Karan

Thank you so much for your poems, Tim. I feel so touched and moved as I read these. You have such a kind and empathetic voice. Also, this set of poems is the perfect example of why we want to publish poets (as opposed to individual poems): your range — on full display here — is marvellous. Reading these poems brought to mind the statement you made in 2010:

“I think poetry, if it’s going to be really engaging and engaged, has to be able to come at the issues of our lives from all kinds of angles and all kinds of ways: loudly and quietly, angrily and soothingly, with comedy and with dead seriousness.”

It seems as if this is still the guiding principle of your poetry — you are entertaining and playful while refusing to forgo the seriousness of the subject. You’re as unafraid to call out prejudice and just as unafraid to love and to be vulnerable. Perhaps this is not so much a question as it is deep admiration for your poetry. I welcome you to respond in any way you wish. 

Tim

When I was taking my first writing workshops a college student, I remember how pleasantly surprised I was to find that poetry could contain all kinds of news in all kinds of ways. I had nothing against poems that sustained an unflinching seriousness, but we are taken by so many emotions as we live this life that it simply made good sense that humor could be a feature of poetry. I was (and perhaps still am) a pretty crazy person—and I believe the wild edges of being are a part of most human lives, the question is just a matter of degree. I want my poems to be accessible to anyone who reads, not just poets and scholars of poetry. I also want poetry to be a conduit for new sense, new understandings, new ways of imagining what it means to be attentive, what it means to be human. What we think and how we feel about life on Earth defines how we live. I enjoy writing all kinds of poems because, by varying my approaches to writing, I am more likely to be surprised and this will allow me to surprise a reader (or listener) and surprise always demands attention and when we attend to something, we see it more clearly—whether it be a tree or our very own selves.

Karan

I am most intrigued by the poem “Holden Caulfield: Secret Identity, 1951”. It offers a poignant commentary on the complexities of racial identity and societal hypocrisy and expectations. When I read The Catcher in the Rye years ago I felt it changed my life. I carried it around and read it many times, imposing it on all my friends. Now I’m doing the same with this poem. I can’t ever think of Holden the same way now. Salinger’s Holden carried the voice of someone in constant internal conflict perfectly, and with a simple addition to his character, you’ve managed to add a very intriguing layer to the exploration of identity and authenticity. As he reflects on concealing his mixed-race heritage at Pencey Prep, the poem so seamlessly addresses the internal struggle of passing for white and the racial prejudices ingrained in society (embodied here by his father). Holden acknowledges the cultural richness of his heritage but expresses frustration at his father's racism. He also critiques the superficiality of religious teachings and the lack of genuine connection among people, which speaks to people everywhere. (“The Noise” also explores the struggle to find meaning and connection.) Over the years, poetry seems to have evolved in its exploration of identity, especially identity of the historically oppressed. How do you perceive the evolution of your own identity reflected in your poetry, particularly considering the socio-cultural changes you've witnessed?

Tim

I was a young teenager in the 60s—at the height of the Black Arts Movement, which was paralleled by the rise of the hippies. So many ideas were in play. Of course, there was a deep sense of dissatisfaction among black folks, which was focused and sharpened by political figures like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X as well as by poets like Nikki Giovanni and Gil Scott Heron.  It would’ve been virtually impossible to remain unaffected by such passion so beautifully articulated. Since that time, I have often grieved the fact that so many lives have been distorted and/or ruined by racist policies. My parents grew up in the 30s and 40s. Though my father was raised in Oklahoma City and my mother grew up in Philadelphia, they both were obliged to ride in the backs of busses. Both were banished to the balconies of movie theaters. Both faced department stores that would not allow them entry.  Given this, I’ve always felt compelled to challenge ideas and assumptions about race and identity. I think of myself as a man of color and feel a deep connection to the struggles of all people of color, but this struggle is a human struggle.  Of course, I am well aware of the many whites who fought alongside non-whites for justice, the most famous of which is probably John Brown who gave his life challenging slavery and related racist brutality. I believe in the unity of humanity—the potential for unity among all people. In my poetry, I have tried to question and challenge the perspectives and systems that have derailed and continue to wreck our efforts to create a sane and affirming society. I’m not sure my sense of identity has evolved profoundly; I’ve never been confused about who I am or where I stand in terms of race, but I’ve come to understand more about the history of racial oppression and how it diminishes both the lives of oppressed and those who perpetrate such cruelty. And this is true of all forms of oppression! For example, male chauvinism constrains the lives of women, but also shrinks the heads and hearts of men. I am mostly delighted by the socio-cultural changes I’ve seen. The rise of white nationalism embodied by deranged figures like Donald Trump is discouraging, but the counter-protests feature every kind of face. The fact that many whites marched carrying Black Lives Matter signs is proof that there has been a paradigm shift worth noting.

