SEIS
an interview series
(conducted by Luis
Lopez-Maldonado)
6:
Verónica Reyes
LLM: Luis
Lopez-Maldonado
VR: Verónica Reyes
*
LLM:
One of my
favorite lines from,“Desert Rain: blessing the land” is “Socorro breathed in
once and inhaled México in East L.A.” What is that place for you, when you are
away from it and miss it, like Socorro and México? Do you draw inspiration from
your hometown, while creating work in someone else’s hometown, or in the
classroom?
VR:
East LA.
This is my barrio. It’s where I’m from. It’s my homegrown roots. It is my
inspiration. It is my breath. This includes my sexuality and my background as a
whole.
LLM:
“Marimacha”
Este poema, damn, I love it! But I am bilingual! Which brings me to my
question: When editing this poem, on your last revisions, did it cross your
mind that the non-speaking Spanish audience would have a hard time accessing
your work? Does this matter to you as a poet? Do you tend to write with your
audiences in mind?
VR:
Thank you
for the complement. When I wrote that poem, it was sketched in grad school at
UTEP. I originally thought, ‘I’m going to write about an academic walking down
the calles of Whittier Boulevard,’ but when I wrote it, it came out the way it
needed to be. It represented the barrio it was from. And the tone and language
captures Carmen’s story, a home girl, aka a butch one, from el barrio.
As for
audience, the answer is No. I did not think of non-Spanish speaking audience.
They were never on my mind. I trust the poem’s voice. It is my guidance. This
is what matters most. The content. The voice. The experience. Clearly, it is
based in my barrio roots with dyke content and all; this plays a role in
shaping the poem, but the work is always guided by what the poem wants to say.
I have intentions. And the poem guides them, and I guide them in revisions. So
if it’s bilingual, then it is because it needs to be. It is between the poem
and me, the Xicana jota poet.
I will
add that I doubt gringo writers think about this question at all. “Do I write
so that my audience understands the language I’m writing in?” I doubt they even
consider a wider audience beyond their scope.
As for
considering audiences when writing, I think about the poem that wants to be
scripted. It gets complicated. The poem exists because of the stories/narratives
that still need to be told about what it means to be Chicana, Latino, lesbian,
joto from el barrio in this country who keeps on killing so many men of color,
from this country who accepts gun violence as the norm, from this country who
keeps thinking it is okay to rape a woman and blame her, from this country that
has so many engrained societal issues (racism, sexism, classism, heterosexism,
homophobia) it needs to deal with and avoids them or puts a bandage on it, but
it is a festering wound that needs to be healed. I think about that.
LLM:
Throughout,
“Torcidaness: Tortillas and me” you talk to your audiences like they are close
friends, and the conversational tone/pull interested me un chingo! I really
love the tone of this poem! I was with you all the way. Can you tell us a bit
about how this specific and almost deliberate choice of making the poem sound
“conversational” comes about? Was this an initial idea from the beginning of
the creation of this poem, or was it something you developed along the way, as
the poem drew closer to completion?
VR:
Thanks
for the question. No one has asked about this. So, yes, the conversational tone
was right there at the start. I did mention that the poem decides some key
aspects about how it will come to life on the paper or computer screen. So I
knew at the onset this was going to be a conversation.
A key
aspect of writing for me is to trust the voice of the poem. It is in some way a
spiritual connection to a narrative that the poem wants to convey. I treat it
this way. So with that in mind, years ago in grad school, I wrote a line in my
journal. I shared it with a fellow writer. She giggled, and said it was good. I
kept that in mind. So I knew this was a poem, but it was not until years later
that I wrote the poem. And that’s how it works at times. The tone was always
there. I just made sure it read that way throughout the piece.
LLM:
There is
a strong presence of “longing” in your poem titled, “El Violinista.” How
important is it to you to pass these kinds of stories to the next generation of
writers, jotas y jotos? Why is it useful or sacred in a way, to use poetry as a
medium to pour out these stories?
