Many thanks to Willie Perdomo, who has invited me to VONA to speak on manuscript process. Roger Bonair-Agard and Ruth Forman will also be coming in to speak. I understand Willie’s manuscript workshop group will be joined by Suheir Hammad’s poetry group for this Friday morning talk. It’s great to be invited to be a part of this group of poets and authors of color, and I’m excited to finally meet Suheir, whose work I’ve admired in a big way. I am very flattered to hear she is also an admirer of my work.
I think about all the contemporary American poetry naysayers, frothy and hysterical about the decline and irrelevance of poetry, that American poetry is doomed, that print is dead. Funny, now that I come to think of it; it isn’t folks of color bullying us into believing that American poetry is drawing its last breath. On the contrary, think of all of our mentors, who’ve pushed and pulled us “emerging” poets of color to cross over into varying levels of critically acclaimed and academy approved authordom since the latter part of the last century, and think of how this trend is only growing into booming in this new century.
Perhaps this is what white American naysayers are lamenting (Collins, for example, and also I’ve noticed a trend over at Silliman’s blog of highlighting “poetry is doomed” articles); it’s not their poetry or their narrow band brand of poetry growing in popularity, but rather, assisted in part by more accessible technology and much more so by our mentors and the places they have secured in American poetry, these authors of color who write and publish with very pressing political concerns, these continuing waves of writers who are no longer looking to a white American mainstream for permission to speak or move, who are instead driving into the American poetry scene and continuing to change American poetry.
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This manuscript talk is timely, given my recent and current concentrated effort to clean and hone Diwata. As I’ve written here, over time I’ve come to more clearly articulate what Diwata is, what is its world and what are its driving ideas. This has helped me with my editing. Or perhaps the editing is what’s helping me articulate.
For purposes of this talk, addressing students whom I think are just beginning to think about manuscript, I want to take a few steps back. Last night at dinner, I found out that Roger has a forthcoming, contracted second collection of poems. I asked him what was different between the first and second manuscripts, how did the process change. His response was very similar to my experience between Gravities of Center and Poeta en San Francisco.
For my first collection, it was a matter of whether I had enough poems, did I have a volume of work that could add up to a full length collection, not even thinking yet of themes or subject matter. Still, as we know, we each have our own poetic tendencies, or political, cultural, historical concerns that recur in our poems. I was able to find a few common threads which translated into sections: Filipino history and Western contact, being viewed through Western lenses, which therefore included Filipino American history and experience. There was another component here, about Filipinos interacting with one another, and how tradition survives or changes with Westernization. Then of course, the sections of love and desire, more personal poetics I guess. My rationale for including all of these in one volume was that even love and desire could be viewed through a Pinay lens, or filtered through a Pinay experience.
Poetic form and poetic experimentation comes into play here, though I’m not quite sure how to articulate its importance in the first collection. I suppose if I must identify a single thread woven throughout Gravities of Center, I’d say it’s the experimentation with technique and form, the rigor of “Anthropologic,” polyvocalism, math equation, film script, ekphrasis, the attempts at haiku and sonnet, the recipe, the prose poem. And how do I describe “101 Words That Don’t Quite Describe Me,” which I think may be the defining poem in/of the book, though others would say different. Jon Pineda once told me it was “Typhoon,” a quiet and small poem in measured couplets:
Typhoon
As corrugated metal buckles under
The pressure of so much gale wind
She pulls the children deeper into the jungle
Beyond swaying fields of cogon grass
Deeper into thickets of papaya and bamboo
Into the hovels of wild boar and snake
Beneath a canopy of balete leaves
She witnesses ancient trees uprooted
And savors raindrops large as guavas
Which cleanse her fragile body
–
This poem is a little more wordy than I would like, but anyway, that was the first book. That’s a lot right there, though again, how does the manuscript process change from the first book to the second, from the second to the third, and so on. I’ve written and spoken a great deal on the process of writing Poeta en San Francisco, which you can read about at Tom Beckett’s e-x-c-h-a-n-g-e-v-a-l-u-e-s. And as for Diwata, I’ve been blogging about that since the old blog and on this here blog (link 1 | link 2).
