Experience is like shelling peanuts- interview with Kashiana Singh

Thank you for spending time with me today to answer some pivotal questions. Let me begin by asking how difficult for you is it to find your audience? What role do editors and publishers play in helping you discover who that audience is?

I am about writing for writing sake. I write because I am, I am because I write and the two keep each other in balance. My facebook, twitter, and wordpress blogs serve as delivery channels to place my work out in the ether – from there as you know many factors come into play towards building a consistent and committed audience. Overarchingly, I think of my audience as a set of concentric circles expanding outwards. Like the rings around Saturn – iridescent, ever present, together yet separate.

Within the innermost circle, are a few readers who sustain by just reading – they are eyeballs to ink that every writer needs irrespective of whether they understand the craft or the context, they understand what that written piece means at its very basic level. They care because they value finding expression to what they also are touched by, moved by, care for, are angry about but do not go about stringing into words  – watching a child smile in sleep, a squirrel in the yard, a caricature of a neighbor, unspoken pain or debilitating illness, a shared meal, unequal conditions of hunger, etc.

Then there is the active middle ring in the circle usually formed by meaningful communities that nourish by critiquing, reading and offering their own work to read; in the process growing each other’s audience as well as honing each other’s craft – this is both online as well as in person. I have a few of these forums and stay aligned to them, grasping at every learning and teaching moment.

The largest, most difficult and most detached section of the audience circle is where editors and publishers play a pivotal role for writers. Without this there is a limitation to how far a writer can reach in and unravel who the audience is. This could mean finding mentors like yourself who take the time to listen, read and react to a new author’s work. This is also where the end to end supply chain becomes critical and where a gap exists for eager voices who may not have the resources to go full throttle towards building an audience. I don’t understand the full spectrum of the publishing industry but clearly there needs to be better coupling, and understanding of the joint responsibility between the poet and the publishing community. The poet being responsible for getting their work out, reading, writing, submitting and the publishing community ensuring an engagement with new, global, diverse and experimental voices.

Lastly, someone said this to me many years ago and it is great advice that I took seriously, develop a hobby of collecting rejections.

Denied Stamp Showing Rejection Or Refusal Stock Photo - Image: 25153430

What is the significance of the title Shelling Peanuts and Stringing Words? Does this connect to an overarching theme of your collection?

Thank you for asking this question. The title does have a significance but let me tell you that it was definitely not the first choice. For many years I always thought my first poetry collection would be called, Just by the way. But that was not to be. As starters, Shelling Peanuts is the first poem in the book and it fitted well into the need for a title that was going to be difficult to ignore when heard or seen. The warps and wefts of the poems across the 8 sections of the book are like peanuts – conversation starters, easily relatable to a global audience, layers of human connections, plain enough that they are just there. Shelling and eating peanuts is ultimately a very basic but a satisfying, an almost addictive food act. I thought that all of these associations made Shelling Peanuts and Stringing Words an ideal title for the book. Literally speaking, the poem, Shelling Peanuts references a family gathering around the fire place, shelling peanuts and stringing words. This book was written for my dad and he has a special love for peanuts, in particular peanuts in shells!

In your poem “RAPE”, you write “to be your excruciating self / and never a / cookie cutter version / to cater to perspectives / that pretend / to prevent pain.” Have you struggled with identity in this sense?

Have we not all struggled with identity in some shape manner and form during the course of our lives? Is the self-identity war ever won and done?

There is no question that I have walked the fine line of questions about identity in many ways – Who am I? is a question I ask all day every day and the answer is never consistently the same. Not sure it should come back same as then I would not find my poems, would I?  A management professional, corporate slave or a free-spirited poet? A teacher or a manager? A mother or a daughter? A daughter or a daughter in law? A wife or a lover? An Indian or American or global resident?

It is in the astonishment of identity that we find our poems – at least I do.

What role does that struggle play in your writing? Do you think it is a difficult task to be oneself in this day and age? Why did you choose this acronym for the poem?

