Writers and Friends: Arlene Ang and Valerie Fox on their new book of poetry, their collaboration, secret codes and creative inspiration
Background: Arlene Ang and Valerie Fox are two highly creative and prolific poets who have begun an extraordinary collaboration. Ang and Fox edit each other's work. They edit a journal, Press 1. They have a new work Bundles of Letters, Including A, V and Epsilon. This book featurespoetry written by both of them. It has a section that features poems by each author back to back. Bundles has been published on the eve of Ang's visit to the United States, where she and Fox will read from their latest work as well as from earlier works. They will be reading at Drexel University on October 23rd, at 2 p.m. in Disque 109. The following dialogue takes place about a week before Ang's arrival in the U.S.
Robert Watts: Valerie and Arlene, the creative collaboration you guys have formed is extraordinary. Writers of course need editors and friendly readers and supporters, but to work together as closely as you guys seems unique to me. How did you decide to work together?
Arlene Ang: We started out three or four years ago. At that time we were doing the 30/30 in an online forum—it's a challenge to write 30 poems in 30 days. I've always found Valerie's writing stimulating and a lot of the poems in Bundles were inspired by hers.
Valerie Fox: I remember we started sharing "assignments." And every once in a while we'd offer editorial suggestions that seemed to work. At some point we started writing list poems. We'd each contribute five random words daily to make a total of ten words. We'd each then write a ten-line poem using these words. At first the sentences were numbered. I can't recall why we adopted and followed these rules, except that we like doing things like that. For me, it gets me sort of outside myself.
I think even before this though, we'd quote each other or write a poem based on an idea in one of the other's poems. I believe it was your idea, Arlene, to combine the poems into a book of poems, a compilation.
Once we decided we were writing a whole book together, the correspondences started to proliferate. Poems of mine became versions of poems by Arlene. We introduced "characters" that seemed to be kind of like mutual friends we were discussing. Our styles are complementary, overall, too. I think finding a way to blend them has been a good challenge.
Now, when we aren't writing something "big" together, we'll sort of throw off a few collaborative poems. Well, we just recently started this trend. This replicates the experience of sitting down with someone and going back and forth writing lines and stanzas. I used to love doing that with friends, usually in bars or diners, but don't seem to be able to find the time to do it lately.
Watts: New question. On the back of Bundles, Drexel professor Paula Marantz Cohen describes you two as "latter-day surrealists, playing wantonly with words, charming us out of and into the everyday." There are clearly elements of fun, play, surprise, reversal, non-sequiturs, and unusual juxtapositions in the poems in Bundles. I'm wondering how each of you would describe your style?
Fox:Style...that's so hard...I like poetry that creates an interesting surface.
I think both Arlene and I have a voice that is intimate and personal. And readers are eavesdropping on our conversations. Yes, the "everyday" comes into that. Like Williams's plums.
You mention "play" and "reversals"—yes, and a kind of secret code.
I don't think we're writing directly to the reader, for the most part. I think readers realize that we're using personae in most of our poems, as well.
Ang: Ticklish. With many secret handshakes. And bizarre, like that cute alien plant in "The Little Shop of Horrors."
Watts: As we conduct this interview, Arlene has not yet arrived in the United States, and you two have not yet met in person. Writing is such an intimate medium, and collaboration and editing require so much trust. And clearly to work as you do requires a great deal of trust. What has it been like to collaborate with someone through the Internet and phone calls? How intense does it get when you're in the middle of a project?
Fox: I totally trust Arlene. She is incredibly trustworthy and reliable. Extremely efficient—not all writers and artistic types are efficient. Have you noticed that?
Ang: Yes, trust is certainly important. We're pretty level-headed when it comes to our writing, too. We're also good at leaving our egos at the door. If something doesn't work, we actually rely on each other to tell us that.
As for being efficient, I bet my husband would beg to differ. I did miss two planes in two years, Valerie. I have, I think, what they call "selective efficiency."
Fox: We don't give up easily, and we don't agree to do a major project unless we intend to put our hearts into it. If we're in the middle of something and we can't see where it is going, or how we can finish it, we just tell each other. We know when to quit, in other words. And we move on to something else, invariably. There is always something new to move on to.
Ang: While Bundles is a set of poems written individually, our fiction collaborations are different. We're working on blending our voices better. It has a nice army of worker ants feel to it. I've always seen Valerie as my sandbox playmate. We just push the sand around, add water here and there until we come up with something. But even if nothing comes up, we still had fun. In writing, I think that's essential.
