Archive for the ‘interview’ Category

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Remember Maya Angelou before Celebrity?

December 27, 2009

I came across this interview with Maya Angelou from the 1980s, and it occurred to me that this is the woman whose voice and words I fell in love with. I read her autobiographies and world literally opened up to me. I don’t hear this person speak when I see her interviewed these days. Granted, she’s much older now and probably feels very secure in her contributions that she doesn’t need to posture as anything. It just bothers me that so many of my friends don’t know her beyond reading her poem at President Clinton’s inauguration. What a Renaissance Woman she is! Acting, directing, dancing, traveling, writing, etc.

How strange is celebrity: it’s a double-edged sword because most artists want to be able to live off of their art and often celebrity affords that. It’s a Catch-22.

Here’s the interview.

Posted in Africa, Culture, interview, poets and writers, politics | 1 Comment »

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A Conversation With Randall Horton

December 26, 2009

In the lingua franca of ninth street, the reader encounters a barrage of pathologies threatening the District’s residents such as death, drug addiction, and hopelessness. How did you emerge a prodigal son—if you will allow me to read this as autobiographical—there’s a running suit of poems titled “notes from a prodigal son”?

The poems titled “Notes from a Prodigal Son” are mediations and laments to my father. My father has been a strong influence in my life. During the time that I was incarcerated, it was his constant encouragement along with the purging of my life onto a notebook that helped me to get through a difficult period. These poems are meant to add balance to the poems as a whole. I wanted readers to understand that the book is about forgiveness and consequences for one’s actions.

There’s a blues aesthetic that undergirds each of your poems in this manuscript. Can you talk about your interest in the blues? Would you consider yourself a bluesman?

My interest or relationship to the blues extends from my childhood growing up in Birmingham, Al. My grandmother played blues music almost everyday on her stereo in the “big room.” I could not help but be influence by people like B.B. King, Bobby Blue Bland, Gene Chandler, and Johnny Taylor. Also, I would like to think of the blues aesthetic as a lived experienced that most people go through at sometime in their lives. I think you have to know how to recognize this experience and articulate it.

What would you say was the most difficult aspect of writing the lingua franca of ninth street? From the outside, you’re so far away from ninth street—you hold a Ph.D, have published in peer reviewed journals, and in many ways are a bridge between Etheridge Knight and younger poets like R. Dwayne Betts? Does one ever really leave ninth street?

As you know the lingua franca of ninth street is my second book. This is the book I wanted to write first, however, I needed to put more distance between the actual experiences and how I chose to write about them. It is always difficult remembering the hard challenges in one’s life. I can say that I have physically left ninth street, mentally I am in a different place, however, one never forgets. I think I add a different and needed experience to American Letters.

Tell me a bit about your poem “Origin Explained to my Cellmate?” The refrain “I come from” creates a form that I’ve seen in other manuscripts (e.g. Terrance Hayes, R. Dwayne Betts.) Are you and your fellow poets speaking to each other and witnessing to the world about your origins? You also credit your Southern roots as helping you survive and realize the possibilities that life has to offer. Can you expand on this?

 The poem was conceived in a workshop ran by Kelly Norman Ellis at Chicago State University where I received my MFA, and I consider the poem to be a breakthrough in how I looked at the Roxbury section of the book. The idea of the repetition “I come from” to instill the blues and create a mental landscape in the readers mind for me was crucial. I don’t know if we poets are speaking to each other more so than we are speaking to poetry readers, helping them understand that place is important in a poem, that one’s human condition is intrinsically tied up within the beauty of art. Also, for me, having grown up in a community that was once segregated and forced to form familial and communal bonds, instilled a sort of ethnic pride that I had lost, however, in the remembering of where I came from while I was in prison, I was able to gain it back and make my community proud instead of ashamed. This form helped me to bring that out.

Arguably one of your most poignant lines comes from the last poem in your manuscript where you enter a prison to give a poetry reading—but you enter not as Dr. Horton but as you put it “How do I say welcome me, I am your brother?” Can you talk a bit about this? Are you received as a peer when you go into prisons and share your story and knowledge of the craft of poetry? And the converse of this is, are you received as a peer when you move through academia?