VR:
Yes,
longing. It is the energy looming in there. I wanted to share a story. It is
meant for everyone, queer and straight. I think it is important though that a
dyke from East LA wrote this. We need to break the confines that Chicana
lesbians are pigeonholed in. And this poem does that. I wrote it. A Mexican
American butch dyke from East LA about a very Mexicano hombre, un caballero, de
esos tiempos antiguos.
Stories
of this nature need to be told. They get lost when a person passes away. They
can stay saved and honored in the written text. After all the written word is
valued in the western world and the reality is that oral storytelling needs to
be kept up. You need to want to share the stories, and if you have no one, then
the story is gone. In this mundo, it needs to be written down. I wrote what I
heard and learned from many angles. And then I (re)imagined and created this
poem.
Poetry is
my medium. I did not think I wanted to write this as a short story although I
thought about it. I wanted the whole script in one swoop. Capture the moment
and lifespan in a poem. The structure/form is deliberate: block stanzas. It captures
the violinist and his story.
LLM:
Ummm,
okay: So I feel there is a beautiful bond between father-daughter and your poem
“Recycling: 1976” made me wonder: Do you have plans for writing a whole
collection on you and your apá? I feel there is so much poignant material there
to be told. We want to hear it! I feel I could read poem after poem about your
personal history with him.
VR:
No. I
don’t foresee a book on this topic. I have other pieces I’m scripting for
myself. Still I write to be specific so the audience relates. So I do not think
of it the way you do. They are snippets of life, but imbued in imagination. It
is what and how I know they need to exist. For now, this is it. But thank you
for the complement.
So yes,
the relationship is a simple one between father and daughter. It is to say
gracias. It is in some way a homage poem. For I did not think my siblings and I
saw ourselves as growing up low-income. We had a home. We were Mexicanos, first
generation, who lived in East LA. And I know I enjoyed life in my barrio and
never questioned my family’s economic status. We lived a buena vida. Thanks to
my parents. For their endurance, their frugality, their faith, and for their
cariño. Each in their own way. For my papa, recycling is what we did.
LLM:
One of my
favorite lines from “Cholo Lessons Por Vida,” is “Chingao, there are so many
fregado things he learned from the calles!” Can you share with us some things
that maybe you learned from growing up in East Los Angeles, and how they have
shaped you as a poet and person?
VR
* how to
listen to a story [sit behind the cortina, near the puerta, in the shadow, and
listen to your elders, your familia, share a cuento from back when someone
crossed la frontera, how la vida was in el rancho, how this member survived
this illness, how to value la tierra, how Pancho Villa came into your pueblo,
how la gente survived, how….listen to the cuentos for there is truth in them
and they merit to be shared]
* how to
survive the calles [this skill works wonders in academia]
* how to
trust my instincts [this gut feeling keeps me afloat in academia and the
writing world]
* how to
believe in myself [perseverance is a necessity as a writer]
* faith
[not religious, but trust in your art]
* how to
fight for our rights [our voice matters as jotería, as Mexicans from the barrio
y más]
* how to
stand up for ethics [get up and give your seat to an elder; if a señora or
señor needs help like carrying bolsas, help her or him.]
* how to
value our language with all its idioms and not be ashamed. Love Spanglish. Love
caló. Love slang. Love our barrio terminology. Take pride.
And so
much more.
LLM:
“Super
Queer” is one hell of an inspiring queer poem! Bravo. I saw it as a love letter
to straight people everywhere: Can you elaborate un poco más on what it means
to be “queer?” Also, do you believe art, like this poem for example, can help
other members of the LGBTQIA community come out? Is it important to use your
voice in support of the younger generation?
VR:
Thanks
for the question on this poem. I’ve been waiting to see if anyone would ever
make a comment on it. First off, I can only hope that people are inspired by
this Super Q poem. I hope they feel excited and proud to be queer. And if it
prompts a fellow queer to come out, it is an honor.