Poetry is not really distant unlike what many think; it is actually very present – I always attempt to bridge that gap between the genesis of the poem, myself, the poem and ultimately the reader.  RAPE is that kind of a poem. This poem was born of an anger, fear, insecurity after an infamous gang rape incident in India that everyone who is paying attention to the global arena is aware of. That was followed by a disturbing crescendo in the US and then all the noise with the me-too movement.

With that as the backdrop, RAPE specifically was something (along with many others in the Section Pedagogy of Permissions) I wrote during the phase and as my teenage daughter was getting ready to embark on a life of her own as a young woman, leaving home and going to college.

What duty do today’s feminists have? In what ways do you believe feminism is achieving its aims? Do you see a different struggle today than during the initial phases of feminism?

I know there is an entire debate about feminism vs womanism vs humanism – and I will stay away from venturing into that because it really does not matter to me personally. It is semantics, what matters is that we change the experience and help own what we can to enable the change. So, to your question –

There was a feminist wave in the 60s and 70s and then we have had a feminist rush in the recent past driven by some of the external factors but also due to the emergence of some great voices across the globe and being heard, listened and replayed through social media. I often reflect if due to the technology bias of consumable poetry, there is a missing presence of incoming and outgoing connection of poetry with women who are on the outskirts of this social media consumer group. Just like the global workforce dynamic needs to adapt to cater to 6 generations, the voice of feminist poetry must remember to meet the female voice across these 6 generations. Now add to that layers of how color, race, land, gender, economics as pivoted over the years. I will put it this way – While the role description of a feminist poet has not really changed, and will not change the success measures have evolved considerably and as poets we will need to continue to check and adjust these measures if we want to ensure the collective feminist voice remains upstream in the social sequence and not an afterthought.

File:Feminism symbol.svg - Wikimedia Commons

My personal favorite poem of yours is “Nocturnal Flame.” Can you discuss what the essence of the poem expresses?

Oh, I am glad you like it. It was one of those that came to me – a view of the moon from my window on a full moon night as it shone bright behind the branches of the trees in my backyard. It suddenly came in the clear and I was able to take a picture of it. I wrote the poem that night, in a lover’s voice. You can call it a romantic ekphrastic written in response to nature’s most beautiful form of art – the moon across the night sky teasing the poet with it’s changing pallor and moving gaze.

How does religion factor into your work? Do you see Sikhism factoring into your poetry?

Two statements followed by how Sikhism plays into my life and therefore my poetry.

  1. I am not religious.
  2. Sikhism is embedded within me as my inherent self.

It is a part of my lexicon and makes me who I am across all my identities. Now that you ask the question, I think it manifests into my poetry in two ways. One, the Sikh prayers and hymns that I have grown up organically imbibing as read or recited by my grandparents and parents. It is important to understand that the Guru Granth Saheb, which is the holy scripture of the Sikhs is really a compilation of approx. 4000 hymns that are both exhilarating and uplifting. Second, I have had an ever-present influence of Sikh values – speaking for the truth, a keen awareness of the larger order, and work as worship. So, Sikhism does factor in organically into my writing in terms of the inherent traditions of both oral and written forms of poetry, poetry as a source of healing and the philosophical attributes of being a Sikh.

As for writing about Sikhism, I have written two or three poems about the Sikh Guru’s and prayers but find myself hesitant – I do not think I can do justice. At least not yet.

How does your broader worldview inform your poetic sensibilities? Does poetry resolve certain tensions for you? As a process of self-discovery, what has poetry taught you?

My worldview completely and absolutely informs everything I write. I would like to believe that everything I say through my poems transcends boundaries because I am nothing if not a fusion of sensibilities and geographies. The stories, language and words I bring into my poems from my India is inherent to my poetic refrain. Combine that with a relentless broadening of my geographies and you now have poems that are sometimes coherent and often incoherent as they continually focus and refocus towards a center of gravity. I cannot ignore my skin color, my accent nor my Indian descent but I think of all of these as enablers to my poetic output. The other thing that I have been reflecting on is that because I started from a place where chaos is normal, where prayer is ingested, where food is a ritual, I bring to my writing table a larger canvas and a broader range of perspectives. Whether that is an advantage or a burden depends on the day and the topic at hand but it is a fact that differentiates me.