More practical information might be on writing the themed manuscript, deciding that you have a theme (perhaps an aspect of the previous manuscript that needs more fleshing out), then deciding on source materials and setting parameters. Also important information is how we work with our editors. I am not sure if the students want to hear about manuscript submissions and book contracts, though these steps precede working with editors (assuming our editors work for or are our publishers, which most of the time, they are) but I can if they want.
I am looking forward to this talk, and am so glad to have an opportunity to give this caliber of talk to a group of emerging poets of color.
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“[D]id I have a volume of work that could add up to a full length collection”[?]
—Barbara Jane Reyes
“[A] lot of contests and publishers stipulate 48pp as the minimum length. I think there are two reasons for it. One is economic, as I said–they want to do a perfect binding with a readable spine, and they want the book to have a minium size, so they can get their sales reps to take it seriously (well, almost
seriously–since it’s a book of poems). The second is artistic–some editors might feel, with reason, that fewer pages than 48 don’t give enough sense of what the writer is doing, what the writer is capable of doing, whether the writer is a good bet…”
—Reginald Gibbons
This is a question I’m more intrigued by these days: what is so magical about 48 pages when, in theory, where art is concerned, there should be no “rules.”
In graduate school at UC Davis, Alan Williamson brought up the example of T.S. Eliot’s _Prufrock and Other Poems_
When I lived in Spain, I became acquainted with a Catalan poet named Pere Gimferrer; one of his most celebrated works was a very slim volume of poetry that wouldn’t meet the 48page “litmus test” of bookness.
Two of the collections I’ve most enjoyed in the last year are _Ambush_ by Cuban-American poet Silvia Curbelo, which comes in at 31 pages; and Rita Maria Martinez’s _Jane-in-the-Box_ which comes in at 33 pages…both by March Street Press, the latter volume with a perfect bound spine, though it’s marketed as a “chapbook.”
Is it possible that because some poets, out of necessity, have to worry about tenure in academia, a certain mantra gets lodged in their brains:
a “book” is 48-or-more pages
a “book” is 48-or-more pages
a “book” is 48-or-more pages
I suppose there is a purist side of me that would like to think that the work of art (in this case a collection of poems) should dictate its “length” and not so much what some might view as these other non-essential (in my view) external factors…..Unless your day job depends on it.
HI Francisco, thanks for your comment. I see what you are saying, but I also do think there needs to be a cut off point somewhere to delineate the full length collection. Think of, for example, Jimmy Santiago Baca’s Martin and Meditations… which I think of as two complete projects combined into one full length volume. That can also be said of multiple chapbook projects (each one being a complete project) which can be brought together in a single full length volume.
I understand the 48-page minimum as having to do with traditional bookmaking practices, paper, stitching, binding, glue, and book spine. I know bookmaking is different now, with more paper selection, et al. But I actually am with keeping this tradition, because we are literary practitioners writing from literary traditions. And if we want to be regarded as authors writing from different literary traditions, then I think is one of many traditions worth keeping.
Hi Barbara,
One of the concerns I had was not only getting 48 pages, which can be challenging, but also was deciding how to organize the collection. This was a real bear with my second collection.
Chapbook authors claiming to have written full-length collections in their bios, which I have seen twice now is a tad bit irritating to say the least. Call it a chapbook since that’s what it is and be proud of it, but don’t lie to self-promote. I’m currently thinking about writing a chapbook, but I certainly won’t say it’s a full-length collection because it isn’t. That has nothing to do with academia but rather the concept of hard work, which matters both inside and outside of academia in my opinion. And chapbooks have been known to get people jobs in academia over full-length collections on occassion. I know of at least 3 individuals with tenure track poetry jobs who have published only in the chapbook form.
Barbara, I like what you say about mentors of color challenging the status-quo. I think of writers like Dagoberto Gilb, Lorna Dee Cervantes and Robert Vasquez and individual writers who have encouraged me when I was in a place of disillusionment to push forward and persist. Certainly, they are inspiring when we think about the when, where and how of their own writing careers. And when I say career, I don’t mean academia. I mean their output as artists.
Re: “Chapbook authors claiming to have written full-length collections in their bios, which I have seen twice now is a tad bit irritating to say the least. Call it a chapbook since that’s what it is and be proud of it, but don’t lie to self-promote.”