Fox: Expanding on the building analogy, an essential part of our writing is whatever we're reading. You know, in poetry sometimes (compared with fiction I think) you feel like you don't have room to bring in everything. But in our ongoing collaborations we seem to find ways to bring a lot in. I think that is why we're attempting longer works.
Lately I've been reading The Pillow Book, by Sei Shonagun, and I see some similarities with our collaborative work. It's a series of short writings and observations on 11th century court life in Japan. She likes lists and descriptions. She has this chapter, for instance, called "Regrettable things," and another, "Infuriating things" and another, "Things that can't be compared." These chapters are mixed in with some more traditional story-telling (anecdotes).
Watts: Say more, if you will, about The Pillow Book. It sounds fascinating. Is The Pillow Book well known outside of Japan? Can you say more about the kinds of reflections it contains? Was it a collaborative work? You guys are not court writers, but is there a way you think of yourselves as part of the court of the 21st century world around you, and you are combining reflections and commentary?
Fox: Her book isn't collaborative. It's quite well known, in part because the style feels modern and approachable. For a work that is a thousand years old, it feels contemporary, largely due to the intimate voice and direct language. People read it, I think. I mentioned it in a class I was teaching recently and one of the senior students knew of it and had read it. The translation by Meredith McKinney reads very well.
Shonagun is in an advantaged position, sort of, as a member of court. She doesn't hesitate to mock the powers that be. What do you think Arlene? What's our "court" and our position in it, to use terms that Robert has introduced here?
Ang: The poems in Bundles lead me to think we're observers, observing at times even ourselves from the outside. I'm reminded of this trivia I learned from a recent excursion in the ex-mental institute of San Servolo in Venice. No kidding. Our guide was telling us that at the height of the Venetian Empire, courtesans were the only women who wrote poetry and had freedom to do what they wanted. The common womenfolk, who barely received an education at the time, were raised more for the purpose of childbearing and homemaking. It must have been a strange situation. While the courtesans were part of the society, I wonder if they really felt part of it. Being courtesans, they must have known a lot of intimate secrets too. There's something of this feeling in Bundles, I think— like we're observing everyone and, in turn, observing ourselves through their eyes too. Kind of a two-person book club, too—we mention what we're reading and start to read the same things. This then influences our work.
Fox: I take from this you're asserting a sort of status that is both insider and outsider in terms of tone and voice in the poems. That makes a lot of sense to me.
Watts (to Ang): I want to turn to some of the poems in Bundles. Arlene, I really got a kick out of, "When the barman gets complimentary." There are so many stunning lines and stanzas in this.
He wants to be my sleeping bag. For free.
Handcuffs (his bed or mine), a pat on the back.
(2) His symptoms, of course are psychosomatic:
A hairy ear, false CDC license, modish stains
On his lapel, broken zip like flypaper.
Then later on in this poem there is this one:
Sometimes,
opening and closing the cocktail umbrella, I see
The curvature of you behind the rectilinear
shadow of him. According to Freud,
it’s all about getting the best of one's refillable
box.
Talk about this poem if you will. There is a funny sexual element that seems to run throughout it. "Getting the best of one's refillable box." That line just arrests me.
Ang: This is a fun poem indeed, with lots of adult things going on. It's one of those nights when you go out with your partner for some drinks with friends. The barman starts hitting on you which makes you wish your partner would start hitting on someone else, so it can be one real happy hour for everyone.
The refillable box works on the idea of refillable drinks—which you gulp down just for the tacky reason that the next drinks are free—and also the box you carry out of the office when you get sacked. The bar poem is just sifting through all that stuff and trying to find something good out of it.
Watts: Valerie, let's talk about "It seemed like a good idea at the time." There are so many fascinating lines, but I'll go to the end:
and I told God, if you don’t strike me dead
by Thursday next week I will not change
This really tickled my brain. I'm reading, saying, Hold on! You can't change if God strikes you down. Then I go, Wow, she's playing with the logic of sentences, the logic of causation, time. Tell me about writing this poem.
Fox: Well, it's funny; we're talking here a lot about process and ritual, which fascinate both Arlene and me. But I can't always remember the actual writing of specific poems. I do remember starting with the stated idea in the title, about ideas or choices that may not have turned out well. Blunders of all kinds. Bold choices that open up your world. The early drafts were long—maybe 50 plus lines. I ended up distilling it, trying to tie together disparate imagery. At this point the process might be highly improvisational. I think the images connect in some ways that people can relate to. How do we show and acknowledge the passage of time? How do things we say and do affect us 10 years down the road? Should we abandon ourselves to our passions or hang back? Are there some promises we really needn't keep?