Free stock photo of activism, feminism, freedom

How does crafting a new poem make you feel? What is your process in editing and revising?

I let a poem happen most times, but am more deliberate about the editing and revision process. As for the actual process of writing, I adopted the discipline of writing every day around six years ago and have been fortunate to have maintained it. Remember, I am a management professional by the day – and intuitively tend to develop a system. The system for my writing is a combination of making notes through out my daily rituals and work day as ideas, words, moments pop that could be poems. I then organize them and classify them into themes and save them away as a tool kit to use if and when needed. It is when the night falls that the poetry happy hour begins – I mean it in a literal way. It is the happiest hour of my day – Mostly the output is trash, sometimes it is vulnerable, rarely it is inspired. But that hour is the most blessed hour of my day. Sustaining a regular writing practice alongside the relentlessness of daily existence has been my biggest challenge and has also offered me the strongest anchoring.

Reading poems out loud brings the words to life for me and gives me a lot of joy. I try to do this as often as I can by recording myself or participating in readings.

Outside of poetry, are there other writers who inspire you to think deeper? Who are they and does their wisdom find their way into your poems?

Many Many Many – All and everyone. I am not a reader snob. I am a sponge for reading other writers – of course the classics always stand by.  I am going take the liberty to give you these are a few of my favorite writers list, those that I keep turning to for help, inspiration and wisdom –

  • Khalil Gibran for painting with every syllable
  • Toni Morrison for her passion for stories and people
  • David Wallace for his stories about being a human being today
  • Aravind Adiga and his White Tiger
  • Yanagihara’s Little Life
  • All of Haruki Murakami for how simply he probes a complex question
  • David Whyte’s Consolation for teaching the language again
  • Khushwant Singh’s Train to Pakistan and all Indian and Pakistani writers, for whatever they say about the struggle for independence, and its festering wounds. Shauna Singh Baldwin, for her choice of creating from those wounds.
  • Meena Alexander and Anita Desai for opening the door to duality, conflicted identity and feminine solitude
  • Tiffany Pham for her grit as a Mogul and owning the day!
  • Nissim Ezekiel for synthesizing sights and sounds so beautifully
  • Mary Oliver for her attention to things around her – Wild Geese
  • Joy Harjo for her ability to turn the personal into a universal prayer – Perhaps the World Ends Here
  • Naomi Shihab Nye for writing about attributes that define a global citizen – Kindness
  • Anne Sexton for the ability to be badass – Menstruation at Forty
  • Bernadette Mayer for her cheek in jowl style – Chocolate Poetry Sonnet
  • John Ashberry for stumping us with his open endedness – Poem of Unrest
  • Ocean Voung for his absolute genius, he has my heart – everything!
  • Tracy K Smith for The Slowdown podcast and for unsettling – The Body’s Question
  • Layli Long Soldier for allowing a poem to take as much time it needs – Dilate
  • Ada Limon for her celebration of imperfections – We’d Like the Conversation to be Bilingual
  • Kaveh Akbar for being a survivor – Gloves
  • Natalie Diaz for the precision and courage in her writing – No More Cake Here
  • Arundhati Subramaniam for the way she traverses boundaries – All her work
  • Sumana Roy for teaching to pause – Trees, snails and watching the sunset

File:Kahlil Gibran signature.svg - Wikipedia

We live in deeply troubling and strange times. What role does the writer play in notating the global crises?  How do you see yourself coping with the stress?

We do. But these troubling times are also the times that offer us hope, reflection and human will. Think of the story of the 90-year-old woman who refused a ventilator in a hospital because she had already lived a beautiful life and asked for the nursing staff to provide that ventilator to a younger patient instead. She passed, in peace and beauty. What a poem her life is, isn’t it Dustin?

I will quote Meena Alexander from one of her interviews here – “In a time of violence, the task of poetry is in some way to reconcile us to our world and to allow us a measure of tenderness and grace with which to exist.”

Finally, do you have any words for the future poets who will look back to our world and its difficulties? What advice can you offer them?

Pause. Assess. Act – There is a poem in daily existence, it is waiting to be written.

