldn’t have made them without him & I suppose that was the point. I wanted to enact what it means to simultaneously lose someone and commune with them ― the paradox of grief and all it gives us.
What does a typical writing session look like for you?
It’s so early, it’s dark. I read. I stare out the window. I spy on people. I remember things. I jot down bits of overheard conversation, lines that haunt me, unforgettable images. Sometimes I copy out poems I love, to feel closer to them, to try & better understand how they work. I sit. Once I have a handwritten draft, I type it up, changing it as I go. Then I print it out, cut it into strips & start moving lines around. It looks like someone is either studying or playing a game or doing nothing at all.
How do you approach revision?
Revision is a form of travel. That’s how I approach it. Traveling always changes me; I always see my life differently once I get home. One needn’t necessarily go far to accomplish this. Revising a poem is like walking a new route between two familiar points. It’s taking new turns, new streets, new steps, in your own neighborhood ― both metaphorically & literally. Sometimes I bring my draft to another room in the apartment or to the library or to the park to see it anew. I move the strips of paper around like Mahjong tiles. Poetry’s a game of love. Every line has the capacity to love another & I’m the matchmaker.
Do you practice another form of art? If so, do you find that it competes with or complements your writing?
Practicing other art forms always invigorates my writing. Whether I’m playing the piano or singing or cooking or book-making or sewing or taking a photograph, art reveals secrets to me about my work.
When you feel uninspired, which poet might you read for guidance and motivation?
I can’t possibly choose one! Here are just a few of the many poets who inspire me.
The living: Adonis, Cynthia Cruz, Aracelis Girmay, Fanny Howe, Lan Lan, Sandra Lim, Wong May, Dunya Mikhail, Hannah Sanghee Park, Carl Phillips, Mary Ruefle, Jean Valentine, Jane Wong…
The dead: Anna Ahkmatova, Bashō, Gwendolyn Brooks, Paul Celan, lucille clifton, Jean Follain, Gunnar Ekelöf, Audre Lorde…