Asian American Poetry in the Year of the Dragon

From my op-ed in this week's Asian American Press:

April is National Poetry Month, and this year it’s the Year of The Dragon, which practically calls out for Asian American poets to take our work up to another level.

As a Lao American poet, I’m aware poetry competes with some pretty heavy hitters these days, from video games and movies, to sports and porn. But as I remind my students regularly, poetry is an art that has thrived for centuries because people ARE able to get passionate about it. There, we've found our secret histories, our best memories, our loves and fears, laughter and souls.

The search and mystery are part of the fun. Some gravitate to poets like Pablo Neruda and Garrett Hongo. Others love the work of Mong-Lan, Lee Herrick or Barbara Jane Reyes. There are as many styles as there are tastes. Some poets use science fiction, fantasy and detective mysteries, others find poetry within video games, Godzilla and sports. Some like haiku and sestinas, others like ca dao. But there’s an amazing world of poetry out there for the discovery, especially among Asian American writers.

I’d never argue that all poems are equal. Some poems make me yawn, even from poets I admire, and I’m sure vice-versa. But we should never stop looking for the bright gems, because once found, they linger with you, sometimes for a lifetime. A good line can even change the whole way you see the world, if you run into it at the right time, in the right place in your life.

Poems are a great way to see the many ways of seeing the world. In the Asian American community, there are poems you could seek out from over 60 different cultures all mingling and interacting with other voices from around the world. It is in their poems we see Hmong, Khmu, Tai Dam, Karen, Sri Lankans, Tongans, and others exploring what it means to be a people, and what it means to share a world.

Whether we’re reading or writing on University Avenue or watching a performance from a corner of Phnom Penh, a good poem creates connections as we explore our inner lives.

Take some time to read some poetry, and even better, write your own poems to add your voice to the great conversation that is the human journey.

[Poem] April Reflection

April begins as a joke in a house of children:
A surprise, a word, a laugh if we‟re lucky.
There are still bills and taxes and poems ahead, at least in America.

With a sabaidee we say hello to a new year,
La kawn to yesterday and the many mornings before.
The flowers begin to bloom, the rain and wind are welcome.

There are so many places to go these days,
But only one body and never enough money

To journey to every city where a Lao song, a wise word,
A festival of dreamers wants to greet you with a smile,
A nop

Between friends and strangers who might become family
Or a nation ready to create a better tomorrow
With the same ease as a wonderful today.

From Tanon Sai Jai, 2009

In Translation: The Dancer Introduces One of His Aspects

The French poet Edouard Dupas recently completed his translation of my poem, The Dancer Introduces One of His Aspects at : http://poesie-et-racbouni.over-blog.com/article-bryan-thao-worra-le-danseur-presente-l-un-de-ses-aspects-102442261.html

The original appeared in English in my book BARROW in 2009, but had originally been written and revised periodically in the early 1990s:

The Dancer Introduces One of His Aspects 

I am Shiva, I am Kali,
I am the bird you never see.

With riddles infested full of dreams,
I am the corpse that pollutes the stream.

I am the angel, soot-eyed with breath of pitch.
I am your hound, found by the ditch.

I am the bait of a child, hanging in the glooms.
I am the memory of She, interred in the tomb.

My hands are the coiling tendrils of a drying jade vine,
My feet are the fires doused by the vagrant’s wine.

My heart is the wheel, breaking the road.
My kiss and my spit, the gifts of my lips, the precious abode.

My ribs are the spars from which flowers grow,
My bones are the tethers the sages know.

My eyes are the conquerors who ride through the night,
My howl, the laughter of children born anew out of sight

Plunged down as a pavement for my eternal act.
You try to flee?

I am the dancer, I am the city.


My sincere thanks to Monsieur Dupas, and I look forward to seeing additional translations by him of mine and other  poets' work.

Poet to Poet: An Interview with Kris Bigalk

April is National Poetry Month! As part of my ongoing series of interviews with Minnesota poets, this month we interview Kris Bigalk, author of Repeat the Flesh in Numbers at the Twin Cities Daily Planet. You can also see her website at www.krisbigalk.com. Meanwhile, in the interview, we cover everything from giant kudzu to Kafka and Rabelais. Check it out!