Let us end on a lighter note and I will share what my children hear from me all the time. Quoting from Salman Rushdie’s East, West – “Trust my grey hairs.” Muhammad Ali urged her. “My advice is well tempered by experience. You will certainly find it good.”

Mathematician and Poet, Iris Orpi

I found Iris through Twitter where she followed me. I asked her where she found me and she replied she noticed I had a lot of tweets on writing. I followed her in return and sampled her work, sharing some with other publisher friends. I caught Iris between moments to discuss her poetry and all that she finds inspiring.

Iris Orpi’s book Golden and Rampant can be purchased by clicking the image

Thank you for agreeing to this interview. My first impressions of your work were that you write of beauty, rage, revelation, sexuality’s bridge to sacredness, and place. Would you mind sharing a few words about how you employ those themes and where your remarkable ability to interweave them comes from?

First of all, thank you for seeing what you saw because that is exactly how I would describe my work.

Now for the first part of your question. Those five motifs you mentioned usually manifest in pairs or groups in each piece. I’m a sucker for pretty, ebullient imagery and can rarely resist including metaphors involving oceans, storms, big cities, and skies – those are the things I personally find the most beautiful. But those images would trigger or flow into the other things, like  maybe I’ll use the sea as a metaphor for the soul being deep, then follow it up with a line about furiously crashing waves. Or maybe I’ll wax rhapsodic about Chicago’s skyline, then use it in parallel with a young woman’s initiation into passion.

Image result for public domain images of chicago skyline

I believe there’s an inherent feminism in most if not all of my written work, and I am always aware of that, and that awareness tells me I should balance all the elements of woman – myself as woman, to be precise. So if there’s light, there should be darkness, and vice versa. So on the one hand, yes, look at all these phrases invoking pretty pictures in your brain; but on the other hand there’s more to the aesthetic than a Baroque painting in words. Being a woman means creating, defining beauty, but it also means being angry, trying to expose a deeper truth, trying to rise above the patriarchal construct that people outside of us could determine our worth based on what we do with our bodies, and being acutely aware of where we stand, no matter where, and how does my surrounding interact with everything inside me?  It’s like I’m pointing at the symbols then they point back at me.

We Can Do It Poster

Now that you’ve pointed it out, I feel like no matter what I write, that’s the path that my thought processes walk. Except that it happens subconsciously, and in the space of a few lines.

You are a math instructor. Does mathematics inform your work at all? I notice a lot of references to geometry, algebra, and mathematical formulations. In what way do you see math as part of the creative process, both in the natural world and in your poetry?

I’m a romantic, and I honestly believe mathematics is the most poetic thing in the world. It’s the closest I’ve come to proof that there is a God, that a “grand plan” exists. So yes, it informs my work in that I believe I can’t escape running into some mathematical concept if I want to hint at perfection or order. Even the way I cut the lines in my poems, I think I am adhering to internal concepts of randomness and balance. Mathematics is a big part of me, so reaching for a word or reference with a math background is as natural for me as, say, using the moon or the rain as a metaphor.


The following lines are from the poem “Weight of Beginnings”:


It’s not the snow, but what is
snow-like about it: six-sided, beautiful,
unconditionally bound to the locus of the
wind, that makes that first day an irony and a
microcosm, by superstition, of what the future
has in store.

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They are intriguing and complex. The symbolism wraps around the mind but what are you ultimately alluding to?  It hints at a sense of intelligent design or a shift from general to particular qualities of definition. Something in the poem evades singular interpretation.

I think the idea I was reaching for, but taking creative liberties about it, is the Chinese superstition that whatever you’re doing while the previous year ends and the new year begins would determine your luck for the rest of the year. I grew up in the Philippines and that country takes a lot of Chinese traditions; in this particular example, people prepare feasts for the last day of each year, business establishments are open past midnight (with enticing promos to make sure people come and fill the store up) – in hopes that the rest of the coming year would be marked by abundance and vibrant business. My first big disappointment after moving to the US was that this custom isn’t followed at all (except in neighborhoods with a heavy Asian presence): restaurants close at the regular time on December 31st; New Year’s resolutions aren’t too big of a deal.