Going back inside prison to work with incarcerated people has helped me to be thankful and understand how full–circle my life has come. Traveling life’s circumference has been arduous, yet rewarding. There is no denying that I am their brother, as in we have a shared experience that few people in life go through. I hope that in some way, what I have done can provide a bit of hope, a bit of willingness to change one’s life. My story is a passport to that place where few inmates will let people on the outside come into. So they grant me access because I know their human condition.

 To answer your question about academia, my reception has been mixed. I have received the most resistance from HBCUs. Howard University would not readmit me to finish my degree once I got out of prison so I went to the University of the District of Columbia. Just so you know I completed four years at Howard, however, I never finished my degree. I left and life got in the way. I was seeking re-admittance as an old student returning. My grades were always good. They flat out denied me because of what I had gone through.

 Most recently I received of Scholar-in-Residence position at Central State University where the provost had a problem with my past record. This happened after CSU had done a very thorough reference check from individuals and schools. I was extended an offer, gave full disclosure, signed the contract and then had the contract revoked. The process of this position required approval by the students and the chair of the English Department who very thoroughly checked my teaching and scholastic references.

 Actions likes these make me rethink the mission of HBCUs. I teach at the University of New Haven now, and the administration and English Department have been great in understanding what it is that I bring to an institution in terms of creative writing and fellowship with students. My record over the last ten years speaks to commitment and scholarship. In case you want to know, my crime was nonviolent. I have taught at SUNY Albany and now UNH, and in each of these places I have been received favorably by both the faculty and the students. I got my MFA in 18 months and my PhD in 3 years flat. I am very focused and feel that I have found what it is in life that I am supposed to do. Plain and simple.

Thanks for taking the time to talk Abdul, much appreciated.

Randall Horton is a former editor of Warpland: A Journal of Black Literature and Ideas (Fall 2005) and co-editor of Fingernails Across the Chalkboard (Third World Press, 2006). He received his undergraduate education at both Howard University and The University of the District of Columbia (B.A. English). He has a MFA in Creative Writing with an emphasis in Poetry from Chicago State University. He holds a PhD from SUNY Albany. the lingua franca of ninth street is Mr. Horton’s second collection of poems. Randall Horton is the editor-in-chief of the newly minted lit journal, Tidal Basin Collective.  He is also a Cave Canem fellow.

Horton, originally from Birmingham, Alabama, resides in Albany, New York. He is a former editor of Warpland: A Journal of Black Literature and Ideas (Fall 2005) and co-editor of Fingernails Across the Chalkboard (Third World Press, 2006). He received his undergraduate education at both Howard University and The University of the District of Columbia (B.A. English). He has a MFA in Creative Writing with an emphasis in Poetry from Chicago State University. He is also a first year doctoral student at SUNY Albany. Randall received an Archie D. and Bertha H. Walker Foundation Summer Scholarship to attend Fine Arts Workcenter at Provincetown in 2005. He is also a Cave CanRandall Horton, originally from Birmingham, Alabama, resides in Albany, New York. He is a former editor of Warpland: A Journal of Black Literature and Ideas (Fall 2005) and co-editor of Fingernails Across the Chalkboard (Third World Press, 2006). He received his undergraduate education at both Howard University and The University of the District of Columbia (B.A. English). He has a MFA in Creative Writing with an emphasis in Poetry from Chicago State University. He is also a first year doctoral student at SUNY Albany. Randall received an Archie D. and Bertha H. Walker Foundation Summer Scholarship to attend Fine Arts Workcenter at Provincetown in 2005. He is also a Cav

Posted in DC, interview, poets and writers | 1 Comment »

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Interview with Tara Betts

November 14, 2009

tara_bettsHow did you come up with the title? What does Arc & Hue mean?