Karan

Music is everywhere in your poems, both in abstraction — “melody”, “blues”, “hummingbird’s fart” — and also in concrete — “banjo”, “cello”, “Billie Holiday”. The rhythm of all these poems (in fact, all of your poetry) is particularly striking. Additionally, the use of forms (especially villanelle) that have rhyme at their formal center highlights this further. The repetition within these structured forms significantly enhances the thematic and emotional resonance of these pieces. 

Having recently arrived in the States, I've found the African-American accent and vernacular to be incredibly musical. Sometimes, I am not even able to fully comprehend a few of my classmates, yet I'm captivated by the music in their speech. Considering this, do you feel that the music of language, especially within the African-American vernacular, guides your poetic expression as much as the semantic content? How does the cadence and rhythm of language influence your creative process?

Tim

When I write, I try to remember that poetry’s roots are in song. Long before the printing press and poetry books, poems were performed with musical accompaniment. In Africa, recitations were often accompanied by drumming, in Europe, the lyre was commonly played as poems were sung, and rhyme was a feature of poetry virtually everywhere. Rhyming makes spoken words sing and when we think of free verse, the sounds of words and phrases sharpen what is meant. One of the things we love about music—instrumental or verbal—is the spell it casts, the way it compels us to feel what has often been buried beneath our frenzied daily lives.

Because I was raised in an African American community, the sounds and rhythms of the Black vernacular spoken in this country do affect my own sense of how language can move and mean.  However, because I was educated in mainstream schools and universities, I also have a deep appreciation for what my parents called “the King’s English,” meaning standard English. Most people of color who’ve been educated in this country experience a felt bilingual-ness. We find ourselves speaking one way to our white counterparts and another way to people from our communities. (Of course, there are whites who’ve been raised in non-white communities and are, therefore, comfortable in various vernaculars.)

My first understandings of English came from my parents, both of whom could move easily from a scholarly English to a Black vernacular and back—often in the same conversation. (I do this overtly in some of the blues villanelles that I’ve written.)  When I write, I am often hearing a voice in my head—which has grown from my experience as an African American in this country, so these variations of speech music do inform my work. I am sometimes conscious of this, but I am often completely unaware of the gravitational pull of my experience on what and how I write. To the extent that I’m able, I simply try to write/say what strikes me as essential.

Karan

In "No Matter What," the poem personifies itself and expresses a desire to be loved despite its imperfections: The poem “insists / that its recalcitrance, its bad-girl / panache… / might be understood / as a kind of spiritual incandescence” and then a vulnerable confession we all feel: “it just wants / what it wants which is / to be wanted” without farce and judgment. How does this personification reflect your philosophy or perception of poetry as an art form, and what role do you believe poetry plays in the realm of human emotions and understanding?

Tim

I have written 25 or 30 poems in which the poem “personifies itself” as you say. I love to dislocate the reader/listener for a moment, and I think when the poem talks about itself in the poem itself, the reader must catch on and catch up with what is happening. In that moment of disorientation, they are vulnerable to a sort of open-ended wonder. I’m also asking them to think on a couple of levels. Are they implicated in the poem’s complaint(s) and what exactly is their relationship to poetry? Many people have no relationship with poetry because it was ruined for them in school by a teacher who taught the subject lovelessly then quizzed them on symbolism and iambic pentameter and the spelling of onomatopoeia. In these self-personifying poems, I want the reader to experience the poem as a living thing rather than as a literary problem to solve.

I think it is often true that people approach poetry with rigid expectations—with a prejudice that may be analogous to the bigotry with which people often approach others who are not from their culture. Black poets do not examine the “Black experience” exclusively any more than White poets write exclusively about the White Experience, but so often African American poets find themselves most in demand during Black History Month, as if that is the only time their visions are relevant. On the other side of that equation, people of color will sometimes assume that a white poet (a white poem) has little or nothing relevant to say to them.

I believe poems must be free to carry whatever news their creators deem crucial—and as readers, we must open our heads and hearts without bias to receive the fullness of the poem’s insight and energy. In doing this, we are not doing poetry or poets a favor, we are giving ourselves a chance to be nourished, perhaps transformed by the poem!

Karan

We have not yet asked this question to anyone, but given the wisdom reflected in your poetry, I feel compelled to ask you this most-famous question older poets get asked. For emerging poets, what advice would you offer as they navigate the intersection of personal expression, cultural representation, and societal commentary in their own work?

Tim

The most important thing a developing poet can do is read—poetry, of course, but they should read fiction, nonfiction, plays, etc. There is so much to learn about the ways in which language can carry knowledge and the emotions that accompany varieties of knowledge. We’re all trying to say what we believe to be true. Every poem makes a case for its usefulness. Every poem wants to convince a reader/listener of its worthiness. By reading others who have successfully conveyed their visions to others, we may learn things that we might apply to our own efforts on the page.