“Pay Attention to the Ways they Intersect.”
Vallum Magazine, Q&A w/ me, December 2020
In December, 2020, Vallum magazine interviewed me; I had won an Honorable Mention in their annual poetry contest.
I’ve always liked how the interview turned out, particularly my plea for someone to recommend a good history book about mid-20th Century Egypt. This fateful request eventually led me to the great Egyptian novelist Naguib Mahfouz, who has since become one of my favorite authors.
Favorite Book of Poetry Discovered this Year
Victoria Chang’s “Obit.“ Ruminating on loss, Chang presents a series of philosophical thought experiments in plainspoken metaphors. Mostly, she uses the traditional newspaper obituary format (both in form and tone) to write breathtaking poems about the death of optimism, logic, home, and other things that suddenly vanish when a loved one dies. She accents the obituary poems with Tankas (my new favorite form), tiny five-line poems that loom large.
What’s on your reading list for 2021?
Non-fiction is the ticket. I’m looking for a good history of 20th Century Egypt with Nasser and Nasserism at the heart of it. Does this book exist? Recommendations please. Otherwise, Donald Shoup’s “Parking and the City,” the follow-up to his urban planning classic, “The High Cost of Free Parking.”
Best Writerly Advice.
Read multiple books at the same time and pay attention to the ways they intersect.
A Haiku a Month
I’m writing a Haiku a month, per a challenge from my high school teacher besty.
Over the 2022 holiday season, I had one of those coveted moments when time stops. “Write a poem about that,” I thought minutes after emerging from my reverie.
Appropriately, given that my split-second reprieve from daily life was tied to the season—it was snowing—I ended up writing a Haiku, the “short poetic Japanese poem that often responds to nature and the changing seasons” as the formal definition goes.
As I typically do when I’m excited about a new poem, I sent this haiku to my friend Dallas. Dal is a poet himself (and a photographer). More importantly, he’s a high school English teacher with a box of literary chops that make students talk about him years later; the one who made them perk up and take an interest in literature, and, not coincidentally, the world. Dal is a killer poetry editor.
He liked my Haiku—I was psyched—and he had a thrilling suggestion: In 2023, write one a month.
And so, here we are. The titles mark the day the haiku-worthy moment took place.
Thursday, December 22
Work’s done, suitcase packed.
No fondness for cars, yet snow
brushed off tenderly.
Saturday, January 7
String quartet tuning.
We drag in more chairs. Light rail
boardings have tripled.
Tuesday, February 14
Special election!
Drop box brimming. Volunteer
pointing to her watch.
Saturday, March 11
E-bike charged. Race to the grocery. My house guest absorbed in a book.
Tuesday, April 18
Years past, Tom brought me to town. Years on, his grown son greets me in the park.
Tuesday, May 16
The mayor’s lobbyist holds forth in the foyer. Look at his mute aide’s eyes.
Friday, June 2
A proper welcome to a city. Falafel truck. Late night dinner.
Sunday, July 16
Unlocking my bike near 1 am below a window. Friendly lights.
Wednesday, August 2
Uninvited guest scurries from under the fridge. Rancid nursing home.
Friday, September 15
My good luck Hermes statuette falls on the floor and breaks. Clever god.
Sunday, October 22
Suddenly rain on
the trees, then on the tennis court. Then gone again.
Thursday, November 23
Thelonious Monk’s
disappearance upset me,
but he’s safe and sound.
Friday, December 1
Ignored: color of
anxiety, evidence
of anemia.
Sunday, January 21
The last thing you say
before falling asleep is
will you hold my hand?
Friday, February 16
Approaching their house.
A window aglow. It’s them
asleep on the couch.
Tuesday, March 12
Doing research for
Dad’s obituary found
legal precedents.
Thursday, March 21
After the Satie
my body believes it lives
in New York City.