Wow, Sheryl, Say it! I didn’t know people do that, and so I refer back to my previous comment to Francisco re: a necessary cut off point to delineate the full length collection. I agree with you very much about the work of writing the book being hard and therefore, valued. I know this gave me something to aspire to/work towards when I was an aspiring writer.
As well, yes about our mentors. If I hadn’t seen Jessica Hagedorn’s poetry collections and much acclaimed novel, and the novels of other API women authors such as Maxine Hong Kingston et al back in 1989 – and she was on the Berkeley campus too, so seeing her on campus and identifying her, this petite API woman, as the author of these badass novels – I don’t know if I’d ever believed I could write books and find publication too.
Thanks again. It’s good to hear your opinions here.
hey party people!
great thread–yeah, but i think part of the problem is the term ‘full-length’–it’s even more subjective than the 48-page minimum. what do we mean by full length? to me, it means a project complete in and of itself, despite pages…can’t a 47 page chapbook be as ‘full length’ as a 100 page book? and dont you sometimes feel that certain 70 page poetry collections totally dont feel ‘full length’?
i think a better phrase for a post-48-page collection should be ‘perfect bound book’. because sheryl’s right, some authors in their bios do say “blah blah has written 6 books…” and they list both chapbooks and perfect-bound books. i dont have a prob with this because they are all ‘books’. anyways, this is just to say that ‘full length’ should not necessarily refer to page count.
xo
c
Craig, I like your comment on the “47 page manuscript.” I was asking Barb, “What if the book is done on page 30? I mean, for real 100% done, stick-a-fork, call-the-neighbors, plan-the-book-release-party, done.”
To bounce off that, I think Sheryl is also pointing out that some author’s get to publish 30 pages of work as full length collection. Example: Maya Angelou, I’ve seen a book of her poems that isn’t even double sided, all the text is on the odd-number pages. But she’s Maya Angelou so nobody bats an eye.
Combining the points: An aspiring author with a 30 page poetry manuscript probably wouldn’t get the same chance that an established author would.
So is the 48 page threshold a level of mastery or is it in place as a marker of exclusivity? As someone trying to put together a full-length manuscript, it’s a question I keep asking myself.
Hi Oscar, Craig:
Your comments reminded me of someone—I don’t know I didn’t mention him before—who I think embodies what I was getting at, and which I think you both have honed in on. He’s a good example, at least for me, because I remember a time when I used to view how he portrayed his publications with a bit of cynicism. But I don’t any longer. I speak of Francisco X. Alarcon. I remember back in the late eighties and early nineties, his biographical sketch would always make reference to his “collections” of poetry. And among these “collections” were works that were clearly what we commonly refer to as “chapbook”-length. Works like: No Golden Gate For Us or Quake Poems. If you were to ask Alarcon what his first book was, he’d say, Ya Va, Carnal, which was actually a book that had three chapbook-length selections from three different Chicano poets. And there was his book with Moving Parts Press in Santa Cruz in 1991 which was a bilingual collection of 14 sonnets with line drawings. It was a book that sold well.
And what we might think of as his first “full-length” collection, was Body In Flames, which was a bilingual book—in other words, if the book had only published the Spanish originals, it probably would have been under 50 pages.
In other words, Alarcon viewed these works as stand alone works, and referred to them as his collections of poetry.
The other person I think about when I speculate about this is Jack Spicer and the “books” he published with White Rabbit Press
My bringing in the subject of academia probably wasn’t useful. This is strictly a philosophical discussion for me. As far as authors portraying their publications one way or another, I don’t lose sleep over it either.
Francisco,
I feel the subject of academia is very useful in this conversation and am glad you’ve touched on it. If we are writing from a place of tradition, which I’m going to assume everyone who is invested in publication is, then academia will always come up. Now the exact definition of ‘academia’ will vary from person to person and author to author. My academia is middle-school and high-school classrooms, books that bring youth into poetry with a sense that they can contribute to the canon. Sandra Cisnero’s The House on Mango Street and Willie Perdomo’s Where a Nickel Costs a Dime immediately come to mind for me.
And thanks for the list of titles from your comments, I’ll be adding them to my “To Read” list foh sure.