Xan Roberti and I first met in Lisbon, Portugal in a poetry workshop with Kim Addonizio as part of the Disquiet International Literary Program. Xan and I instantly connected due to our poetry sharing a certain restlessness and uprootedness. We had both moved around quite a bit and were in a transitional place where poetry was perhaps the only constant. Our lines were witnesses of this. What I admired in Xan’s poems was her ability to make words race across the page, to stretch her syntax, her metaphors as far as cognitively possible. Xan herself describes her poems as “acrobatic,” and I couldn’t agree more. As only “half” a native speaker, I admire her inventive use of language and playfulness within a line. Thanks to her nomination as part of the MY WRITING PROCESS BLOG TOUR, I get to answer the following questions.
1) What are you working on?
I am currently working on a “nautical” series of poems, which are inspired by the vocabulary and terms I deal with on a daily basis. Since I work as a translator of survey reports for a company of cargo surveyors, I come across an abundance of technical terminology. Legal, mechanical engineering and maritime terms, such as the parts of a vessel, are surprisingly interesting and often convey double-meanings that are perfect poetry material. I started to compile a list of unusual words and began incorporating these words in a series of notes written between two individuals—one at sea and one on land.
At the same time, I am working on a collection of German poems, tentatively titled “Das Innenfutter der Wörter” (Engl. transl.: The Lining of Words), which will be published next spring with edition keiper in Graz, Austria.
One of the problems I encounter as a bilingual writer is the inability to write in two languages simultaneously, meaning I cannot work on these two projects at the same time, within the same day or even same week. I have to make time for each language as if those two cannot stand each other. Of course, I have no problem switching back and forth in every day conversation, but poetry is a different story and my brain does not want to be inventive in two languages at a time. My writing schedule works as follows: I focus on one language for a few weeks until I begin to feel neglectful of the other language; that is when I make the switch by reading only in the other language in order to hopefully begin a new writing cycle. It is not always a smooth transition, but even that makes for interesting poetry, right?
2) How does your work differ from others of its genre?
Like the speaker of my poems, my writing is a little anxious at times, cannot make up its mind and travels back and forth between two countries like a child that divides time between divorced parents. I don’t necessarily believe that my poems differ from other poetry written today so much, because in the 21st century not many writers stay in one place, write in one fashion, or are inspired and influenced by only one school of writing. We are all writing different and similar poems.
Maybe what makes my poems different is a blending of cultures, countries, and emotions. It is not always clear where poems are located–in time or space–and gloomy and humorous imagery sometimes go hand in hand. German ancestors immigrate to California and a mother, who is an American citizen, tells her children German fairy tales and cooks German dishes. Everything is upside down like the sister who arranges the puzzle in new ways. While this particular combination, this narrative might be new, the ideas behind it are not. Opposites attract (us)…because we want to feel more than just one emotion. When I read Herta Müller’s poems, I encounter the comic and the horrific in her lines, sometimes simultaneously. Maybe that is the reason why I laugh when I am terrified? I seek the humor in the terrifying experience, and I tend to write in that fashion, too, which is perhaps not so different after all.
3) Why do you write what you do?
I write in order to surprise myself, in order to experience moments in which language slows me down. For me writing also means discovery and figuring out how I can stretch language to treat it less like an everyday tool but more like a sculpture. I always loved languages as a child and discovering new words and their meanings, especially because I had two to choose from. The sound, the texture, the associations that come with language(s), and the differences between them are mind-boggling to me. In fact, for a while I was considering to study linguistics, until literature got a hold of me. Nevertheless, I am still interested in the philosophy of language–limitations, issues, meaning–especially when it comes to translation.
In summary, I guess I write poems, because there is no other way for me to experiment and play with language and to push it to its limits, also to feel human (language is an incredible ability to convey complex meaning…we should show more enthusiasm!) in light of all this inhumanity.
4) How does your writing process work?
For the most part, my writing process begins with reading. I’m always looking for words that trigger new words. The beauty with this approach is that you can find words anywhere. They are always available, always splattering our fields of vision. When I want to write, I focus in on one phrase that strikes me. I have written poems that were triggered by newspaper headlines, by billboard ads, or perhaps lyrics; it’s hard to remember sometimes where images began.
And other times, it has nothing to do with words, but everything with silence. I remember being in a park and witnessing how a boy lost grip of his balloon. The balloon took off immediately, and the boy fell to his knees like a soldier on a battlefield. He might have been crying, but all I remember is the image of him falling and looking up to the sky. The image was so striking that I had to use it in a poem. I usually do not know when an image will be useful; there is a mental drawer and in it I put little clippings of images and phrases for later use. Consequently, my writing process is a mixture of collecting, cutting, gluing, and inventing, perhaps why I love cutups so much. There are an infinite number of word constellations, why not experiment a little?