Year Of The Pig 2019


Taal Lake

In “Encounter as Portent” you write these splendid and intelligent lines:


The day I saw you
is the center,…

What good
is measuring the distance between
knowing you and not loving you?


Again, the interplay between sexuality and the sacred. Love here plays the role of sublime transformation. Did you intend for this poem to address the nature of illusion as it seems to do?

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I write a lot about unrequited love and forbidden love. It’s the kind of poetry I grew up in, mostly, so it’s hard to kick the habit! And after all those poems, I still feel like I haven’t exhausted all the possibilities. I like to portray the imaginary place where all the “un-loved love” actually happens, and actually “gets loved”, as infinite, and full of potential beauty worth exploring. I think that’s the thing you meant when you said “illusion”? The things that are on our minds when we imagine what could have been. So I might either be trying to analyze an illusion, or giving a math problem (a question of abstract distance) so that it triggers illusions in the reader.

“Black Friday Might Affect These Hours” –Google is a neat piece for its dimensions. I think this work speaks about the nature of truth, revelation, and prophecy more than other poems of yours bearing this in them. Is revelation and truth a frequent theme that appears as you write or is it something you meditate on and the thought bubbles up?

I think it’s more of a subconscious thing that I do, something that inevitably shows its face when you look hard enough. It certainly wasn’t intentional in this piece. I was trying to describe my immediate environment after going through the yearly harried and claustrophobic Thanksgiving family reunion (hence the title). So I was drawing symbols from what I remember of the festivities and chatter that were just there the day prior, and the mess that everyone left behind, may it be a physical mess or emotional turmoil from something someone said or revealed that I was still processing the day after. So I guess in a broader sense it’s a poem about dealing with some truth, some revelation.

What is your creative process like? What is your state of mind when you decide to create a poem? Are there triggers, particular types of events in the world, or memories you revisit?

I had been more fastidious about my creative process before I became a mother: I would usually write as soon as I woke up—and this means my creative process required a lot of napping throughout the day, and yes, I’m serious; please don’t judge me, haha—I would brew coffee and write as I drink, and usually some form of water would be involved, like picking a table next to a water fountain or if I’m lucky, the beach. I literally wrote my entire novel, The Espresso Effect over a period of weeks, sitting at the same table in Greenbelt 3 in Makati, that overlooks the water fountain. I’m also very visual and get triggers from browsing photographers’ portfolios, especially portraiture of women. So I visit the website 500px dot com a lot, waiting for a phrase or a metaphor to leap out at me from the photographs.

But after I gave birth I have relaxed a lot of those self-imposed “writing rules” or I wouldn’t get anything done. For example, I exclusively breastfed my son from birth to 20 months. It didn’t take me long to figure out that when I drank coffee, my breastmilk would get tainted and my newborn son would be colicky and cry all day. So I had to give up coffee. I had to learn to summon my muse, so to speak, on kitchen counters while sneaking a bite of lunch, or lying in bed in the middle of the night while holding a smartphone, or while stuck in traffic, or at the clinic while waiting for the pediatrician. For me, now, there is no creative “process”. I just have to know that I’m a writer. And when it’s time to write, no matter where I am, I should be ready.

Baby And Dad Sleeping

I still love my coffee (my son is four years old now) and am still partial to watching water flow and fall. But now it’s more like a personal treat to write with those at hand, not a requirement.

I write through all sorts of states of mind, anger, grief, depression, loneliness, desire. I have two confessions though: (1) it’s harder for me to write when I’m happy—you know that adage that a poet should also know when it’s time to live and savor the moment and put the pen away, and (2) I have written my strongest pieces when I am in a state of defiance. I mentioned Greenbelt 3 in Makati earlier; it’s a high-end mall selling luxury brands. I would usually go there wearing my drabbest clothes and no makeup. The patrons in their designer ensembles would openly look at me like I didn’t belong there. And somehow I would write my strongest poems while surrounded by that feeling of being scoffed at, as if I need to do something amazing in order to prove my worth.

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On the theme of revelation again. Let’s visit these lines from “Young Woman at the Met Cloisters, NYC”.


