The inspiration for the opening “odes” in my new book Portrait of the Artist as a Brown Man was my desire to voice resistance to the constant racism aimed at the Latinx communities in the very country I was born: America. I have been travelling around the country to various literary festivals, writing gigs, and as the new Writer-in-Residence at the University of Tennessee these past couple of years. On these flights I routinely noticed local politicians promising to deport immigrants, outsiders, nuisances, criminals. All of this meant to be tougher on immigration and crime—to keep the “invaders” out, etc.—the usual Eurocentric, white supremacist agenda . . . as if they weren’t immigrants themselves, from all over Europe.
This cancerous way of thinking can weigh heavily on the Latinx psyche. We are constantly bullied, brainwashed, taught to feel inferior, less than, less American, less worthy, less than White. As a result of this toxic pressure, many Latinx folks try to fully assimilate and hide their Latinx culture in an effort to avoid being deported, arrested, mocked, gaslit, etc.
In response to this bigotry and the resulting trauma, I wanted to focus the opening section of my next book on “odes” which seek to celebrate my Latinx community and the neighborhoods and barrios of LA and Southeast LA—an act of resistance in the face of overwhelming intolerance. Where the mainstream tries to paint us as other or strange or criminal, I choose instead to focus on our cultural pride, perseverance, and contributions to this country. Therefore, I decided to highlight everyday images, via the ode: restaurants, symbols from my community which are often overlooked or underestimated by mainstream white society such as a celebratory piñata, the pollo asado burritos from Alberto’s eaten at lunchtime via the drive thru, pan dulce from Northgate Markets, Chicano tattoos, etc.
I was already familiar with the odes thanks to Pablo Neruda’s elemental odes. I had independently taught various generative workshops on odes for the past couple of years. I was inspired by Neruda’s emphasis on the mundane and even the discounted. I found it revolutionary for Neruda to focus on these important yet neglected subjects, such as socks, broken things, sadness, wine, the dictionary, etc.
I settled on writing 10–15 odes so as to not overwhelm the topic. I ended up publishing some of these Latinx odes in journals like TriQuarterly, Fourteen Hills, Los Angeles Review, North American Review, and elsewhere.
For the second half of the collection, I continued my exploration of the surreal prose poem, a form I’ve worked with in my previous books. I think what might differentiate my prose poems from the likes of James Tate and other American surrealists is that I also mix in cultural references to my Mexican American identity. Much of the American surreal prose poetry I had read either had a universal feel, where cultural references are not as prominent, or was rooted solely in a general (often Midwestern) American context. I hadn’t really seen prose poems that mixed surrealism with Mexican American identity, but I thought, what the heck, why not try it out? Lately, I’ve found taking risks in my work, facing fears, has led to interesting, evocative writing.
After I finished writing the collection, I noticed Red Hen Press out of southern California had opened their annual Benjamin Saltman Award competition. Juan Felipe Herrera, former U.S. Latino Poet Laureate would serve as the judge. I thought maybe I had a better chance with this competition because Herrera and I seem to have similar interests, at times, as first-gen Mexican Americans/Chicanos. I submitted the manuscript in the fall of 2023 and mostly forgot about it. In spring of 2024 as I was getting ready to debut my first book Bad Mexican, Bad American at AWP Kansas City, I got an email from Kate Gale, the editor of Red Hen Press in Pasadena, CA. She told me the good news that I had won and it was my first time winning a manuscript competition. With Juan Felipe Herrera as the judge, Tim Z. Hernandez and Iliana Rocha writing blurbs, I felt I had a cohesive book and a worthy response to negativity, racism, bigotry.
With surrealist prose poetry, I try not to have as much of a set approach or agenda. I’m open to discovery, improvisation, play, and subversive stances. Typically, a sharp image or a memorable opening line will get me excited, and then it’s a matter of maintaining that momentum and keeping both the reader and my own imagination on our toes. With that said, I still do often employ some traditional literary techniques like repetition, hyperbole, attention to sound, syntax, voice, persona. Dream logic is another important part of the prose poetry recipe. I don’t want to be creatively limited by logic or the boundaries of the scientific, real world. I want to jump borders, transcend planets and galaxies.
As per my editing process, I tend to read my drafts aloud, starting over from the beginning anytime I make an edit to make sure there is a fluidity of language. When I feel it’s on point, I might sit on it for a day or two before I begin to submit.
Overall, I think the unique combination of structure and focus in the first section—namely, the “Chicano Odes” written to counter the racial rhetoric of the Trump administration—and the freedom of the experimental prose poetry in the second half of the collection combine, clash, and ultimately work well together. If it seems a little convoluted or contradictory or all over the place like a Gronk or Jackson Pollock abstract expressionist painting, “I contain multitudes,” as Whitman, of course, famously said.
–