Still I
most definitely do not see this as a love poem to straight gente. Clearly, if
that is how you see it, then that’s your interpretation. But for me, it is a
poem acknowledging how hard queer familia, our comunidad, have to fight to stay
alive in this mundo. Sometimes we hope that some brave jota/o or Trans person
stands up for our rights. Sometimes you want someone else to fight. But the
reality is that in some way, if you are out of the closet, then you are that
person; you are Super Queer. Because you are being you and doing it with pride.
Because we are everywhere. And straight society needs to recognize this and see
how our rights and lives are being subjugated. Because I and we as a community
know the chingazos you get thrown at you and how much you need to fight to
exist as who you feel you are meant to be. It is poem chanting, “Fight, fight,
for your rights and stand up with pride: queer brown lives, to la jotería, to
butch dykes, to the drag queen or king, to the gender fluid, to our communities.”
This is a poem of pride, courage, bravery, and love for all our LGBTQ
communities. You gotta be Super Queer in a society that sometimes wants us
gone.
And while
you are being this beautiful queer brown person, you might be listening to some
Curtis Mayfield or another artist or song nudging you along the way and
inspiring you. Because we need to take care of our bodies, our souls, our
minds, our lives. We need to heal from homophobia, heterosexism, and all those
isms. For the ones taken too soon, we need to keep on being ourselves, keep on
dancing, keep on existing, keep on fighting, keep on loving, loving, and
loving.
LLM:
Color is
sprinkled throughout your poem, “Texas Twilight on the Border (El Paso, TX).”
The inclusion of such descriptive language helps the poem, not only move along,
but also in being more specific, grounded and concrete. It is vividly
attractive! When you wrote this poem, if you remember, and through your last of
revisions, was the presence of “color” something you imagined would be this
successful? Did you purposefully include this many colors on the page, or was
it just coincidence? The verdict is in: there is somewhere around sixteen uses
of color in this poem!
VR:
Yes,
color was a necessity for this piece. I lived four years in El Paso, and every
evening I was mesmerized by the immense sunset and all the colores that hovered
over both sides of la frontera, hugging the land. If you lived in the desert on
the border (US-México), you know the gorgeous sunsets. It just pulls you in.
And you are in awe. Color. We need it. The land needs it. The cielo gives it to
the frontera every evening. Like a rainbow, it is a sarape of the land and the
people. A layer of life on la frontera comes alive. I wanted color. As many
colores, I’ve seen splashing the sky over El Paso and Juárez.
LLM:
“This is
my Angela Davis Poem” was one of those poems I had to read out-loud! I really
enjoy this. Did you intend for this poem to be read aloud? It looks and reads
like it can be a mini-play, monologue, or a speech at a rally or something
along those lines. I love it! Can you tell us a bit more about this poem?
VR:
Yes. I
hope all the poems are read this way. Aloud to the sky, to the nopales, to your
barrio, to your home. In a café. In a classroom. In the backyard. Poetry is
meant to be heard, felt, and encompass the reader’s senses. My Angela Davis
poem took a decade+ to write. I heard the tone; I felt the rhythm; I had the
chorus, “This is my Angela Davis poem.” In my head, I heard it being repeated
over and over. I’d add bits and pieces to it, but it was a poem that I would
only say/chant to myself. It was not written down. I knew that it was not yet
there. It needed time to dream. I needed time for it to dream in me. For me to
become part of it. This is how it works for me. I need to become one with it.
And so when I was at my first writer’s residency, Vermont Studio Center, a
fellow artist mentioned to me that Dr. Davis gave a lecture, The Tornberg
Lecture at “WACK! Art and the Feminist Revolution” in 2007. I looked up that
interview. Listened to it. Enthralled by it. And the poem just rushed out of
me. I was so in tune with it that the high from the writing was amazing. I
remember I had to stop for dinner because I had to work in the kitchen. The
residency wanted artists to work jobs on site for paying part of the fee. There
I was taking off to do clean up. Ate my dinner. And took off back to my poem. I
was able to just jump right back in. We were one. It was sooo—exciting. The
scripting/sketching of it took a few hours, but I knew when I was done, this is
it. It was that type of poem and that type of intense connection.
LLM:
I see
your family tree in your poem, “The Fields.” Can you tell us a little about the
birth of this poem? Is this work about your family tree? Roots? Backstory? I am
fascinated by the way you weaved nature throughout the whole poem. Beautiful!
And my favorite, favorite line: “Her corazón suffocated from manteca and
sadness.”
VR:
I
understand where you are coming from. But I’m hesitant to some extent. Family
tree. Yes/no. When the poem comes to life and is on the page, something
happens. It is part of something more. This is a longer conversation. It
requires more inquisitive depth.
I wrote
the poem because stories of this nature need to be told. It should be shared in
the literary world and in our local cafes and in our homes. So I’m still
thinking of your question based on “your family tree.” From a couple of
questions you wrote, I noted that I think you sometimes interpret the use of my
nick name or the name Socorro as indicators that this is a real story from my
family. An aspect of life that really happened. At least this is what I gather
from your question.
Keep in
mind, it is a creative piece, obviously. But with that comes another key component:
imagination. I needed to dream up images. In my case, concrete visuals. So the
poem is not always all true and factual like science claims to be [and even in
science, there is imagination of what something is—a hypothesis]. There is
truth in the work. But it does not truly or factually represent my family
heritage as in this happened this way, and it cannot be debated. I’m a poet.
This is a poem. There are parts/lines/images that are made up. And there are
parts that resonate truth or factuality. For the sake of the poem. For the sake
of the narrative. But most importantly, it is a narrative that needs to be
scripted or it will be forgotten. Lost in time. And these stories need to be
recorded. They deserve it.
What
matters most is the story of this nature needs to be told because many families
experienced something similar to it.
As for
the line, “Her corazón suffocated from manteca and sadness,” it is an image
originally from a short story I wrote during an undergrad fiction workshop. I
always thought that was a strong image. So when I was writing this poem, I
brought a line similar to the one in an old story. The poem needed it.
As for
use of nature, it was vital to this piece. To breathe. To exist. The poem and
the narrative needed it: the land, the air, the scenery. It was all needed.
VERÓNICA REYES is a Chicana feminist malflora poet from East Los Angeles,
California. She is proud to have graduated from Hammel Street School (1981),
Belvedere Jr. High (1987), and Garfield High School (1987). She earned her BA
from California State University, Long Beach and her MFA from University of
Texas, El Paso. Her poems give voice to all her communities: Chicanas/os, immigrants,
Mexicanas/os, and la jotería. She scripts poetry for the people. Her book—Chopper! Chopper! Poetry from Bordered Lives
(Arktoi Books/Red Hen Press 2013)—won Best Poetry from International Latino
Book Awards 2014 and Golden Crown Literary Society Awards 2014, and a Finalist
for Lambda Literary Awards 2014. Reyes has won AWP’s Intro-Journal Project and
Astraea Lesbian Foundation Emerging Artist award. She also has received grants
and fellowships from Vermont Studio Center, Virginia Center for the Creative
Arts, Ragdale Foundation, and Montalvo Arts Center. Her work has appeared in Calyx, Feminist Studies, ZYZZYZVA,
Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, North American Review, and The Minnesota
Review. Currently, Reyes teaches at California State University, Los
Angeles.
LUIS LOPEZ-MALDONADO is
a Xican@ poeta, choreographer, and educator, born and raised in Orange County,
CA. He earned a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of California
Riverside, majoring in Creative Writing and Dance. His poetry has been
seen in The American Poetry Review,Cloudbank, The
Packinghouse Review, Public Pool, and Spillway,
among many others. He also earned a Master of Arts degree in Dance from Florida
State University. He is currently a candidate for the Master of Fine Arts
degree in Creative Writing at the University of Notre Dame, where he is a
poetry editorial assistant for the Notre Dame Review, and founder
of the men's writing workshop in the St. Joseph County Juvenile Justice Center;
He is co-founder and editor at The Brillantina Project. www.luislopez-maldonado.com
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