There’s a hierarchy to things,
much like the crossing
of colors as messages
through a photograph:

-“Young Woman at the Met Cloisters, NYC


The poem indicates that life is composed of desire. Do you intend to reflect that thought?  These lines designate the structure of our reality, how it can be both real and illusion—the metaphor with photography is most striking. How did that come to mind?

I never thought to put it that way, but you have said it nicely. Yes, life is composed of desire. There is a little trattoria I love that has the following words printed on their tablecloths: “Passion is a blessing we ask God never to take from us.” I think it’s such a bold and true statement, and it comes very close to my own philosophy as a writer. As for the poem, it was actually inspired by the image that accompanies the post. I used to tutor this young woman, named Rees Colayco, in maths and writing, when she was in high school, and we have formed a really meaningful bond. She has since gone to college, graduated, started her own business, and won awards internationally. When she posted that photograph of herself, taken at the Met Cloisters in NYC, I was specially struck by how far she has come—and, consequently, how far I have come—from those afternoons where we would spend hours working on her calculus homework and improving her college application essays. Reality has layers of the actual and the possible. And the way Rees has evolved and blossomed, I wanted to express that. The photograph is deeper because I know the subject, and I wanted to complement the image with another photograph of sorts, made of words.

Would you like to discuss your already published collections? What drives the momentum of your creative output? How do you go about seeking publishers who appreciate your writing and aren’t using it as a money sign or to gain reputation?

My 2010 novel, The Espresso Effect is a work of fiction illustrated by the coffee painter Sunshine Plata. It’s actually a metaphysical dialogue between the universe and a young woman addicted to coffee. It’s presented in a blog format the way you would read a blog on a computer screen, and also includes street photography by local hobbyists. Ambitious, I know! I have been very proud of it and I still am. My agent Adee Caluag, based in the Philippines, has been working her magic to turn the story into a film, and it would hopefully have a similar aesthetic as the book. The project itself was funded by individuals and businesses who believed in my ambitious idea. It was published by Data Access Publishing of Manila, which I found through Sunshine. The day we launched that book, which included an exhibition of the coffee paintings in one of the hippest coffee chains in the Philippines, and attended by family, friends, and art enthusiasts, remain one of the greatest nights of my life.

So far I have four books of compiled poems; from oldest to newest they are: Beautiful Fever (2012), Cognac for the Soul (2012), Hand Painted (2018), and Rampant and Golden (2018). All of them are self-published. The first two working with a printing press in the Philippines, and the latter two with Amazon Createspace. If you notice, I publish poetry collections in pairs, and that’s not a mistake. One book is always PG and the other book is always rated R. Those are the two sides of me as a person, if you will. Half of the total people I know, I know through the church I belong to, and it’s a very conservative church. It is a big part of me, and I want my church brothers and sisters to be able to buy my books and enjoy my work without being scandalized. But of course, there are other topics I simply must write about, like sexual assault, domestic violence, drugs, mental illness, self-harm, protesting the patriarchy, even my inner darkness. I publish those in separate volumes, for readers who can appreciate them.

There is a great feeling of liberation in calling the shots in your own books—fonts, paper type, cover design, etc. But I am also very much aware of the stigma around self-publishing especially by the literary “gatekeepers”. I still intend to one day put together a manuscript that I would be thick-skinned enough to peddle to publishers.

Right now I’ve been doing a lot of research on independent book publishers, and there are two or three that I’ve found so far that I feel could see the potential in my work, who might agree that the world deserves to see me. And the prestige of the publisher or how financially successful it is, really plays little to no role in my favoring it. I’m much rather drawn to the kind of other books they’ve put out and the diversity of the authors they support.  I’m still a far cry from getting that “golden manuscript” finished, much less submitting one. But I’m happy about where I am, my recent victories, and my progress as a writer. I know I’ll get there someday.

Thank you Iris Orpi. Keep writing!

Opening Night: Spokes of an Uneven Wheel by Colin Dodds


The first reading I did from Spokes of an Uneven Wheel, the printed book, was in Austin, Texas. It was raining hard when I arrived on an early flight from New York after a bad night’s sleep.

What am I doing here? I thought, fifteen hundred miles from home. I’d already started to miss my wife and daughter. The view of the city from inside the Holiday Inn shuttle was a melting gray blur.