The title, Arc & Hue, is culled from a poem in the first section about a little boy and I drawing on the sidewalks outside my mother’s house in Kankakee, IL. I kept thinking of how, as adults, we try to construct these moments so that children have, and hopefully later, recall having positive experiences with us.  I know that’s where the poem came from, but when the collection came together the last line of the poem embodied all that longing and potential nostalgia that is easily wiped away. This book grapples with that feeling of holding on to memories we create and letting them go to make room for the rest of our lives.  Some people have also hinted that Arc & Hue are two words that describe a woman of color.  I appreciate, this, but it was not intentional in writing this book or the poem.

 When did you encounter artist Makeba Kedem-DuBose and what informed your decision to place “Gathering Scene-Untitled #4” on the cover? 

I have been admiring Makeba’s work for the past 2 years actually. I actually met her through facebook! I found myself struggling to figure out what I wanted for the cover, and I knew I wanted to have artwork by a woman of color, particularly from the Chicago area. I kept looking but there were a few paintings that Makeba had done that just kept speaking to me. “Gathering Scene-Untitled #4” seemed to be a collective of spirits walking and surrounding a person.  I’ve often felt that I have ancestral spirits around me, and that it connected to the idea of the book so well. I asked Makeba hoping that she would let me use the painting and sent her the manuscript for Arc & Hue. She not only loved the poems, but was excited to share her work for the cover, and I hope this is a chance for people to get to know her work.

The first section engages the subject of the body–women’s bodies in particular–as a poet what kind of journey did this topic provide?

 As a poet, I think it helps us break down that divide between the cerebral and the physical. The two cannot exist in isolation from each other, but I’m also thinking that people still harbor so many secrets and taboos concerning the body that it makes it very easy for us to embrace sexist and repressive ideas or hate our bodies.  Although these poems may not address the body as radically as performance artist Annie Sprinkle, I think we have to openly address the body and women have to have conversations about choices they can make. How their bodies are seen by others, how do we see our own bodies and why do see them that way, what we choose to do with them, how do we avoid abuse-these are all big topics that I think women poets are just scratching the surface with their poems. Diane Wakowski, Anne Sexton, Nikky Finney, Ruth Forman and Julia de Burgos have addressed this for me in some ways, but there are so many ways we still have yet to explore in terms of talking about the body.

Is there a question you attempted to answer with this manuscript?arc&hue

There is not a question that Arc & Hue is attempting to answer per se. For me, this book is attempting to address the multiplicities of identity within one person. We have families, histories, names, friends and relationships that come and go, as well as cultural, class-based, and sexual identities, and all of these factors affect our lives. I think Arc & Hue starts with the idea of dismantling the exclusionary (especially with “Housekeeping” as the opening poem), then attempts to reveal what is there for people who are often considered marginal. Arc & Hue starts with a birth and works toward a progression of political awareness in poetic forms and lyric with a heavy narrative emphasis.

One More Chance

for Faith Evans

What happens when summer thickens

with notorious rhymes from Bed-Stuy,

when pulse quickens

heavy as thumping bass deep-fried?

There is a laying of hands on cheeks

more sincere than any bullet.

A chorus of chambered muscles speaks

in red tandem pairing.  A trigger pulled

fires our lips and skin into one long streak.

My eyelids shudder then blink.

He’s trapped in this delicate dance

too.  I nod and think

when the widow chanteuse sings,

baby, gimme one more chance.

Posted in interview, poetry, reading | 1 Comment »

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Discovering Literary Black Britain

November 2, 2009

courttianewland

It all started with a postcard: “Think you know British Lit? Think Again” so read a  black-and-white photograph of a pensive bespectacled young man. A private conversation began with that picture. What do I really know about British Literature? And where is the black voice(s) in that narrative?

When Courttia Newland (www.courttianewland.com) was invited to Georgetown University to participate in the UK writer-in-residence program a few years ago, he’d authored of six novels, a short story collection, articles for magazines, and written for television and stage. After some research, it became clear that Newland is a star in the ever-growing constellation of black British writers. This writer isn’t at all like what one might imagine a black British writer to be. There’s a Caribbean cadence to his British accent and his gait has the swagger of an MC who just went platinum.  

Music for the Off-Key, a short story collection, is Mr. Newland’s most recent book. Kevin Le Gendre, a book reviewer for The Independent, a popular newspaper in London writes “while black characters are at the heart of each story, they are not confined to “standard” black contexts.”  

Mr. Newland’s current project is co-editing an anthology titled Tell Tales Volume 4: The Global Village (www.telltales.co.uk/)

I met Newland at a reading on the campus of Howard University; He was invited to speak to my class about his work and that of several others across the Black Atlantic. Since then, he and I have maintained a regular correspondence. When Newland returned home [London]  he got married to his Sharmila Chauhan, also a writer, and their son, Senenti, soon followed. 

What follows is an excerpt of a larger conversation Newland and I had about his life and the political consequences of being a Black writer in Britain.

Courttia Newland: I just want to say something about the whole black British cultural thing. We’re always a little hidden as a culture. If you watch The Wire, Idris Elba, a main actor in the first few series is black British. Also the actor in Spike Lee’s film Inside Man, performing beside Denzel Washington, Chiwetel Ejiofor and Melanie Brown (aka Scary Spice) of the Spice Girls.

We’re there. People don’t really know what it means to observe a Black British person. We’re quite diverse.

Q: Can you tell me a bit about what your initial reception to your visit at Georgetown and Howard Universites?

CN: I’d have to say every time I’ve been to the U.S., I found it brilliant…I [went] to a U.S. high school [Duke Ellington School of the Arts] talking about English slang, black British slang, trading words back and forth, and they were excited.. I read stories about working class black Britains and they connected. It’s amazing to me.

Q: What was it like growing up in London in the 1980s?

CN: By the mid-1980s, I grew up inner city London, Shepherd’s Bush, West London, where the BBC buildings are. W12′s the postal code. I was born in Hammersmith, West London. My mum moved me to a suburb, Uxbridge, which was predominately white. Then we moved back to Shepherd’s Bush when I was around 8 or 9. I loved growing up there; I spent my teenage years living in Shepherd’s Bush.

It was a really happy time. I lived through the Golden Age of hip hop. It was an amazing time. It was obviously a different experience than being in New York. It wasn’t that concentrated. But I remember when Eric B and Rakim first came out. And a lot of people came to London. A Tribe called Quest. Public Enemy.

 Q: In your younger years you visited Barbados where your mother’s side is from. They called you “British” and you said, “No, I’m not.” Tell me a bit about how you define your identity?

CN: It’s a strange thing. In the 70s and 80s there were no black British. I was Afro-Caribbean. I always called myself West Indian or Caribbean. It was only going to Barbados where my mum is from that open my eyes. This experience is shared by a lot of black British people. When you visit the West Indies they don’t see you as West Indian at all.  There was the shock of, wow. . . I’m actually not West Indian. So who am I? I think people are still grappling with that. Though I have to say, not all of us in Britain are from the Caribbean. Some are African, European, South American, etc.

 Q: Why do you believe many of us have heard of Zadie Smith but not necessarily you?

CN: The reason you hear about Zadie is largely because of promotion. And partly, because, in the publishing industry there’s only one black editor that I know of.  People who are published are mainly handpicked from the big universities, Oxford and Cambridge … They are deemed to speak to “other” people and they’re pushed for that ability.

 Q: So they are viewed as “cross over”?

CN: Absolutely. We have a black fiction section in London but Zadie is never featured in that section because she won’t talk about being black in that way. It’s better if you don’t talk about race over here. Things are different. They say we don’t see color in England, which is rubbish. England has a very difficult time dealing with its colonial past. Not to say, the States doesn’t have its problems but at least in the States you will say, this has happened. If you mention race or the like in the UK, you will be looked at as a troublemaker.

Q: What are some ways that American readers and art lovers can discover your work and the work of your peers?

 CN: It’s a weird time for black British writers in this country. In some ways, more of us are being published. But, it has a more commercial slant. Mid-1990s, it was in fashion so publishing houses were publishing a lot of writers. Of that wave of writers that came out in the mid-1990s there’s maybe two of us still getting published. It’s hard to follow writers when they stop at book two.

 I can give you a few names to look up, Alex Wheatle, Stephen Thompson, Leone Ross. A new writer, Gemma Weekes (her book is set in Brooklyn and London) whole genre thing. Some people make a difference between literary fiction and popular fiction; I think it’s all valid as long as it’s good.

Abdul Ali is the editor of Words Matter.  He resides in Washington, D.C.

 

Posted in Culture, UK, World Art, feature, interview, writing life | 2 Comments »

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Poet Alan King Exposed

October 27, 2009

Alan 1

 

Q:  Where do you see yourself in the larger scheme of African American poetics and Contemporary American Poetry?
 
I see myself as up and coming. Following a long line of those following a legacy laid before them. The larger scheme of African American poetics, for me, is the landscape I tread within. It’s also an incubator for me, where I’m still developing my voice and play with new vehicles of driving my point home in a poem. Contemporary American Poetry is my guide through that landscape.
 
So writers like A. Van Jordan, Ross Gay, John Murillo and a host of others show me what’s possible in expressing myself through poetry. They show me that African American poetics is not this monolithic form that I have to fit into but it’s a host of possibilities. So I can get away with a persona poem, a poem addressing taboo issues such as my perception of homosexuality, and the vulnerability between Black men.
 
Fred, Derrick and myself had a discussion about how A. Van Jordan, Terrence Hayes and Ross Gay are opening a space for Black men such as ourselves to be vulnerable and it be OK. 
 
Q:  Do you believe a Larry Neale type will emerge and write about what black poets are doing here in the states and worldwide?
 
I think that’s going on, right now. Maybe not on the scale Larry Neale did it, but there are several examples. I think you’re one of them. You profile emerging and established Black poets such as Sonia Sanchez on your blog, Poetic Noise. But there’s Kadijah Sesay in the UK, with her literary magazine, Sable. That publication not only showcases Black writers from the US, UK and the continent of Africa, but it also profiles Black writers in those areas.
 
One of the cool things that I dug about Sable was its issue on the emerging group of Black Sci-Fi writers. A lot of those cats were show some possibilities not only with Black Sci-Fi character wrestling with some complex images but some of those writers also based some of the stories in African countries, which won me over to Sable.
 
Another example is Kyle Dargan, with Post No Ills, which is an online literary journal strictly devoted to book reviews, commentary and profiles of Black writers.
 
So that work is going on, but there is only one Larry Neale. Maybe what should emerge shouldn’t be another Mr. Neale, but an extension of the groundwork he laid out. 
 
Q: What is the first poetry book you read cover to cover?
 
The first poetry book I read from cover to cover was the suite of Dr. Suess books. As I got older, I got into Nikki Giovanni and read several of her books. But one writer whose work knocked me upside my head and made me a lover of poetry was Sonia Sanchez’s “Shake Loose My Skin.” My girlfriend, who’s not a poet but enjoys what she can get her hands on, heard about Sonia Sanchez for the first time at this year’s folk life festival in D.C. She talks about how Sacremento, where she emigrated to after leaving Nigeria at an early age, has deprived her of Black culture. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. But when she said she’d never heard of Sonia Sanchez, I passed her my copy of “Shake Loose My Skin.” That book is the only thing that can pretty much sum up Ms. Sanchez’s body of work.
 
I remember reading it the first time and not getting what Ms. Sanchez was getting at. I didn’t get it until my second reading of it cover to cover. In all, I’ve probably read that book five times and appreciate it more each time.
 
At the time I didn’t know she and Etheridge Knight were married. So it was cool to read her book, wondering about the brother that put her through so much, and then reading Etheridge Knight’s work and getting the answers. 
 
Q:  How would you define literary community and have you experienced divides in the literary community?
 
As I understand it, the literary community is any group of writers getting together whether it’s to workshop, pass on resources for publications and readings, or just a support network. With that definitions, there are several literary communities in D.C. — a community for playwrights, memoirists, the fiction crew and creative nonfiction.
 
I don’t think there’s one literary community in D.C. With so many communities, of course, there are divisions. Everyone’s skill level and knowledge base is different. So there may be certain writers, resources, etc that many members may not be familiar with. That’s natural. It would be cool if there was a central place for these communities to meet and interact. I’d love to go to an open mic for fiction folks, playwrights and memorists. The closest I came to a fiction open mike was the speak easy series at HR-57. I really enjoyed that. 
 
Q:  Do you familiar with any poets who live on the Continent of Africa?
 
The only poet I’m familiar with from the Continent of Africa is Leopold Senghor, poet and former president of Senegal. I’ve read a few others who were also part of the Negritude Movement, but not a whole lot. That just means more work for me to seek out those writers and check for their work. 
 
Q:  What poets/writers would you say are the most important to you and why?

Haha.. I think you know the answer to that. There are many but one that comes to mind is Tim Seibles. I can respect any artist who not only pushes himself but also pushes his peers to do more.

Here’s an excerpt from “An Open Letter,” which was published in his collection, Buffalo Head Solos:
 
“What energizes me is all the nay-saying I bear about what poets and poetry can do: ‘Poetry will never reach the general public. poetry shouldn’t be political or argumentative. Poetry will not succeed if it’s excessively imaginative. Poetry can’t change anything.’ Because the first people I heard saying such things were poets, I used to believe these notiosn were born of thoughtful consideration and humility, butnow I see them as a kind of preemptive apology, a small-heard justification for the writing of a hobbled poetry — a poetry that doesn’t want ot be too conspicuous, a poetry that knows its place, that doesn’t mean to trouble the water, that is always decorous and never stomps in with bad breath and plaid boots.
 
But why not? Why not a sublimely reckless poetry — when the ascendant social order permits nearly every type of corruption and related hypocrisy? Why not risk more and more? So much is at stake. this culture, deranged by both spoken and unspoken imperatives, mocks the complexity of our loneliness, our spiritual hunger for dynamic meanings, our thirst for genuine human community, for good magic and good sense. And, given the growing heap of human wreckage, why not approach language and its transforming potential with a ravishing hunger, with a ferocity bordering on the psychotic?”

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Ethelbert Interviews Abdul Ali

October 24, 2009

Abdul Ali is a young talented poet who just might be another Langston learning why DC can be so blue. What happens when a black man walks these streets? What happens when he misses the bus to the subway?  Abdul Ali is writing poems that map the space he finds himself in. This is the type of genius Columbus never had. Can one imagine the great discoverer having a Romare Bearden print in his cabin? Abdul Ali surrounds himself with black traditions. If he has trouble sleeping its only because he is the new dreamkeeper who realizes there is much work to do. Ali seems to be everywhere these days—The Writer’s Center, WPFW, Busboys and other places where we gather and try to name the earth beneath our feet. I nicknamed him A2 because it has that futuristic sound—like maybe he knows where we’re going and the rest of us need to buy our tickets.

What places (and individuals) shape and define your literary community?

 Howard University for sure, this is where I took my first steps as a writer and later an editor. I resuscitated The Amistad will a couple of friends.

And right around the corner is Bus Boys and Poets where so many different kinds of conversations happen. It’s how I like to view poetry that lyric hidden inside noise. It’s almost like going to Church, you stay away for a minute then go to hear someone you know read and you see the whole gang and it’s as if time never stopped.

But those are just structures that facilitate community. You cannot have community without people. There are so many poets who make wonderful contributions to this fraternity that we call poetry. There’s yourself of course: always availing yourself to me and so many others. There’s Kim Roberts who edits the Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Teri Cross Davis who does a stellar job bringing different kinds of voices to share their work at the Folgers, not too far from my apartment and my good friend Carolyn Joyner who shares books with me and we read each other’s work on a regular basis. And, there’s Thomas Sayers Ellis whose annual summer visits always add something to the atmosphere.

Is there a black literary establishment?  What do they do?  Do you share their politics and aesthetics?

 Yes, I do believe there’s a black literary establishment just as I believe there’s a white literary establishment. I want to say, though, at the outset that my view of these establishments is informed by the fact that I am a child of the 80s. If I were of your generation, I would answer this question differently.

I believe the black literary establishment—that would included folks like Third World Press, Black Classic Press, literary institutions such as Cave Canem, Hurston/Wright Foundation, Callaloo to name a few—functions as mitosis does in microbiology—that is to multiply the number of black writers who are doing meaningful work, mixing up the canon, putting a different spin on those universals. But also giving a voice and legitimacy to the beauty of the black condition lived here in the states or throughout the world, which sometimes gets forgotten that this is also part of the human condition.

 I’m not sure if I share the aesthetic of any particular black (or white) literary establishment as I don’t feel that closely tied to any one in particular to share politics per se. However, I do believe in creating work that secures a place in the American narrative which the black experience is intrinsically part of.

Is there an “art” to fatherhood?  How does being a parent influence your approach to reading and writing?

Hmm…To say that there’s an art to fatherhood implies that everything is premeditated and considered. Fatherhood for me is a lot like jazz, very improvisational. Though, I do look at models and traditions of fatherhood inside and outside of my family.

As for my reading and writing, I pay more attention to relationships. I look to for the story off-book, the tensions in the voice, the layers. I feel my life is much more layered than it was before I became a father.

Becoming a father has also illuminated a lot of rough patches that I didn’t realized existed between me and my father. And, I’m also very curious about genealogy, who was my father’s father. And what kind of men were they? My mother has done an awesome job of finding so many members on her side. So there’s an imbalance between knowing who you are and not knowing.

 How difficult was it to write “When Sundays are Unseasoned” which appears to be very autobiographical?

The hard part came in the re-writing. I took a one-day workshop with poet Terrance Hayes and he had us read Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays” and we had to write a poem that was thematically similar. The images, memories flowed easily. The thing about writing about your family is that you don’t want the sappiness to swallow the poem. Above all, you want to write a poem that happens to be about one’s family history. I hope that’s what I achieved in “When Sundays are Unseasoned.”

 How does color, space and texture shape the poems you construct on the page?

I believe that language should be interesting so I tend towards color. White space is something that I study when I read poems. It always fascinates me how poets make different choices with white space. I’m still experimenting with this. Shape is something that happens organically. Rarely, do I tell myself, I want this to be a prose poem and it will look like a brick…lol

 Does the urban landscape ever prevent you from writing about nature?

 I don’t think so. I believe the urban landscape is just the filter through which I view nature at this point. But, I try to challenge myself to see other things. Add to that, the writer’s voice is always changing so I could very well get accepted to one of those New England writing colonies and write about the different shades of green, and write Walden-esque essays.

 How does cultural memory shape your individual voice? 

 Memory is one my preoccupations. In several of my poems, I engage history and try to unveil assumptions we have about what we are told is true.

 What risks are you taking as an artist?

I’m beginning to open up to more painful and personal themes. For instance, I’m beginning to pepper some of my poems with Arabic words. Maybe one day I’ll be able to write a poem about what it was like growing up Muslim pre-9/11 and to find myself totally lost from that changing narrative. Another theme is fatherhood at-large: how I view myself as a father and a son who didn’t grew up with my father. I have reunited with my father in the past few years. So there are all these layers I’m dealing with.

 Explain your use of white space in the poem “Burying the N-Word.”

I believe this to be my attempt at a language poem. I was interested in the gamut of negative implications of N-Words (e.g. Napalm, New Orleans, Nappy, etc.) and for me the white space represents that place where we process, engage, examine the spoken and unspoken. It was very satisfying, and probably one of my riskier poems.

 Do you believe there is such a thing as visionary art?

 Sure, if the artist is visionary and his/her art communicates a vision.

 What is your favorite place in Washington DC?  Have you written about it?

 Right now, I love going for walks in the Capitol Hill area where I live. I love Lincoln Park where Ab Lincoln rests on one extreme and Mary McCloud Bethune the other. There’s a poem somewhere in there. I adore the brownstones of Capitol Hill. They remind me of New York City, the home of my imagination. And I especially like how it feels like a suburb tucked away in a city.  I also like how WDC is relatively small. It can take a lifetime to get to know a place like New York City. But with DC so small you have to pay attention to the unique characters and shades of each block. One turn can put you into another quadrant or country.

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