Watts: Arlene, as I understand it, you were born in the Philippines into a family of Chinese descent. Now you live in Italy and you're working with an American poet. You seem to move easily across boundaries and, I'm assuming, languages as well. Do you see yourself as coming out of any particular national tradition?
Ang: When it comes to national tradition, I'm probably something of an orphan. My family never adhered to either Chinese or Filipino traditions. My parents had been unconventionally pragmatic. While my dad was still struggling as an artist, my mom brought in the bacon. They spoke Chinese between themselves, but at home we all spoke Filipino. For the Chinese community there, this is an anomaly—like you're not a good parent if you don't teach your kids Chinese. After 13 years in a Catholic Chinese school, it's hard to identify with the Filipino tradition, too. While I studied it, I never really lived it or had Filipino friends until I reached college. I seriously doubt I'd ever feel Italian either—for the obvious reasons, like being ignorant of local culture and speaking with a foreign accent.
Watts (to Arlene): I'm presuming that you speak many languages. What languages do you in fact speak? Do you write poetry in all those languages? How long have you lived in Italy and what brought you there?
Ang: I speak English, Filipino and Italian. I understand a bit of Fujian dialect; my parents spoke that at home. Ironically enough, my grasp of the local dialect in this part of Italy is better than my Chinese. It's true that I've been living in Italy for nine years now and it's either I learn the language, or retire my mouth from ever talking again. I used to write poems in Italian, but it was frustrating. Because my grammar and vocabulary weren't the best, I had to keep the sentences simple—which basically killed the fun of it for me. As for what brought me here, I guess my husband did. He's Italian.
Watts: Arlene, your father, as I understand it, was a prominent painter in the Philippines. You have written about how uncompromising he was about his art. Although he worked in another medium, I imagine he had a major artistic impact on you. Could you please discuss that?
Ang: My dad received the National Artist award in 2001—it's basically the highest recognition any Filipino artist can receive in his lifetime or posthumously. He passed away in 2005—less than a year after he found himself unable to work anymore. Painting was the life and breath of him. He painted every day if he could.
I probably wouldn't be writing today if it weren't for my dad. He was always encouraging us to tap into our creativity. He was quite disappointed when none of us followed in his footsteps.
Growing up with his paintings on every patch of wall in our house made me rather susceptible to violence, sadness and the macabre. He painted dogfights, screaming figures, the crucifixion and the loneliest-looking smiling clowns.
He also taught me that waiting for inspiration never works; that it is only when you start writing that inspiration comes. I didn't believe it until I did it.
Watts: Valerie, I know that you grew up in a strict, religious household. These poems, as open and free as they are, seem to be thousands of miles away from any strict religious sentiment. Can you speak to that?
Fox: Well, it's convenient, isn't it, as an artist to have something to rebel against, to give you that edge. I feel a little bad for people who lack that, sometimes. And seriously, it's good to have an explicit knowledge of a world view (in my case Christianity), especially one so intimately connected with the development of Western civilizations, such as we know it (or whatever!). It's probably why I like learning about history so much. My daughter is going to a Friends school, which is cool. I guess some Friends believe in God or something like that, but it isn't necessarily emphasized as much as the overall world view based on tolerance, kindness, peace, taking care of the environment, etc.
Watts (to Fox): I know you as a wonderful colleague and friend. I don't know, however, the writers you consider among your strongest influences. Can you name some of the writers who have most inspired you?
Fox: I've been lucky. As an undergrad, our teacher, poet John Taggart, brought in writers like Jerome Rothenberg, Allen Ginsberg, Robert Duncan, and so on. Seeing these writers read made an indelible impression on me. I can still see and hear Rothenberg chanting the ending of one of his poems, going something like: "All I wants a good 5-cent ci-gar." Obviously John was interested in telling us about the Williams tradition. Then, still in my early 20s at Temple University, I was much influenced by my reading H.D., Stein, and some contemporary writers including Leslie Scallapino. Rachel DuPlessis at Temple was (and is I think) always bringing experimentalists in for readings and workshops up at Temple. These are still some of my favorite writers. I also enjoy reading Sherman Alexie's books—I like his humor, his satire, how he mixes tones and genres.
Watts: Reading your poems has sent me to the internet on many occasions to look up various references, such as Parcelsus, The Pillow Book, Supernumerary. I fear I am missing so many other references in these works. This playful, creative style you guys have adopted for Bundles is clearly a style that one must develop over time. I do not think apprentice poets could pull off what you guys have pulled off. I would love to know how your respective styles have evolved over time. Or were you guys writing poetry like this pretty much all along?
Ang: I started out writing narrative free verse. So, I can certainly understand how difficult it is for prose readers/writers to get into experimental poetry. Even I had to do it gradually. I first came across these, what I call, leaps of thought or mental acrobatics after reading Deryn Rees-Jones's The Memory Tray and Robert Rehder's The Compromises Will Be Different.
After that I tried this non-linear style of writing. I managed to convince Valerie to join us at the Blueline forum where I had started this 30-poems-for-30-days challenge. Valerie was such a great inspiration. Her poems worked for me as doorways to other poems.
Fox: My style has always tended to be "like this," as you put it. Or at least it started to be what it is today fairly early on. The co-editing and collaborations with Arlene have definitely steered me toward writing prose. Most of what I've been writing for a few years now is prose or looks like prose.
Watts: I am a prose writer out of the old-fashioned "realist" tradition. So this talk of secret codes you mentioned earlier is really fascinating to me. Say more about this if you will.
Ang: First thing that comes to mind about secret codes are the initials we use in some poems to represent people.
Fox: I'm okay with realism. I wish I could write like Hemingway.
I think people sort of like the idea of coded language, unless it's just obviously only meant to be "tricky," you know? I don't think readers should feel the need to paraphrase what is going on in a poem.
Ang: The poems in Bundles leave a lot to the reader's imagination and deduction skills, I think. There are also many secret codes or inside jokes as one might call them, like references to Alice in Wonderland or pirates. This doesn't mean the poems are indecipherable; they're just open to interpretation.
Watts: What I find so interesting is that many times, it's not just the poem that shifts and turns and dives and changes from concrete to abstract. But within an individual line there are often multiple shifts and reversals in language, thought, discourse. A reader cannot sleep through a work by Ang or Fox. I feel like my brain needs to have all the engines firing, and yet to be flexible and limber at the same time.
So I would love for you to say more about the journey you'd like your readers to go on as they read your works.
Ang: I have a weakness for writing that makes me think, that offers a different way of seeing reality by means of a simple shift in syntax. I've always thought of Bundles as a fun romp in the concrete jungle... with occasional broken beer bottles on the ground. Some of our poems turn from humorous to introspective in a blink.
Watts: If you could speak to folks used to less playful, less imaginative writing (I notice you guys shy away from the surreal label), what would you say about the mind-place they may want to get to in order to fully appreciate your work?
Fox: I'd just say to approach it with an open mind.
Maybe we should mention too that the idea is that these poems can stand alone; they don't have to be read all together. (Not epic in an almost plot sense, like Alice Notley's "Descent of Alette," for instance.)
Watts: Arlene, how long are you going to be in the United States? What is your schedule and is there a link folks can go to find where you and Valerie will be reading?
Ang: I'll be in the Philadelphia from October 17th-27th, and in LA/San Francisco from October 27th-November 13th. I've posted our schedule on my blog: http://arleneang.blogspot.com
Watts: Are you guys nervous about meeting each other? Any chance you two are going to hate each other in person? You guys may need some of that acrobatic language to survive if you don't like each other.
Ang: Nothing shall hinder our mutual appreciation for strong liquor.
Fox: I've taken my pet tarantula out of the guest room.
Fox: Don't look down.
Ang: This is not a fire drill.
Arlene Ang, staff editor at The Pedestal Magazine, is the author of The Desecration of Doves (2005) and Secret Love Poems (Rubicon Press, 2007). A full poetry collection, Seeing Birds in Church is a Kind of Adieu, is forthcoming from Cinnamon Press in 2010. Her poems have been published in numerous journals and anthologies, including Best of the Web 2008 (Dzanc Books), Diagram, Painted Bride Quarterly, Poetry Ireland, Poet Lore, Rattle and Stand Magazine. She was awarded The Frogmore Poetry Prize in 2006 and The Juked Poetry Prize in 2008. Born in Manila, Philippines, she now lives in Spinea, Italy with her husband. Her homepage is at www.leafscape.org where more of her writing can be viewed.
Valerie Fox, an English professor at Drexel University, is the author of the poetry collection The Rorschach Factory (Straw Gate Books, 2006). She has lived abroad and traveled extensively, and taught for three years at Sophia University in Tokyo, Japan. She was a founding co-editor of 6ix magazine. Her journal credits include West Branch, ROOMS, Hanging Loose, The World, Feminist Studies, Black Bread Review, Phoebe, Poems Niederngasse and many others. Her doctorate is from Binghamton University. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and daughter.
Robert Anthony Watts teaches English and writing at Drexel University. He has written for Press1, a publication edited by Arlene Ang and Valerie Fox.
