Tuesday
Apr062010
Interview: Hossannah Asuncion
Tuesday, April 6, 2010 at 10:00AM
Hossannah Asuncion's work appears in the March 2010 issue of The Collagist. She received her MFA from Sarah Lawrance in 2007 and was also named a Kundiman Fellow that year. Her work has appeared in Shampoo, Ghoti Fish, Storyscape, Foursquare, Tuesday: An Art Project, and Lungful!.
Can you talk about the inspiration for "New York City as Temporal Measurement"? What was on your mind while you were writing this poem?
I was approached to contribute to a site that features writers and artists offering a perspective on a topic every month. I wrote "New York City..." based on the idea of "seconds." After writing the piece it didn't feel right for it to be part of the site, and I withdrew it. It had become its own thing. I think, whatever my intentions are in the beginning for a poem, the poem exists how it wants to be. Time is a theme I continually toy with in my poetry, and in this instance I grounded time as experienced in New York City. The moment in the poem with the two people separating was real. I had seen it happen to a couple--the boyfriend was swept out of the train by the rush hour crowd and the doors closed before he could step back on. I remember the look on his face--his attempts to communicate to his girlfriend--where to meet him--as the train pulled away. When she turned back to face the riders, who were by then an audience witnessing this theater, she was crying. And then, well, I do that writing thing--create some dramatic narrative from a moment that I will never see resolved. I try to resolve it. And fail. That's when it's poetry, right? Maybe.
“New York City as a Temporal Measurement” has all of these great, small truths shining through where you don’t expect them—I think this is because the language is kind of precise and matter-of-fact, in some cases actually factual: “Policy mandates a period of 30 seconds for subway doors to remain open to allow for the flush of entering and exiting people. An observational study has shown, though, that the doors remain open an average of 12 seconds.” For me, this poem is all about these emerging gems of emotion and reflection (“This is enough time for two people in love to separate, but as was one instance on May 18, 2007, it is not enough time to reunite”)—could you talk a little about your approach to the structure of this poem, the balance between its more light-hearted elements and those which have more of an emotional impact?
The tone of the voice, in its measured delivery, is one that I have in my own head. It's part of my natural duality, though there isn't an equal division between my intellect and my heart. But this factual tone is one that helps anchor me, and I think it became more resonant after having lived here, to have this voice that helps narrate all the stimulation and contact. Every now and then, when I'm lucky, there's is an emotional interruption, and because this interruption is set in a situation with so much static, it's important for me to pay attention, and then comes the other, natural rhythm for me as a writer--changing from bystander to witness.
“I Want To Pluck the Chill From Cold Gardenias” feels to me like a two-sided monologue of sorts: reading through this piece, I felt like I could understand the desires and questions posed by the “you” the poem addresses, like he/she is speaking as an undercurrent to this poem’s voice. When you write poetry addressed to someone, how constructed is that person’s identity?
It depends on the poem, sometimes a character does have a rich backstory before he or she even appears, but I think for the most part, in my practice, the address is part of the construction of the person’s identity. I think my initial reflex is to create emotional, psychological revelations about the speaker, but I don’t always know what I’m doing, and in this poem in particular, the revelations about the ‘you’ are wonderful surprises. This poem is also very new, just weeks old when I submitted it to The Collagist. It is part of a project that I've been working on since the start of the year. I wrote this poem after dragging myself out of bed at 3am, typing something out in the dark, and then waking up the next day to find it breathing. I don't know who this voice is, but I hope it appears again.
You were named a Kundiman fellow in 2007. Describing their vision, Kundiman states on its website that “Kundiman creates an affirming and rigorous space where Asian American poets can explore, through art, the unique challenges that face the new and ever changing diaspora”. What has Kundiman—and the fellowship—meant to you? Could you talk a little about the experience?
As much as I loved my experience at Sarah Lawrence, I needed to supplement that education--I had needs as a writer of color that I found little support with in the MFA program. I came across Kundiman after having gone to a symposium they were a part of in the fall of 2006, which was also the start of my last year in graduate school. It turns out Joseph O. Legaspi and I grew up in the same city in L.A., and meeting someone who knew the context of my history felt familiar and truthful, and that has been my experience with Kundiman--it is always a place of truth, generosity, and most importantly, allowance. Being an "Asian American Writer" is its own beast of an archetype, and having this archetype be part of an expectation of me as a person and an artist can feel imposing and limiting. Kundiman creates this space for Asian American writers that is safe and allows for risks, and I think risk-taking always makes for better art-making.
What other writing projects are you currently working on?
For National Poetry Month, I am participating in a postcard poetry exchange with about 20 other Kundiman fellows. I recommend getting a group of friends together to do it. There’s nothing like getting love in the mail, and nothing beats poetry love. More information can be found on Debbie Yee’s blog: http://www.linocat.com/2010/04/we-are-all-april-fools-but-some-of-us-are-looking-in-our-mailboxes/
What great books have you read recently?
I am reading Lolita for the first time. I’m surprised at how funny it is. I also have a hard time not feeling a little guilty reading it in the subway. I also bought In Search of Duende by Federico García Lorca at this great Brooklyn bookstore, Bookcourt, yesterday. I felt considerably less guilty reading that on the subway this morning.
Can you talk about the inspiration for "New York City as Temporal Measurement"? What was on your mind while you were writing this poem?
I was approached to contribute to a site that features writers and artists offering a perspective on a topic every month. I wrote "New York City..." based on the idea of "seconds." After writing the piece it didn't feel right for it to be part of the site, and I withdrew it. It had become its own thing. I think, whatever my intentions are in the beginning for a poem, the poem exists how it wants to be. Time is a theme I continually toy with in my poetry, and in this instance I grounded time as experienced in New York City. The moment in the poem with the two people separating was real. I had seen it happen to a couple--the boyfriend was swept out of the train by the rush hour crowd and the doors closed before he could step back on. I remember the look on his face--his attempts to communicate to his girlfriend--where to meet him--as the train pulled away. When she turned back to face the riders, who were by then an audience witnessing this theater, she was crying. And then, well, I do that writing thing--create some dramatic narrative from a moment that I will never see resolved. I try to resolve it. And fail. That's when it's poetry, right? Maybe.
“New York City as a Temporal Measurement” has all of these great, small truths shining through where you don’t expect them—I think this is because the language is kind of precise and matter-of-fact, in some cases actually factual: “Policy mandates a period of 30 seconds for subway doors to remain open to allow for the flush of entering and exiting people. An observational study has shown, though, that the doors remain open an average of 12 seconds.” For me, this poem is all about these emerging gems of emotion and reflection (“This is enough time for two people in love to separate, but as was one instance on May 18, 2007, it is not enough time to reunite”)—could you talk a little about your approach to the structure of this poem, the balance between its more light-hearted elements and those which have more of an emotional impact?
The tone of the voice, in its measured delivery, is one that I have in my own head. It's part of my natural duality, though there isn't an equal division between my intellect and my heart. But this factual tone is one that helps anchor me, and I think it became more resonant after having lived here, to have this voice that helps narrate all the stimulation and contact. Every now and then, when I'm lucky, there's is an emotional interruption, and because this interruption is set in a situation with so much static, it's important for me to pay attention, and then comes the other, natural rhythm for me as a writer--changing from bystander to witness.
“I Want To Pluck the Chill From Cold Gardenias” feels to me like a two-sided monologue of sorts: reading through this piece, I felt like I could understand the desires and questions posed by the “you” the poem addresses, like he/she is speaking as an undercurrent to this poem’s voice. When you write poetry addressed to someone, how constructed is that person’s identity?
It depends on the poem, sometimes a character does have a rich backstory before he or she even appears, but I think for the most part, in my practice, the address is part of the construction of the person’s identity. I think my initial reflex is to create emotional, psychological revelations about the speaker, but I don’t always know what I’m doing, and in this poem in particular, the revelations about the ‘you’ are wonderful surprises. This poem is also very new, just weeks old when I submitted it to The Collagist. It is part of a project that I've been working on since the start of the year. I wrote this poem after dragging myself out of bed at 3am, typing something out in the dark, and then waking up the next day to find it breathing. I don't know who this voice is, but I hope it appears again.
You were named a Kundiman fellow in 2007. Describing their vision, Kundiman states on its website that “Kundiman creates an affirming and rigorous space where Asian American poets can explore, through art, the unique challenges that face the new and ever changing diaspora”. What has Kundiman—and the fellowship—meant to you? Could you talk a little about the experience?
As much as I loved my experience at Sarah Lawrence, I needed to supplement that education--I had needs as a writer of color that I found little support with in the MFA program. I came across Kundiman after having gone to a symposium they were a part of in the fall of 2006, which was also the start of my last year in graduate school. It turns out Joseph O. Legaspi and I grew up in the same city in L.A., and meeting someone who knew the context of my history felt familiar and truthful, and that has been my experience with Kundiman--it is always a place of truth, generosity, and most importantly, allowance. Being an "Asian American Writer" is its own beast of an archetype, and having this archetype be part of an expectation of me as a person and an artist can feel imposing and limiting. Kundiman creates this space for Asian American writers that is safe and allows for risks, and I think risk-taking always makes for better art-making.
What other writing projects are you currently working on?
For National Poetry Month, I am participating in a postcard poetry exchange with about 20 other Kundiman fellows. I recommend getting a group of friends together to do it. There’s nothing like getting love in the mail, and nothing beats poetry love. More information can be found on Debbie Yee’s blog: http://www.linocat.com/2010/04/we-are-all-april-fools-but-some-of-us-are-looking-in-our-mailboxes/
What great books have you read recently?
I am reading Lolita for the first time. I’m surprised at how funny it is. I also have a hard time not feeling a little guilty reading it in the subway. I also bought In Search of Duende by Federico García Lorca at this great Brooklyn bookstore, Bookcourt, yesterday. I felt considerably less guilty reading that on the subway this morning.
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