I’m a poet in my forties. Writing is one of the few things to survive the wrenching personal changes of the last few years, which included a handful of job changes, a move and starting a family. The last few years also saw a handful of very close friends leave New York.

Two of them were one reason for the trip – old stalwarts, former collaborators, guys I’ve known for around half my life. They’d moved for new opportunities, and just because New York dropped one too many unfriendly hints. I hadn’t seen one in four months, the other in two years. We were all older, slower, heavier, knowing more sad stories, offering more mild well wishes.

What am I doing here? The thought caught me off guard. I’d been setting up the reading for months, coordinating with friends, emailing bookstores, promoting it wherever I could. Unlike so many situations I found myself in, I couldn’t say I was there by accident.

What am I doing here? The idea that I’d break even on airfare and hotel on book sales was, I think, mathematically impossible. To be honest, I didn’t do the math. But I did pack about thirty pounds worth of copies of Spokes of an Uneven Wheel in my bag, just to make it close in the unlikely event of runaway sales. The book pile baffled the x-ray technician at JFK, who had my bag searched.

Image result for Malvern Books photos

Malvern Books in Austin hosted the reading. It’s a lovely place – spacious and idiosyncratic, staffed by people who know and love the books they stock. In a way, it’s the antithesis of the usual bookstore: Full of books that someone might offer if they had an inflated opinion of who you are and what you care about. They posted my name on the illuminated sign in the window.

While we waited for a crowd to filter in, I browsed the shelves and folded down the pages I thought might be nice to read. Once we got to the magic fifteen minutes past the posted start time, we began. My buddy read first, a bunch of new poems that started with a really funny one in the form of a guided meditation.

Then it was my turn. Reading poems in front of people is nothing new to me, but something was different. My what-am-I-doing-here? doubts were new. And the afternoon with old friends, grown visibly older, put a different tint on things. Still, it felt good to read the poems. I’d last given the poems in Spokes an edit six months before, so they held just enough surprise as I went. At the same time, they were the words that I’d consciously committed to, over the course of 32 months of writing and rewriting.

Poems are supposed to be revelatory, but I was surprised of what seemed to sneak out as I read. The word fugitive kept popping up. Maybe it was only two or three times that night. But it’s an uncommon enough word for it to seem to tip my hand in a way I generally try to avoid.  I’m not eager to be seen as a person who flees or tries to escape. That would, obviously, make escape that much harder. The poems in Spokes talk of “fugitive eroticism” and “fugitive nations,” all half-hiding or surviving in a state of shifting legitimacy or comprehensibility. Those submerged threads finally emerge in a statement of quasi-criminal tactics, if not intent: “The fugitive will take an opportunity where an invitation would be suspicious.”

In the world, making a living, I generally pass for a reasonable guy. But here I was, saying what I supposedly really mean, and I heard it all: The megalomania, the hostility, the (perhaps purposefully) obscurity, and the sound of not winning. It was strange to hear it in my usually genial voice.

“Maybe the poems in Spokes of an Uneven Wheel are doomed by the indelicacy and contradictions of its author, and his failure to be wholly honest or dishonest. The poems consistently promise what they can’t deliver, or deliver something people simply don’t want,” ran some of the doubts that assailed me while I announced them. The kind folks at Malvern Books filmed it so you should be able to see what it looked like from the outside at some point.

When it was over, I thanked and was thanked. I signed a few copies and loaded a big pile of unsold copies back into my bag, then thanked everyone again. The thanks felt like they were getting to be excessive by the time we left for dinner.


Book for purchase at Main Street Rag website


I sold maybe a dozen copies of Spokes, probably fewer. I had another half-dozen stolen when some skell bashed in the back window of my buddy’s Subaru while we were having a late dinner the following night. They took my bag, and probably expected a laptop. They got poetry books, and some small gifts I’d purchased for my wife and daughter.

I think of those guys, fugitives in their own way, brushing the broken glass off their prize to find it full of un-pawnable poems, and their bitter consternation on a cold sidewalk. And I smile, even laugh a little, the way you laugh at a joke you don’t completely understand.


The two part video of the reading is here: